The Big Funk

i figured this would happen.

I seem to not want to do anything at all right now. The house is full of things I need to pack. I have to call the movers. I need to go to the pharmacy and refill all prescriptions before my insurance runs out. I have to forward numbers and addresses and take the cats to the vet.

So why don’t I want to leave the couch?

I have been turned down for every apartment I applied for. There’s one left, but I’m just assuming I won’t get that one either. I’m calling it tomorrow, but I’m being realistic. This means we’re moving in with Ray, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s just not what I had hoped for. It’ll be different, getting used to a roommate again, in a city I’ll have to learn, with new people and new things. On one hand, I’ll be living with a little piece of home. On the other, there may be some problems when all three people want to be online at once. We’re already discussing hubs and Airport and things like that. It’ll all fix itself.

It’ll all fix itself. I know it will. I just don’t like this particular time.

The last time everyone from LA came to town (for SXSW), it stormed in Austin for a full week after everyone left. It’s been raining since yesterday now, and I can hear outside gearing up for another storm.

I used to joke about the real rain coming to wash the filth away, but now I know I’m about to join in that group to LAX.

It doesn’t help that my close friend just moved out there on Friday and he lost his place to live and now he’s looking for an apartment and just wants to come home.

It doesn’t help that my friend who moved out there in August just lost her place to live and is looking for somewhere to put her stuff as well.

How do so many people live out there? What do they have that I don’t have? Oh, right. A job in Los Angeles. How silly of me.

Hey, I’ve got a debate going now for over two years. I just realized I should have posted here long ago to find out the majority answer.

In the song “Pop Goes the Weasel,” how do you know the lyrics? See here for the full debate.

So, yeah, I’m a little bummed out. I should just get over it and get to work, and after cleaning out some of my things, I’m sure I’ll start to feel less overwhelmed. I think I also just needed a couple of days rest after traveling, apartment hunting, and then watching stee get treated like a rockstar at the Film Festival. It’s exhausting. Oh, and Karaoke. Never forget the Karaoke.

Last night I had a dream that I couldn’t stop little kids from setting themselves on fire with hairspray and lighters. I think perhaps I’m not doing very well.

Club Protege’s new owner called my house this morning. Three times, actually. He seems like a nice person. He wanted to know some of the maintenance history on Club Pro (I slipped the car’s name into our conversation a few times, so he learned what to call her). Now, it wasn’t until Eric got home and asked, “How did he get your name and phone number?” that I realized the car dealership gave this guy my name and information. Can they do that? Eric wants to get a free car out of this mistake. I just think that it’s a little too much information. I can understand having the dealership call me and ask about the history of the timing belt, but just letting the new owner call me up? What if he didn’t like the car? What if he figures out there’s a credit card in the door? I don’t know. I liked knowing that the car was in good hands and the guy liked driving it and thinks it’s a great car, but what if he was a freak? What if he just wanted to get more information on me, or whatever weird thing used-car-serial-killers do? I don’t know. It’s strange, though. He wants me to send him any old receipts I have from the car’s service over the past seven years. What good is three hundred oil change receipts going to do for anyone? I’m blacking out my address, even though it doesn’t matter since I’m moving, but what if he continues to talk to me after I move to LA? I don’t know. It’s all very strange, I think. Can the car dealership just do that?

So, I’m back home now, and I’ve had a couple of days to sorta rest (there was a recap in there and such), and I’m now about to just get working on the move. The packing, the sorting, the phone calls. I need to talk to Ray (who’s in town here right now, actually) about how to get all of this to work, and what my new address will be so I can call the movers with information. I have to find out how many flights of stairs the movers will have to climb to put the stuff in the house. I have to find out what my average utilities bill will be. I have to find out when his roommate is moving out so we can move in. I have to find a storage company that will house our washer and dryer. We just can’t bear to part with it yet, and we’re hoping the place we finally find for ourselves out there will have washer/dryer connections.

And not just a sink faucet and an electrical outlet like that one scary place tried to convince me.

It was strange being home today while everyone was at work. Last week was more like time off than actually not being at work. Today, however, seeing Oprah on my television, reminded me that this was what I wanted. I wanted to work at home and get things done from my living room couch. I can’t screw this up. I have to prove that I don’t need an office to get things finished. I’ve found that being stuck at an office made me finish all of my work. There are lots of ways for me to put that off when I don’t have to leave a small room to not work. Even just sitting on my couch and surfing the web. I can surf longer when there are not time restraints. When I don’t have someone reminding me that the day is almost over.

I’m showering less. I’m becoming disgusting.

Twenty something apartments in two days and I’ve got nothing to show for it but an exhausted cell phone and a debt to stee that I’ll never be able to pay. Oh, and I drove myself all the way from LAX to stee’s apartment all by myself without getting lost. I was so proud of myself that I called other people on my cell phone bragging about being the coolest girl in LA. I didn’t even use a highway. I also found my way to the grocery store and bought cat food for stee’s cat. Okay, he did make a map for me highlighted with directions involving a small cartoon of me in the car and how I would drive from his place to around the corner and back, but I did follow those directions and I didn’t get lost.

I do think, however, that I parked his car in a wrong place, and he might come home to find either his car towed or wearing a giant yellow boot. In Pittsbugh, people just park on busy streets in the afternoons and evenings. I’d be driving along Route 8 and have to slam on the brakes because around the turn was a parked car. This made no sense to me until I was trying to park stee’s car in his neighborhood and just decided that half of the car sticking out into the turn lane was better than having to drive the car around until the morning when people left for work. You just end up deciding that things are good enough for now.

I think Taylor might be sick, or is a little depressed. I’m sure he knows what moving boxes mean, and I haven’t been around much lately. He keeps sleeping by my side, and he’s a bit mopey. Cal seems to be just fine, however. He always is.

Well, I just went and kissed Taylor on the top of his head and he pulled away like he always does, so he’s feeling better, I guess. He acts like a fifteen-year old boy all the time. He doesn’t like it when I touch him, cuddle, or walk in when he’s in the bathroom.

Okay, it’s getting late and I really should be packing or cleaning something. I’m pretty sure every entry for the next week will end that way. Bear with me. You’re about to embark on a big scary journey with me. Aren’t you excited? You don’t even have to leave your computer and it doesn’t cost a dime.

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