When I was a bartender (Thirty four years ago), I had a method for getting rid of obnoxious patrons. I would get them stinking drunk, fast. Either they would realize that they were too drunk and go home, or they would fall asleep with their head on the bar which would allow me to tell them to go home. That is, if I could rouse them. I don't know what the bartender last night was trying to do to me, but that second drink was almost pure vodka. Which brings me to another drinking topic, drunks. Last night somebody suggested that there were three types of drunks, angry, sad, and happy. I am a happy drunk. Never when drinking do I get angry or sad. Always happy, telling stupid stories I think are funny, repeatedly, and by repeatedly I mean the same story over and over. The problem with angry, sad, and happy drunks is that you never know what the underlying issue is. A sad person may become an angry drunk or a happy drunk. You never know until the alcohol hits the fan, and then you're stuck with the results. Of course a sad drunk could only get sadder, which is always uncomfortable for me, the happy drunk. Last night Mark was the angry/sad drunk, a very bad hybrid. He kept going from being sad that I was making him move to the frozen arctic wilderness of Chicago, to threatening me with death if he got sick up there and died. I of course, being the happy drunk, thought it was all very funny. And then I remembered that kitchen knife set that I bought him for Christmas seventeen years ago. He still has that, and they are very sharp.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
So the real estate agent came by yesterday with the papers. It was initial here, sign there, more initials, more signatures, acknowledgements, and disclosures. I wasn't surprised at all the paperwork, I've done this before. In fact I need to start strengthening my hand in preparation for the eventual closing (Keep it clean people). If I remember correctly, it's about an hour's worth of signing my name to things. But that's not what has had me worried about our big adventure in moving. Neither is the part about packing the things we intend to take along with us, nor all the potential buyers traipsing through our house. No, none of that. What I truly dread is the de-cluttering. After all the papers were signed yesterday the real estate agent gave us instructions on preparing the house for sale. He looked into the living room and said, "You have to de-clutter this room". That's the same room that I thought I had already de-cluttered. "And in the kitchen make sure the counters are all clear. Nothing but the coffee machine and maybe the knife set." he told us. That's when I started to sweat. I know the job we... or rather I, have ahead of me. Mark has over five hundred cookbooks, some that I don't even think he has ever even opened. And then there are the Broadway show posters he collects. Again, over five hundred of them. So tomorrow Mark and I will go out and buy some decent boxes, some bubble wrap, and a good packing tape gun. I'll have to also rent a storage locker someplace. It's very daunting, and I hope Mark is cooperative, because a dumpster would probably be cheaper and easier.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
There is a bit of upheaval in my world lately. I am getting ready to put the house on the market. It was supposed to be done last Saturday, but Mark and I haven't seen eye to eye on a few points. This makes me nervous. When things don't go my way and arguments ensue, I get nervous, and when I get nervous two things happen. One of the things is that I break out in pimples. Right now I have a giant, painful, pimple on my nose that rivals anything that I ever experienced in my teen years. Back then I often walked the halls of my high school looking like Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. Anyway, I also have a few pimples popping up on the rest of my face. Luckily those are not as immense as the one saddling my nose. That one is a real finger popper, although unlike my teen years, I will not do that. Besides the pimples, my nervousness about selling this house has generated some bizarre dreams. Dreams in which I am naked and not in the confines of my own home. Two nights ago the dream was that I was out in my front garden naked. I was behind the six foot privacy fence, and that did allow me some relief until the fence started falling away. I awoke finally when one of my neighbors waved hello from across the street. Last night I had another naked dream. This time I was in Chicago taking a taxi across town, up to somebody's house. I remember that I had a big woolen scarf on because it was cold and something else wrapped around me. It wasn't until I was inside the house that I realized that I was really only wearing two woolen scarves and neither of them covered anything important. That's when I woke up. I certainly hope I get this whole house sale, home buying, moving thing over with quickly, before I find myself naked and covered in pimples, wandering around outside for real.
Monday, March 2, 2015
I remember when I first started finding little piles of audio tape in a jumble on the streets and sidewalks. At first I couldn't understand how the hell it had ended up there, until the day the cassette deck in my car ate a tape. At first you try to save it, you eject the cassette and gingerly try to dislodge the tape that's tangled within the machine. If you're like me it doesn't take long before you become enraged and start yanking on it until you end up with a useless pile on the car floor. I assume all the tape I was running across was tossed from cars with cheap cassette decks. Over time I noticed that there weren't any more piles of audio tape along the street, but instead I was finding cracked and broken CDs. Now even the CDs have largely disappeared as more and more people plug their iphones into the car stereo. What I have started to come across along the street, along the railroad tracks where we walk the dogs, and just today in the church parking lot, is hair. Large clumps of long hair. What kind of trend is this? Are people yanking their hair out in traffic and throwing it out the window? I've been informed by Mark that it is probably hair extensions, something black women use a lot. I've looked these clumps of hair over, and I'm not even sure that it is real human hair. More like Yak hair, or maybe even hair of the polyester. Assuming that Mark is correct and black women are losing their hair extensions while driving, why is it I haven't seen a lot of bald women driving around town?
Friday, February 27, 2015
If you don't know, I am planning on moving to Chicago. Mark has known about this plan for a while, and I have explained to him my reasons for what I am doing. Oh, and yes, I am taking Mark with me. So yesterday I told Mark that today I would be having a couple of real estate agents over so that I could decide on who would get the listing of our house.
"So soon? That's a little fast don't you think?"
"You hate me, don't you. Why are you doing this to me? I'm too skinny, I'll fucking freeze to death up there. I hate you!"
"How about if I give you more money? I can afford to give you enough money so we could stay here."
"Think about it Mark. There is so much more to do in a real city. Theater, restaurants, culture, parks, museums. You'll enjoy it, I guarantee it."
Continued depression, and then.
"Can we go to Lollapalooza if we move there?... Oh, and look here. This looks like a really cool show at the Oriental Theater. I guess you're right, there are so many more things to do in Chicago. And I can hang out with my friend Sam, and I love your family. Let's look on line at some houses. What neighborhood do you want to live in? Lakeview, Lincoln Park, Andersonville?"