A Year’s Worth of Unread Magazines. Horror of Moving Part 2

There’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table that’s almost a foot high. I don’t want to move them. They’re heavy and they’re not my brother.

The worst part is that I only receive two magazines: Smithsonian and my monthly mag from Mensa. How could they all be piling up unread? After all I’m a reading machine, usually with two or three books going at once.

Wait. I just answered the question! Books are fabulous because they offer a  continuing storyline. Easy to get lost in and forget the hellish real world for hours at a time.

Magazines are comprised of short essays, which dart from one subject to another unrelated one. There’s just no comparison.

I ‘ve PRAYED that the waiting areas at the doctor/dentist/mechanic would have something other than People, Sports Illustrated, Vogue or Cosmo. Dear god the length of the ‘articles’ in the pop press boggles the mind. Maybe each one is a full paragraph. Since when do a few sentences constitute an article?

Back in the day my only subscriptions were to Rolling Stone and National Lampoon. I read them as soon as they were delivered. My roaring twenties.

The Mensa mag is mostly for entertainment value. It comes free (i.e. $52.00 a year) with membership. Occasionally there are some good pieces but it’s mostly a lot of infighting of world-wide geniuses such as myself (citation needed).

Mexican Wrestling on late night TV comes close.

No, the problem, and most of the weight, comes from the Smithsonian subscription. The articles are written well and are both informative and interesting. In fact for each one I’ve started this week several hours can pass. Once you get some information on a topic it leads to further research on the internet. Suddenly you’ve spent an entire evening attempting to ‘browse’ a magazine.

I’m led further down the spiral by the range of topics: rare turtles, 19th Century photographers, Americana, the human brain, Prohibition, Memphis history, Medieval architecture. Every story is really a story.

Most of the huge collection of books have already been packed. You know how I’ll be spending my evenings from now until moving day though.

I’d rather gain knowledge than move it.

 

~Miss R

It Came From Beyond The Dresser: Horror of Moving Part 1

So I’m moving to a new place in two weeks. Yeah yeah we all say we’ll never move again every fucking time. Right.

The easy part was arranging for the piano movers to wrestle the behemoth of a grand piano. Money = Someone else doing the work. Naturally that part left me broke and prostrating myself to the good will of friends to help with the rest.

There are a lot of good things to move. Along with the usual assortment of utter crap that I have been dragging around the country for thirty years.

What’s the horror in this tale?

It’s the same as you’ve all been through: Sorting through the boxes, pictures, family correspondence, things that belonged to dad and of course the truly terrifying sock drawer.

The only time I have a matched pairs of socks is when I move.

At all other times socks disperse to the far corners of drawers, behind dressers, and of course flee from the house all together. The things are sentient I tell you.

It’s sad to move. You find pictures that you’d forgotten about, portraits that have not been hung on the walls, clothes that haven’t fit in 2 years (some that your fat ass hasn’t squeezed into for 10 years) and the well-known How The Fuck Did I Get So Many Pairs Of Shoes?

It’s reminiscing about the good times and laughter you’ve had in your current home, and the remorse and sadness for the bad times.

What I’m trying to say is that moving stirs up more than dust. It stirs up memories and emotions. Lost treasures.  And those damned socks.

~Miss R

Things I like about the New House

  1. No elephants trampling about upstairs and moving cinderblocks and 50 gallon barrels at 7:00 a.m.
  2. My next door neighbors are also Burners. Only 117 more days ’till the Man burns!
  3. The landlord owns a very cool Gay bar and there’s a chance for a piano gig at the end of the proverbial rainbow. Miss R started out her professional career playing piano in the Long Beach Gay bars. It would be a nice full circle kind of touch doncha think?
  4. There’s a patio that DOESN’T resemble Little Tijuana in the slightest. I even have a patch of dirt (I shall command it to be grass soon) of my very own.
  5. The neighbor’s cat gives Lizzie Borden something to obsess on during her lazy days perched in the window.
  6. There’s room for a grand piano in this place!
  7. The windows are strategically placed for maximum sunshine in the mornings. It does a morose and misanthropic soul good with a cup of fresh coffee.
  8. I can play Ziggy Stardust at Maximum Volume as per directed on the album cover. There’s also room to dance around in a scantily clad manner given my mood.
  9. No one takes my parking space. It’s mine all mine I tell you!
  10. My 1930’s and 40’s antique pieces go perfectly in this old cottage. Much funkiness is to be had despite the lack of closet space and noticeable lack of electrical outlets.

Things I Miss About the Old Place

  1. I knew where everything was
  2. ummmmmmmm okay that’s it.

~Miss R

Currently Listening to:

Jimmy Eat World
Clarity

Bitch Bitch Bitch

I think that the Audi is a gonner.

