Moving Day

I’ve been busy using my meager store of energy to move. Again. This is becoming a bad habit.

This time I didn’t go far, just upstairs to my shop. Still, being the pansy weak wimp that I am now, it wasn’t easy carting crap up the steps and then tottering back down for another load.

For the big stuff, I bribed friends to help. I called up my strongest friends and said, “Hey, how would you like to come for breakfast? There’s a catch.”

I got enough takers to get the job done, and even an offer to help me move every day if I would continue to cook breakfast like that every morning. ‘Forget it’, I said. Cooking is something I work hard to avoid. I do it about as often as I move. Which is shaping up to be about every six months.

So, tomorrow, people are moving into my house to defray the cost of rent I can no longer afford.
People I have never met. Three of them.

My idea of a getting a roommate was trying to find one quiet professional that I could boot once I got back on my financial feet.

Nowhere no how would I have thought to invite a single mother with a 13 year old daughter, a dog, a cat, and grandma from Poland who speaks no English.

But that’s what I did. My mouth was open and I was making the offer before I could stuff a stopper in it.

Life is either about to get very interesting, or intolerable enough to make living in a ford escort look very attractive.
Stay tuned.

I really can't read

20 years ago, I pitched my TV out the window after a particularly annoying set of commercials. I chose to become an avid reader, mostly of non-fiction.

However, thanks to vision disturbances caused by that damn tick, I've been reduced to perusing short articles and stalking blogs. Reading for longer than five minutes at a stretch causes the world to get a bit spinny.

On one hand, since I don't do drugs and alcohol, it's kinda fun watching words change shape, elongating and then shrinking, right before they start swirling round the page as my eyeballs begin to roll around in lazy circles. On the other hand, it's incredibly annoying just after getting into a good book, especially when I give up and stand up. Walking in that state leads to banging into walls because the dang doorways won't stay in one place. And who knew that coffee table could use those legs to walk into my path?

I can read for a longer period of time if I proceed very slowly. See. Dick. Run. See. Jane. with. ax. See. Spot. pee. on. carpet...I have always been a very fast reader, so reading slowly annoys me in even shorter order.

Eventually this will resolve itself, but for now, there's not much I can do but stare at the wall or watch Netflix. Not that there's much difference between the two.

I have, however, gleaned some valuable lessons while watching Netflix online streaming videos (no commercials!). For example, from watching Mythbusters raise a sunken boat using ping pong balls, I decided rather than equiping my next sailboat with a life raft, I'll simply fill it with ping pong balls to keep it from sinking in the first place. This would have the added advantage of preventing injuries while getting tossed around down below in a heavy sea, or after a long night at a shore side pub.

And should I ever get lost in the wilderness, following Bear Grylis' techniques will get me dead in a day. However, channeling Les Stroud should see me through.

Les: It's very important to avoid getting wet or hypothermic if you want to survive.

Bear: And now, instead of making my way alongside this raging river, seeking some hapless creature to bite the head off, I'm going to tie a few sticks together and hang on tight as I barrel down the frigid rapids, bashing into rocks as I go. And should I lose this 'raft', I'll have no problem safely body surfing the rapids until I can make my way out, soaking wet, freezing, battered and bruised, just as the sun sets.

Granted, watching some dumbass try to shoot down a river holding onto a couple of twigs is more exciting than watching some guy camping comfortably beside it, however...

Here I am, once again that landlubber person I said I'd never be: one who watches and life on TV rather than actually living it. It's enough to make a person want to go get lost in the woods, ticks and all.*


I promise this will be the last time I mention ticks or Lyme's in any of my posts**

**probably

The Way Out

I mentioned in my previous post that the events of this ‘summer’ have caused me financial stress. I managed to pay the rent last week, but with the season now over and my mobility still somewhat challenged, I don’t have a prayer of making it until next spring.

I’ve been wracking my poor lyme-fogged brain over how to get out of this black hole of poverty, and believe I have found the answer. But I’ll need some help. Initially the participants will have to volunteer, but when the funds start rolling in, I’ll pay you back.

The first step is to move to Arizona and rent a house. The second is to organize a housewarming party, inviting my ‘girlfriends’. This is where the volunteers come in. Although no men will be invited, I will need one male volunteer on standby, preferably a boyfriend/husband of one of the women.

Each woman will bring a dildo as a housewarming gift. During the party, I will get in an argument/catfight with the woman who has the man in her life. She will accuse me of making eyes at him; I will accuse her of being a jealous witch. Things will deteriorate from there, and one of the other guests will call the police.

When the cops come, I will be on top, beating the woman about the head with a dildo, the others toys lying on the floor nearby. When the cops ask who owns all this contraband, the other women will collectively point to me. The officers will have no choice but to arrest me, because in Arizona, it is illegal to own more than two dildos. The fuzz may appear squeamish about taking me in, but the other women will insist, by threatening to report the cops for refusing to do their job. After all, the law is the law, and isn’t having so many instruments of pleasure as bad as having a house full of meth?

So what’s the financial advantage of getting arrested for having too many dildos (honestly can a woman have too many?)?

Once I’m out on bail, I’ll contact the tabloids and talk shows, selling out to the highest bidders. I’ll have already written a rough draft of the book, ready to clean it up with pertinent details. It will have to be published quickly, before my five minutes of fame wear off.

I probably won’t make a fortune, but I bet I’ll at least be able to refrain from having to reside in my car over the course of the winter. And even if this plan doesn’t pan out as designed, at least car dwelling will be more comfortable in Arizona, rather than freezing in frigid New England.

Who wants to come to a party?