floorpie

I’m leaving for China tonight and I’ve done just next to nothing by way of preparation. I have all of the assorted chargers and connectivity cables for every gadget I’m bringing piled up on the floor next to my bed, but that’s about it. The list includes:

.: personal cell phone charger
.: office cell phone and charger (with local China number)
.: camera charger and connection cable
.: iPod battery back-up and charger
.: laptop charger and CAT5 cable

Which all means, if you think about it, that I could be carrying up to about $3000 worth of equipment on me at any given time; and if you think that sounds like a lot in the US, you should hear what it sounds like when you say it in Chinese.

Do I need all this stuff? (yes)

I’m not looking as forward to this trip as the last time I went a few months ago for a few reasons.

One, the last time it was a means of escaping the horror that was my living situation what with my apartment burning down. This time it looks like my apartment will be ready to be moved into while I’m gone. I’d rather be here getting my laugh back.

Two, I still feel like I’m coming down with something. More likely, I already had whatever it was, it’s over, and I’ve just all been translated as a general feeling of malaise for the last couple of days. Either way, it would suck to get deathly ill on a 14-16 hour flight.

Three, I went out with the hot girl I met Friday night this Friday night and had a really very good time. It’s just that now it’s like, “Wow, that was incredible, I’m so glad we did this. Well, see you in a month!”

On the other hand, I’m getting a free trip to Asia, what’s there to complain about? I’m looking forward, in particular, to seeing Taipei again, which I haven’t been to since 2003. Remind me I need to pack a toothbrush.

1 out of the 3 things mentioned yesterday didn’t happen today because I feel like I’m coming down with something… again. This is particularly strange, as I’ve been taking vitamins like mad for weeks now. On par, in fact, with my youth where my mother force-fed me some 13 pills a day. With breakfast. Before school. And sometimes a few more when I got home just for good measure.

I can’t complain, though, because I was rarely ever sick, and when I was, it was for something like a day and a half. My hyper-immune system coasted for a few years after leaving home (and really going lax on the vitamin-taking thing) until about my junior year of college when I got sick three or four times in a 6 month period. Back on the vitamins after that.

Anyway, it’s one of those things where most everyone at my office seems to be getting sick, lately. And by “everyone”, I mean like 5 people… but when your office is about 20 people, 5 suddenly becomes a quarter of the population. One of the worst offenders is my boss, who has been mucus-filled and hacking for at least 2 weeks now. Seeing as he sits across from me, I’m blaming him.

Also: go home! It’s not cool to bring your sick with you to work.

Of course, there’s a reason for my bitterness and that’s that I’m going to China this Saturday for a few weeks. I do not want to go feeling ill.

I have no idea why I’m posting a picture of Jennifer Love Hewitt. Not that I exactly, need an excuse, she’s gorgeous and represents everything that is right with the world (I bet you thought the answer to the trivia question, “What represents everything that is right with the world?” was “The Peace Corps”. You’re wrong, though. It’s “Jennifer Love Hewitt”).

At any rate, I was writing this post about canceling a date for fear of extended illness, and the phrase “Jennifer Love Hewitt” swam through my brain. Not the image, which I would have much preferred, the phrase. Apropos of nothing. So I google’d her, got an image, and here we are. You’re lucky I even came back, because once you start looking for images of JLH, you rarely come up for air for days.

What was I saying? Was it that I have an overwhelming and consistent fantasy of pulling over to help someone with a flat tire to discover that it’s Jennifer Love Hewitt? I help her change to her spare (help her mind you. In my dream, J-Love is really into learning how to do it for herself) with sexy results.

No, I was mentioning China.

Ah, that must mean I was having that Jennifer Love Hewitt fantasy where I help her with a flat tire… in China.

Be sure to tip your waitress, I’ll be here all week.

