Drawers; Drew Toal

So I'm back in NY and I haven't unpacked yet but there's something I need to say before I do that and also I'll probably need to sit around for awhile and possibly I'll never unpack. I just don't like unpacking. I don't really like packing either. I've got a problem with things. I never quite know what to do with them and I have trouble getting rid of them. Over the vacation I was hanging out with the friend I dubbed Phil in the last post, although I could totally tell you it was the friend I dubbed Collins because seriously, how would you know? He had this bank of very small drawers with tiny things inside them. Tiny Tabasco bottles and those runts candies and teacup poodles and thimbles. Actually they were thimble poodles. They're so cute but I can't help but feel sorry for them.

Actually, none of those things were in the drawers. I don't really know what was in the drawers, probably nails of various sizes and washers and thumb tacks and twist ties and earring backings and paper clips and Q-tips and cotton balls and perfume samples and ribbons and very small scarves and packets of Splenda.

Oh! Speaking of, my landlords who are the best landlords ever got me a Facts of Life DVD and a book of recipes featuring Splenda for my bday! Aren't those the best gifts ever? They are!

So back to the small drawers. I looked at this bank of drawers and felt so calm and relaxed looking at it. It was like a waterfall screen saver or nature sounds. It was the organizational equivalent of a rainstick, except rainsticks are cheesy and make me think of didgeridoos, which are noisy.

I was so profoundly affected by the small drawers that I thought to myself, "Self, take note of this and do the equivalent in your New York apartment."

As I write this I'm sitting inside a small drawer and to my left is my sleeping drawer and to my right is my showering drawer. The only thing is that it's kind of difficult to use the bathroom in the middle of the night because it's hard to open the drawers from the inside and once you manage to get the thing open you have to throw yourself over the edge and then cling to the whole bank of drawers and then, because they all look the same from the outside it's easy to forget which is which. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

Wait, none of that was what I meant to say. Damn!

What I meant to say was that there's this young whippersnapper with whom I worked at Time Out New York by the name of Drew Toal who has informed me that he wants to challenge my media empire. "It's lonely in the upper quadrant of the lower middle," I warned him, but there was no getting through to him. He has a blog and I'm remiss in not linking to it so go there and get to know him.

Update: I cleaned

I'm noticing the rug looks all mottled in this photo but it's just the way the light is hitting it. Also, I didn't plan to bringing it with me from my last apartment because I don't really love it however at the last minute I brought it anyway. But I plan to replace it someday.

Unpacking progress

I've been twittering about how I don't want to unpack and how I'm really good at not unpacking but today I finally couldn't take it anymore so I looked in my suitcase and then sat down and messed around on the internet. But then I returned and decided that it was time to remove the suitcase from the room and put it back where it belongs, in a corner in the kitchen. In order to do this I emptied all the remaining crap out of the suitcase and dumped it on my bed, where it still is.


Now see, you might be thinking that isn't so bad, however then you look down and to the right and find this pile, which includes a suitcase that's been sitting there since I went to Canada along with assorted whatthefuckall.


Perhaps I'll clean all this up today. But I kind of doubt it. I've gotten really adept at stepping around it. Well, except for when I tripped over it last night.

Am I all packed?

My friend Anna, who is organized and owns a labelmaker, just asked me if I'm all packed. I thought I'd answer her with a photo:

Brooklyn can't keep its hands off me

Yesterday I went to this cute little antique or secondhand store near my apartment that had all this cool old furniture which smells cool and old and maybe a little like mothballs, but very hip vintage moth balls, not mass produced moth balls. I mean, the craftmanship that went into these balls. The elbow grease and the sweat. Someone labored over these balls. You don't find that in the city. So anyway I was talking with the woman who worked at the store because I can be garrulous and winning when I so choose, or when the moment chooses me, I mean, who's to say you know? So we're talking and she asks how long I've been in the neighborhood and I tell her three days and she comes out from behind the counter to give me a hug and say welcome to the neighborhood. It was so sweet I almost cried! And then I told my sister later that day and she almost cried! It's like we're just so relieved that anyone likes me! And then today I met my landlord's wife and daughter (they live above me) and they were super nice and gave me a sweet housewarming gift (a cute teapot and some tea) and told me I was home now and if there's anything I need not to hesitate to ask and she gave me a hug and it was so nice I almost cried. And then I told my parents and they almost cried! I'm telling you, it's like I've never known the touch of other human beings or something. Anyway, photo tour? I think so:




Here's me on moving day in the middle of the WORST allergy attack ever. I think my nose was swollen. I cannot emphasize enough how bad this allergy attack was. It was like a cat exploded on my face. And not in a good way. A less confident person would burn this photo, not upload it, but what the hell. I dare you to love me.