A friend of a friend was over here along with the friend and her two daughters, for 10 hours on Sunday. The entire car was taken apart and the water pump and heater core replaced.
Trust me. This involved taking apart the dashboard, console and every other portion of the damned front end.
The Audi now runs but the stereo no longer works and oh yeah….it spews smoke.
Diagnosis: the engine went sideways when the car overheated due to the water pump and heater core.
Bottom Line: the new (new for me and was to last for 5 years) car I purchased three months ago, and drove for 3 weeks, is now a pile of shit.

Wait (I hear you say) what else is making you kvetch?
Well (I hear myself say) it could be the move.
Grrrrrrrrr.
There’s a reason no one likes moving. It sucks ass. Oh yeah it’s time consuming as hell when you’re single. There’s the triple reason no one wants to help. It hurts your back and every other part of your anatomy. Including the psyche.

So I’ve got two two two stressors going right now.
Stress bad. Alcohol good but if I drink I can’t accomplish the moving.
Oh the horror.

The blogs have fallen off to virtually nada here. These are my reasons.
Do you like them?
Do you think they’re sexy?
Do you think they’d do well on the catwalk?

Yours in the Abyss of Everyday Life,

~Miss R

currently listening to:
Elliot Smith
XO

A New Home


I
have found a new place to live. Huzzah.

It’s a funky old cottage built in the 1940’s. Only about 8 blocks from here and still in the same neighborhood. It sits behind a main house and we’re separated by a back yard… and a lot of reality.

The place has a large enough living room to accommodate the grand piano as well as a finished basement. Although the cottage is a one bedroom the basement will be the new bedroom of the Demon Seed ™.  I’m going to separate the large space with curtains so there’s still plenty of storage.
She’ll like it. A stripper used to live down there. Oh yes, the walls are carpeted. In red. This house is already a good story.

Have to begin paying rent as of the 15th which is far too rapidly approaching. I’ll be throwing money at the place to start (and the rent is high)  but the Joy Factor and Happiness Co-Efficient in relation to having my piano are more than worth it.
Got the key today so I can start in on scrubbing and lining shelves tomorrow.

Naturally I’ve paid the full month’s rent on my current place, as well as giving 30 days notice. I’ll chalk it up to good karma points and take the monetary loss.
So if you’re reading this and really love helping people move you know where I am.
This translates to: I’ll be on my own.
So yeah.

Got out and about fairly early this morning. A trip to the market, the gym, the new place to pick up the key and also a tan. Have had the blues so sometimes sunlight therapy helps. Yesterday afternoon it fucking snowed again.
So I go to lie down in the tanning bed and realize that I’m wearing a thong instead of regulation bikini panties.
Dammit.
You know what? That really burns my ass.

~Miss R

currently listening:
Belle and Sebastian
Dear Catastrophe Waitress

A Grand Situation

I’m drinking a lousy Starbucks coffee but it was purchased under duress.
Well, more like stress than duress but what the hell.

Had to have more bloodwork done this morning, so I was out and about at 8:00 a.m. Since there’s a 12 hour fast required prior to the blood draw I couldn’t make my pot of coffee before I left the house. Hence the stale, burnt, bitter Starbucks.
Not that I think that their coffee is garbage. I don’t.
I think it’s shit.

I’ve been lacking in motivation the past ten days and was sick two days last week. I actually went to see a doctor (hate that, having no health insurance) which is why more blood work was instigated.
This lack of motivation has been inspired by some other causes than those of a physical nature. Such as this one!

The phone rings Thursday night and it’s my step-mother. Seems she’s sold Dad’s house. This was unexpected as the gingerbread manse was priced at a million bucks and is located in Idyllwild; that ephemeral mountain town of few people, beautiful forests, snow-covered peaks, no stop-lights, and my old life.

Here’s the problem. Now that dad’s house has been sold I have less than 40 days to get the concert grand piano (oh it’s bigger than a baby grand trust me) into my possession in Reno.
Uh oh. There’s barely enough room for me in this apartment.
In reality this means that I have less than 40 days to find a new home.

I’ve seen a few places out there and so far nothing I can afford or deem safe.  I’m supposed to go and look at a house today. It’s owned by an acquaintance who’s moving out of state and it sounds perfect. Fabulous location, landscaped yard, plenty of room for my daughter, myself, the grand piano, keyboards and antiques as well.
Everything except for one small detail. The rent is almost double what I can afford.
There’s potential though: The house is supposed to be split into two parts, with both having their own entrances. Theoretically this means I could rent the house and sublet half of it.
This frightens the hell out of me. For good reason.

Donna told me to ’take a chance!’ and do it.
I don’t know. It seems that every time I’ve taken a chance recently, well in the past year or so, my luck hasn’t been that great. In fact it’s been lousy and I’m tired of being beat up. Or better yet, beating myself up. The bruises take a long time to heal and while I look good in black, blue just isn’t my color.

