Every day when I get home from work, I feel so frustrated, the boss is a jerk

Bang The Drum All Day -- Todd Rundgren -- 1983




Headline news: Yes, she is gone! The Princess slept at her own place last night. 95 % of her crap is moved out. The dining room has made a glorious reappearance and all the Poodles have been accounted for.

Life is good.


Unless, of course, you consider the fact that I don't want to work. Not in the bigger oh- I- am -so- above- working way. I am just sick of doing things 9 hours a day that I don't really get any enjoyment out of.

But how do you know what you want to do? Why are some people blessed with this innate knowledge of what they want to spend their lives doing? I still can't figure it out, and at this rate, if I continue on my quest by systematically ruling out what I hate to find what I like......I'll be dead before I find an answer.

Dog trainer........nah, hate the owners

Companion to the elderly......nope, poopy diapers, liniments and crappy pay

Social Worker.....no way. never met a happy one

Lighthouse keeper.......perfect!! All alone, no stupid boss, no loud neighbors.



Anyone have a lighthouse they'd like to offload? Cheap?

Other suggestions for a career?

Medications?

Sooner or later you hit the deck you get found out

Save It For Later -- The English Beat -- 1982




An open letter to my Princess:

We have had a lot of fun over the past few weeks. Sure, it's been hard packing up all that stuff. Over and over again. Hauling the heavy boxes down a flight of steps only to haul them back up the new steps 3 days later. Moving furniture around tricky corners and treacherous doorways. Sorting through all the piles of long-forgotten belongings. Making multiple trips to the Goodwill box with overstuffed Hefty contractor bags full of clothes.

We've had a lot of laughs, a few bumps and bruises, a few near- breakdowns.........but we have done it. We managed to move you out of two homes and consolidate your life in your new place.

Yes, there are still boxes all over your apartment. We haven't managed to hang anything on the walls yet, or get your clothes into drawers, but we did get some food in the fridge and your bed completely assembled and dressed. And a lot more. Soon enough, this will all be another set of memories that we conjure up with laughter.



But for now, I tell you this:








GET OUT!!!!!! You have a place of your own. Go live in it. Shoo!





Luv ya!

You burned a hole in my mind, when I saw your cute behind

The Hot Pants Explosion -- The B-52's -- 1992




Just dropped in to say that this is back on. If you don't watch it, give it a try. Denis Leary can wear a pair of uniform pants like nobody's business.



No matter how bone tired I may be, a little Leary is always good for the mind and body.


Of course, Rescue Me is simply a fun summertime diversion until this returns in the fall. Julian McMahon. Simply delicious.



Go now. Go turn on FX and wait. I promise it will be good.


The storylines are pretty interesting too.

Any day now, any day now ,I shall be released

I Shall Be Released -- The Band -- 1968




Please, please, puleeeeeeeze. The next time, send me a coupla burly moving men. They don't even have to be shirtless. I can't do this anymore. We still have a couch, a secretary and various odds-n-ends to move. I am near comatose with exhaustion. We are almost done.

I have had about 33.7 near-death experiences during these last hateful days. Sucking air, sweating profusely and swearing like a frustrated sailor. I have not seen the oft-mentioned bright light as I heaved yet another carton containing 40 tons of books to the second floor apartment. I have, however, considered sending the Princess toward the light. More than once. Maybe about 11-15 times a day.



It's been bad.



I keep reading and commenting on your Blogs between hauling crap to the new place, but I haven't been able to Blog because friggin Blogger would NOT ALLOW ME TO SIGN INTO MY OWN BLOG!!


HA!! I fooled the bitch. I downloaded Mozilla and bypassed the glitch.


Except that I'm still too tired to Blog.


Get over it. I'll be back sometime soon with something vaguely entertaining to say.




Maybe.

Quietly turning the backdoor key, Stepping outside she is free.......

She's Leaving Home -- The Beatles -- 1967


Tomorrow. Yep, tomorrow. She gets the keys tomorrow afternoon.

Everyone is excited.

Some Poodles may still be missing. Once we move the piles of stuff we can do an accurate headcount.






ONE MORE DAY.

I'm Still Standin'

Elton John - Sometime in the 80's I think. I can't remember it all. Leave me alone.



I'm still alive. Barely. I might actually qualify as being in a permanent vegatative state. Somebody get me a living will and a goddamned pen. I have to leave these hairy hounds to some unlucky fool.

So this is how it's been going. Take 4 days vacation time from work. For relaxation.


Day 1:
Up at 7 a.m. Feed the pooches, toss in some laundry. Shower. Head out to the yard to refinish furniture. Come in at 1 for lunch. Head back out at 1:30 until about 7 p.m. or gnat-feeding time.

Day 2: Add in some painting to the above scenario. Then lather, rinse, repeat.

Day 3: Spend first 3 hours of the day moving the Princess' nice furniture out of her childhood bedroom and into my dining room. Downstairs. Alone. Big, antique items down a flight of stairs. ALONE. Spend the rest of the day outside in the yard. REFUCKINFINISHING FURNITURE.

Day 4: Drive up to NY, meet the Princess. Load her car and my truck with her *stuff*. For 2 full hours. From the second floor apartment. Not all of the stuff. It won't all fit in my empty SUV. But a big hunk of her stuff comes home. Drive back, unpack, organize, clean out.

Weekend day 1: Vegetate in chair from sheer exhaustion. Family finally props me behind the wheel of my car to tote them around on a shopping excursion for more *stuff*.

Weekend Day 2: Drive back to NY with the Princess. Reload my truck with 2nd load of the Princess' most valuable and treasured items. Drive back home. Too exhausted to unpack truck.

Today: Return to work after refreshing vacation. My Explorer is still packed to the roof. I now stubbornly refuse to unpack it as we will have to re-pack it in 4 days. Contemplate driving away......far, far away from this crappy life. I can sell the stuff out of the back of the Explorer and make some cash.

Reality: My house is bursting at the seams with all of the Princess' belongings. I have a chronic headache, a raging case of claustrophobia, I may or may not be missing one or more Poodles underneath the mounds of packing boxes, and all of the furniture in the garage is still not yet ready to be polyurethaned.

I still have to drive back to NY for one more fun-filled day of SUV packing.


5 more days people. 5 MORE DAYS and the Princess can get the keys to her new place. Her shit will be moved out of my house in about 33 minutes. My life will return to normal. I will be able to luxuriate in the spaciousness of a box-free dining room, a furniture free garage. It will be heaven. Sheer heaven.


Until then, don't ask any complicated questions, don't make any demands, and certainly never, ever send any housewarming gifts. I am not above murdering anyone bearing presents.



Talk to you all soon. Like next month. Unless you all chip in and send me movers and Merry Maids.