Here's one of the pieces of furniture I bought from the antique store near my apartment. Usually I like white furniture but new borough, new woodstain. Also, don't I look like a fussy little old man with this nightstand? You can't really tell but there is an umbrella and a bottle of aspirin on the shelf. It's the umbrella that makes me look geriatric for some reason. I should also stick a hot water bottle under there. And my reading glasses, even though I don't use reading glasses.
Oops, out of order. Here's me on moving day, transporting my precious plants. That's me with no makeup, by the way. None.


Here's the adorable teapot I received as a housewarming gift from my landlord. I also received a tin of tea but that isn't in this photo.



Here's another piece of furniture I bought from the antique store. Doesn't it kind of look like a smiley face or the face of a robot/computer in an 80s movie? I liked it until I wrote that.


Here's a lamp I bought at this little furniture store I discovered called Ikea. Who knew I like funky lamps? I didn't. But I do!


Here's a rounded edge bookshelf thing I bought from that store. Not Ikea, the other one.


I also bought a "secretary" although thus far this pink thing hasn't made me any coffee or filed anything.


Here it is, opened. It's blue inside! I totally didn't need this at all, however now that I have it I've made it my correspondence corner, in case I need to send anyone a postcard. Note: the last postcard I sent was in 1994.


Here's a bathroom storage thing I bought from someone off Craiglist. Now my whole bathroom smells like whatever hair products the person who used to own this used. It's a distinctive smell but I can't place it which is frustrating. I like to think I know my Garnier from my Aquanet from my Sebastian.


I love ducklings but I realized that the love I have for my dishwasher is a close second. I LOVE this dishwasher. A friend of mine told me he finds doing dishes relaxing. I find not doing dishes relaxing.

Inside my dishwasher.


Remember how I said my freezer smells like asparagus? Well asparagus, you've met your match. I'm tackling the problem head on. This baking soda was lovingly shot and backlit in my freezer.
And lest that smell think of laying down roots in my fridge? Think again.

I guess that's all for now.

I am alive!

Sorry blogreaders, I've been kinda MIA today. Last minute moving junk and either stress is making me feel like I'm going to barf or I really am going to barf. Which is good when you think about it because it'll lighten the load. At one point today I stood in front of five rolls of carpet which ranged in color from sand to taupe and then decided that I really couldn't decide today. I'm bad at decisions and I'm bad at being bad at decisions. But I am totally ready to talk about fall fashion trends on Good Day New York on Friday morning at 7:45am, so if you happen to be up and in New York, do tune in. I see it like this: I'll talk about fall fashion trends while modeling a look from past seasons. I call it the "this was hanging in my closet" look. Well, to be honest it might be the "this was hanging in my closet except for part of it which was crumpled on my floor." That look, by the way, is hot on all the runways in between my bedroom and living room.

Tomorrow is the official move, by the way. I'm at that point where I'm not just bringing stuff that I need or love, I'm just dumping crap into boxes. It's a sort of defeat, but it sure goes faster!

this is what my Twitter page looks like

When you're on Twitter and you look at your home page it shows you all the messages that all the people you're following have written along with yours. This is my impression of what my home page looks like:

everyone else: politics! denver! convention! important work!
me: boxes!

What we talk about when we talk about moving

Dustin: happy packing!
Me: oxymoron!

Box: 1; Me: 0

I'm having a fight with this box

Twice today I've found myself talking out loud even though I'm alone. The first was when I nearly stepped in a street loogie and let out a little yelp and then the second was this afternoon when I put together this wardrobe box which refused to crumple down in any way that would allow for neat and efficient taping. I'm pretty pissed at this box right now. Not as pissed as the woman I passed this morning who was berating her dog Lincoln because "Did I tell you you could get up, Lincoln? Did I? LINCOLN!" At first I thought she was yelling at a dog named Winky which made it even sadder. It was kind of like when you pass someone who's yelling at a kid and you want to reach out to the kid and report the parent but instead you just glare, kind of hoping they'll notice you but also a little afraid of what they'll do if your glaring causes a confrontation. But then I was thinking that she wasn't hitting her dog, she was just upbraiding him, but it was upsetting all the same. And she was a little thing and the dog was a big thing (a black lab) who was sort of putting up with her even though you could tell she was a total pain the ass.

But anyway, back to this box, it's just very spirited and on the one hand I don't want to break its spirit but on the other if it's going to house my clothing it's going to need to learn to cooperate.

Progress

Packing: Before and After

BEFORE

AFTER