It's like rubbing an old penny with your nether juices until it gleams.
I just finished officially moving in with the lovely, irrepressable, and sexually molestable, Beth Yockey. we're gonna get married and all that old sausage, but until then we get to sin sin sin while doing nothing at all! just breathing and walking around i get to infuriate christians, muslims, jews, all sorts of religiously outdated, old testament based, intolerant persons! and let's be honest for a moment: isn't that what it's really all about?
WRONG, FOOL! it's all about the Beth Yockey Love! it would be best if you recognized that now so i can quit repeating it. not that i mind, mind you.
so, i moved all my stuff out ov my joke ov an apartment and into our new shared domicile. i say new, but she's lived here for some time. i myself have lived here twice before. yeah, it's retarded that way. this is the fifth time i moved stuff either in or out ov this place and i'm not going to do it again unless she comes with me. don't worry folks, it's not about breaking up and getting back together cuz that never happened to the two ov us. it's about other shit that someday i'll tell you. but this is a happy post.
the worst thing about moving in all permanentlike is finding places to put all ov your stuff that you straight up didn't know where to put in your last place. or the place before that. or the one before........i'm sure ya feel me on this one. i've been sorting and moving and shuffling around all sorts of crap that i know i want to keep, but it beats the fuck out ov me where that keeping place is. so far in my considering and sorting i've written three(including this one) blog posts and watched disc two ov Aqua Teen Hunger Force's third season. mister productive is what they call me, that's right, but they usually just skip the 'sir' and go straight to snickering into their sleeve. at least i haven't resorted to playing Half-Life 2 yet. Yet. where is the action, action, it's action, action, it makes things happen.........
the biggest problem i'm having can be summed up in telling you what i think should go in a toolbox. so far in my toolbox i have found all ov the following: twelve AA batteries ov questionable usefullness, astroglide, a string i spraypainted red four years ago, a lollipop from the first time i went to burningman(7 years ago, i think it's not good to eat anymore), fuses for a car that i don't have, a strapping wench, safety pins, an eyeglass screwdriver, a broken bicycle chainbreak, one bright orange water wing, a list ov potential advertisers for an organization with whom i no longer work, two gold stereo adapters of different sizes, a steak knife, half a flashlight, feet for an ottoman, cleats for some bike shoes i haven't owned in four years, one allen wrench, a fuckton ov nails, a plant hanger, three pens that don't work and one that does, half ov a completely different flashlight, a silk purse containing: (three mother-of-pearl button covers, a young communist party pin, pubic hair from three different people(please never ask), and various coins from around the world), solder, three bags of different colored stereo connectors, and some other things that i quite honestly don't know what the hell they are. how the fuck do you organize that? it's a real question and i demand an answer now.
please please please wish me some kind ov luck in getting all this shit a good home either in a bin by the curb or an appropriate spot in my home with my sweet baboo. i'd love to fool her into thinking i'm not a packrat even though i'm sure it's far too late for that. anyone need a painted string?
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I just told you this story in person, but, i'll post it again for the internet to read... i drove around with that selfsame toolbox in my front seat for like a week. Running through my head that entire time was something like, fuck, if only i had a toolbox. why do girls never have toolboxes? we end up with small boxes and lunchboxes and purses filled with allen wrenches, screws, nails, tools, epoxies, and fixit-errata - every time i've moved, i've re-organized this (growing) collection of teeny boxes, and it literally never occured to me that a toolbox could fix my problem. conversely, every guy i've ever lived with, or even hung out with very much, (except daniel) has at least one toolbox. i always assumed those toolboxes had like tools in them. Driving around with scott's toolbox, i decided that the next young woman who i knew starting her own independent life, i would buy her a toolbox and break that pattern. I have just had my gender-disparity dreams shattered. even though i had all the things to put in the toolbox (including electrical wiring caps of 3 colors!) i had no toolbox. the toolbox living with me now had none of the things i'd have put in it. except maybe the pubic hair. somehow that gets everywhere.
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