In case you’re thinking ’Rachael why don’t you sell the piano and buy a smaller one or simply consider leaving the piano in Idyllwild?’ I’ll tell you that there’s no way.

For one thing it is the sole thing that my father left to me. That piano is alive. It’s more than a gorgeous piece of furniture. It’s more than a musical instrument. It’s more than a piano… which for me is saying volumes.
This Knabe grand has been in the family since the 1930’s. My father learned to play on it. I can remember him playing when I was a little girl and this is what inspired me to learn. When I was a teenager and would visit him on the weekends this piano saved my life. His family then (a psycho step-mother and her psycho brood) were very cold and hostile towards me but I could always escape at the keyboard and into my music.
My father knew this. We shared the gift and love of music through this physical thing made of wood and strings.

So it will stay with me. When I die it will go to my daughter. I hope so anyway. It would be a good legacy. There is no gift so fine as music and memories.

I’ll let you know how the house hunt goes.
Oh, and if you reside in Reno and know of a 2 bedroom place with a living room large enough for a grand piano then please do contact me.
Soon.
Really really fucking soon.

~Miss R

Hire me or adopt me or kill me

It’s November 1st.
“So what?” I hear you say.
Well, November is a strange month for Miss R.
The obsession with Christmas and the holidays will begin.
The weather may or may not turn conducive to skiing.
Finding last year’s winter wardrobe is a challenge.
Finding out if last year’s wardrobe still fits is always paralyzing.
Of course about everyone in my family has a birthday coming up in the next month as well.
In the next 4 days alone there are three of them.
Matter of fact I’m flying down to Laguna on Saturday morning to celebrate my dad’s 75th and my niece’s 19th.
In less than two weeks I’ll be another year older as well. Jesus.
This isn’t the reason that November 1st agitates and frightens me though. Not this year.

Today marks the first time in more than 20 years that I do not have the rent or mortgage payment on time. Hell, I don’t have any of it and the chances of coming across almost $700.00 in the next 24 hours are pretty bleak.
Halloween wasn’t the only scary thing this week.

Now that it comes down to the bottom line I don’t really want to leave Reno.
Dammit.
Yes Idyllwild is where my daughter is and I miss her. Many old friends and acquaintances are in Idyllwild.
My dad’s getting older and he’s in Idyllwild.
Idyllwild itself is gorgeous and serene.
It’s just that…. I don’t wanna go.

Sure it’s better moving to the same town as my father as opposed to my mother. I can probably get a job quite simply in Idyllwild; I know way too many people there. Moving to Placerville instead entails far more difficulty in finding employment.
If I can’t find a viable job in Reno there’s sure as hell not going to be one in Placerville or Pollock Pines.

Reasons to Go:

1. Have my daughter back home with me. Her grades are back up to A’s and B’s and the goth make-up seems to be a thing of the past as well. She’ll still be an obnoxious ungrateful teen who buys her clothes at Hot Topic but I can live with that.

2. Be closer to my Dad. He’s looking and acting older each time I see him. It freaks me out.

3. My alcoholic friends.

4. The solitude and beauty of daily walks on forest trails. The breathtaking sight of the pines and mountains covered in winter snow.

5. It’s cheaper to live in Idyllwild and there are no ‘transitional’ or iffy neighborhoods. It’s in the middle of National Forest for godssake.

6. Potential employment opportunities at the private Arts High School or for a local business (i.e. old friend).

7. I can’t find a damned job in Reno. Over-qualified. Under-qualified. Have applied for every conceivable position from Web Designer to Barista to Sales Rep in the last few months. Nada.

8. I have no close relationships in Reno anymore. Not my daughter and not a lover or boyfriend.

Reasons to Stay:

1. I fucking hate packing and moving.

2. Idyllwild is a small village. I will never get laid again in my life.

3. There are people in Reno I will miss.

4. No skiing in Idyllwild and the closest ski resorts are a three hour drive to Big Bear.

5. Idyllwild is a small village. I will never get laid again in my life.

6. The closest large stores to Idyllwild are a minimum of one hour away. Down a winding narrow mountain road. Everything’s pretty damned close to home here in Reno. The Truckee River, Wingfield Park, Downtown, and shopping.

7. My father and step-mother live in Idyllwild. Yes at age xx I’m still worried about my parents knowing everything that I do.

8. I left Idyllwild as ‘Someone.’ I’ll return as a groveling pathetic shell of my former glorious self. The humiliation co-efficient is astronomical. Being a nobody in Reno is okay with me. Under the radar and all.

9. Idyllwild is a small village. I will never get laid again in my life.

What to do. What to do.
Of course when my ass is on the street there may not be any decision left to me. So there you have it. A few months bitching about being this looming possibility and now that time is here. Right in my face.

Well fuck me to tears.

~Miss R

Currently listening :
Every Second Counts
By Plain White T’s
Release date: 26 February, 2007