Boxing Day

Sorry I've been distracted, but I've been shipping off all kinds of goodies to New Orleans and my life has been an absolute whirl of packing tape and cartons and pissed off kitties who do not appreciate change, not one bit.

I have known for months and months that I would be sending all the furniture and knick knacks I've bought here so of course that meant I completely ignored packing until the night before the movers came calling to load up the Pod when I burst into a frenzy of relocation.

Have you heard of the wonders of the Pod?  The company drops off a shipping container in your driveway,  you stuff it full of your flotsam, and they pick it back up to ship it off to your destination.  It's possible flying monkeys are involved.

Part of the thrill of dealing with the company is announcing that "the pod people are coming on Wednesday," which sounds a lot like the vilains from some cheesy 50's sci-fi flick are dropping by for drinks and a couple of hands of bridge.

Naturally, I have spent the last few days since the pod left bumping into things I meant to ship off in it.  Books.  Linens.  Speakers.  Cats that refuse to stop pissing in the corner because they're mad that I shipped the bed I thought of as mine but turns out it's "ours."  Stuff.

I'm not Mad at You, I'm Mad at the Dirt. Wait, Maybe I am Mad at You

It is, as so many things are, all my mommy’s fault. When I was just a wee little duckling, she had me store my toys in separate boxes, one for my cars, one blocks, one for Legos, you get the picture. So now when I say I cleaned up my garage I don’t mean I sort swept the bigger pieces of dirt into the corners and called it a day. O baby, no. I hauled every single item out, tried to talk myself into throwing it away (up to and including our car) and if I absolutely couldn’t, I shoved it, neatly, under the stairs where I can’t see it.

I understand my goal of having an empty garage is a futile one. The purpose, after all, is storage, and yet the thrill of big open spaces is so powerful. I don’t want a garage, I want the steppes of Russia.

The best part was that R Man and I were able to work together on a project without me turning into Baby Jane. I do not play well with others. On jobs around the house, I tend towards snarky bitchiness and my sweet, sweet boyfriend has borne the brunt of this way too many times. So to be able to successfully hang up a ladder (hoo hoo) without swerving towards Divorce Court is more of an accomplishment than it might sound.

Boyfriend was so relieved to come out of it with his skin in one piece, he even allowed me to dump the ratty little dresser he’s had for decades. He found it on the street in the French Quarter and dragged it home (just like me!) and has kept it ever since (just like me!) It served us long and well, but time to go is time to go and thanks to craigslist, it’s gone. So farewell, loyal bureau, godspeed, and may the underwear of others repose in your semi-sturdy embrace for years to come.

On a separate note, go immediately to Fabulon and watch the Official Fabulon Video http://thombeau.blogspot.com/2007/07/official-video-of-fabulon.html . The thrill of a glammed-out Dame Shirley Bassey covering one of the great anthems of our time is not to be missed.

I Gotcher Box Right Here, Baby

I want to go see “Stardust”, don’t you? Everyone who agrees with me that the prospect of seeing Robert De Niro in cancan drag is too fabulous to pass up should plan on getting in line behind me. And it has Rupert Everett (who was probably trying on the cancan underwear every time De Niro took it off) just in case there isn’t sufficient poofiness.

I cleaned out the garage last night in a burst of suburban housefrau madness which I am so regretting now as I sit here achy and tired and even crabbier than usual. The garage does look pretty tidy, I must say. It’s very gratifying. Plus, along with a bunch of stuff destined for the Goodwill limbo, I found a big stack of moving boxes, so I offered them on Craigslist for free and suddenly my email is full of new friends, lusting after my boxes. That’s very gratifying, too.

I gotta go.