Dangling a Carrot
I finished unpacking last night in a frenzy of cardboard and stuffing things in whatever remaining space I could find. After a few days of wondering "why the hell I didn't throw that away," my plans of having an ordered storage system crumbled. Technically, some boxes still sit waiting for their contents to find a permanent home, but they must stay put until I get some actual furniture. I'm currently lacking a table and chairs, a bed, a dresser, a desk and some kind of storage for my books. I have a couch, coffee table and media stand, but those will be replaced. They are either in the late stages of total dilapidation or the wrong color for my upgraded Berber carpet and faux marble countertops.
The first step in the design process is a couch, which I ordered today. It's a mini-sectional in charcoal microsuede, on which I can't wait to play pants-less poker and feel its velvety crush on my bare thighs. Because I ordered it in a special color, it won't arrive until early July, which is okay since I'll be gone half of June anyway. I have my eye on a table from Pier 1, that search--like the one with the couch--complicted by the relatively small dining space. I hope it looks as good in person as it does online, and if so, I'll have it by the end of the weekend. My TV sits too low right now. It basically dominates an entire wall and I'd like to raise it up by a foot or so, as well as getting something a little more classy and roomy than the gunmetal and frosted glass industrial rig where it currently sits. A dark wood, something in an espresso, would be nice. The bedroom set can wait, since I do have a frame and my mattress isn't likely to get a workout any time soon.
I'm surprised I got everything to fit. Though the apartment is advertised at nearly 1200 square feet, I'm sure that includes both the good-sized balcony (oh yeah, I need outdoor furniture, too) and the garage. And while the main living area is relatively small, the master bath and walk-in closet are both huge. I think perhaps this is a disproportionate use of space, but I'll be able to make it work without being cluttered. I hates me the cluttered.
I think I'm gonna like it here. It's been a while since I've had free reign and I'm compiling a laundry list of things I want to do during my non-AJ time. I seem to have shaken the malaise I was feeling those last few weeks in the house, where I pretty much spent all my time drunk and playing online poker. In fact, the only poker I've played in the last week was the Gemini and have only had three beers in that time. That said, I expect to find myself a few beers deep when the 9K starts tonight as a trip to the local BevMo is on tap. I hope my new exurb has a wider selection than my last exurb.
One thing I've noticed is that my sleeping habits are slowly changing. Or, to be more precise, they are changing back. I'd always been a nocturnal sort and for much of my career, I had hours that fit with that lifestyle. When X and I were first married, in fact, I worked a swing shift, rarely getting home before 2 a.m. She didn't work at the time and we'd stay up 'til sunrise most days. That used to be my favorite time of the day, where the sky slowly morphs to blue and you're almost in a dreamlike state. I haven't seen the sunrise in a long time.
Once I got promoted, it was the first time I'd ever had a Monday thru-Friday (roughly) 9-to-5 gig. I was happy about it at first. AJ was on the way, so it was a more traditional schedule. I've been doing it for five years now and I guess I'd forgotten how things used to be, how I used to doze off listening to Howard Stern (when he was funny, before his persecution complex overwhelmed everything). I used to always fall asleep with the radio on. Until X decided she didn't like it. Guess what I've been doing this week?
I had AJ last night for a couple hours as X went off to night school. We put a puzzle together and watched the A's blow a touchdown lead thanks to a devastated bullpen and the inability of Macha to remove a pitcher one batter early instead of one batter late. She came to get him at 9 and my first thought was, "What am I going to do now?" My almost immediate answer was, "ANYTHING I WANT!" Nine o'clock represented "late" to me, likely because I've been getting up at 5 in the ayem the last two years for my long commute. Well, my commute is shorter (by 90 minutes a day) and I haven't gotten down before midnight all week. Mostly unpacking, but some writing, too. Last night, I briefly entertained the idea of showering up and hitting a local watering hole, getting the lay of the nightlife land in my pre-fab community. I demured, less because I was skittish at the prospect, more because I wanted to "finish" the move. Yet, the very idea that I COULD just head right out drinking without needing permission gave me a little spasm of joy.
I have an obscenely large (for me) bank balance right now, so what I did was go to my local ATM and get four-dozen recipts that show the amount. I'm carrying these with me 24/7 so if I meet a girl I can write my phone number on the receipt and she'll be impressed enough by my massive liquidity that she'll agree to sleep with me forthwith. I figure the statute of limitations for being a man-pig and treating women like mere objects only runs through Aught Six, so I'd better get on the horse--and the recipts are the carrot--if I want to exact a little revenge on the female gender for their illogical and lying ways. It's a win-win since women who would be swayed by a bank account deserve to be treated in a manner consistent with their own shallowness and I think I'm the man to fit the bill.
My sister offered that she knows a woman she'd like me to meet, but I told her I'd let her know when it was okay for her to introduce me to people she likes. I couldn't fathom holding up my end of a relationship right now, so I'll just aimlessly troll bar parking lots looking for drunk girls with low self-esteem and a penchant for thin brown guys.
I'm being mostly facetious.
Speaking of getting back on the horse, I got an e-mail from an old girlfriend this week. A friend of hers saw me on the Greed re-run this weekend. I've always been strangely attracted to women with unusual noses and this one has a classic Roman proboscus. She was smart, fun and went to college out of state so I didn't have time to get sick of her. We first met during the Castle days when Donny was dating her twin sister, also possessed of the nose and the fabulous breasts that ran in the family. We were off-and-on for 18 months or so and then off when she decided that, despite being a great guy, I was goal-less and therefore not a good future prospect. I couldn't argue with her. But then we got together again a few years later after I'd pulled myself out. She lived in another state, but all her friends were in LA and visited often. I even once visited her and that time she wondered aloud if we could "make it work" if she moved back. I politely danced around the idea. I didn't like her that much. Though I've always held her in high esteem.
This isn't the first e-mail I've gotten from long-missing people in the last few months and every time I wonder if I should spill the events of my life. With her, I did. Just a little, of course, not the typically wordy treatise you all are accustomed to. She wrote back a nice letter, a nice little ego stroke, though addng the disclaimer that it's possible I've turned into an a-hole in the last 7 years.
I'll be spending some time this weekend at some of your higher-end retailers to get some phat threads for my trip across the Pond. This ritual is also known as "Taking Pauly Shopping."
Then, at some point, I think I'll get drunk. Because I can.