So, I’m going to Hong Kong, China, and Taiwan. I will hopefully only be gone for 2 weeks this time, because as much as I love China (or travelling to Asia in general), I am almost positive that I am within a couple of weeks of moving back into my very own apartment. (<---put exclamation marks there, ad nauseum. Like this: !!!!!!!!!!!!). Which means that, unless the place catches fire again while I’m gone (from a single ember left smoldering under the floor boards for months), I should be able to move back in when I get back. And I’m stoked about that. I toured the place this morning, as I often do, and it’s almost there. The only thing I don’t like is that they replaced the destroyed ceiling fan in the kitchen with a fugly fluorescent light fixture. That will be changing almost immediately, and at my own expense. It won’t by a ceiling fan, most likely, but I’m not paying as much as I do in rent and living with a fluorescent light in the kitchen. Can’t. Stand. Fluorescent. Light. It’s not sexy, and makes chicken (for instance) look gray. >And thus ends my post who’s only redeeming quality is the picture of the beautiful Jennifer Love Hewitt.

It’s pretty safe to say that I rushed home tonight.

Not because I had the phone number of a hot girl I met Friday night and I wanted to call, though that is true.
Not because I was excited about going out with a hot girl (space space) friend of mine who is newly single tomorrow night, though that is true, too.
And not because I was looking forward to calling the miniature golf girl, though that is true, as well.

No, I rushed home tonight because I wanted more than anything to do exactly what I did do, which is calmly walk into my empty living room, turn left and walk (calmly) into my empty kitchen, turn on the light with a zen sense of calm, and then slowly (and without panic) turn the burner on the stove to “light”.

*clickclickclickclick WOOSH!*

It is true.
After one week without it, my gas has finally been turned back on.

And when that comforting blue flame shot from the stove, I screamed like a little girl and bounded gleefully into my barren living room, and slapped the thermostat all the way from off to 100. It’s uncomfortably warm in here now, but I don’t fucking care, I have heat! I continued my sprint into the bathroom, and turned on the hot water tap… not to do anything or wash anything, but just to see the steam. The glorious steam.

Tomorrow, I’m taking the hottest, longest shower ever taken. I will wash things I always said I’d never wash again (like the cheek that Jenny McDonald kissed in 7th grade). I will wash where the sun shines only dimly on warm days. I will scrub until my soul is clean. And I will sing showtunes. In vibrato. With feeling.

Whoever said, “it’s the simple things” was a fucking genius.

Generally speaking, I don’t long for food. Eating, for the most part, has mostly been a means of getting fuel into my talking hole so that I won’t die. I’m not one to savor every bite and wax poetic on the amazing taste sensations I am experiencing. I will not, pull a Meg Ryan over a turkey sandwich with the mayo on the side.

I do, however, sporadically get weird food cravings. If I didn’t know better, I would think I might be pregnant. I don’t think that’s possible, though, because we used the rhythm method. I mean, some of my girlfriends say that that isn’t good enough, but Jim says it just doesn’t feel good when he wears a…you know, I’m so embarrassed to say it… a prophylactic. I want to make him happy, what do I do???

wait, what?

One craving I get from time to time is KFC (sorry Pam). I can’t remember what comedian it was that said something about how the Colonel puts crack in the extra crispy spices, but they were right. Sometimes, I just have to have a couple of wings.

Aside: Can we just stop all this “KFC” nonsense? Everybody knows it’s Kentucky Fried Chicken. You’re fooling no one. I don’t care if Kentucky would try to sue you, Colonel; stick with your original vision. “KFC” sounds like a back-up dancer.

Anyway, I can go days, weeks, months without even a thought, but then it will suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks: I gotta have the Colonel
(which, by the way, isn’t even half as homo-erotic it sounds during this, the days after Brokeback Mountain [also known as A.D.-BBM])

When the urge strikes, there is little that can keep me away… though I do miss the little cardboard boxes everything used to come in. What’s up with the Boston Market-esque plastic?

At any rate, the above isn’t really a weird craving. I have a feeling we all hanker for The Extra Crispy from time to time. Something odder, though, is what I indulged in tonight:

sardines

More specifically a tin of sardines in mustard sauce. Atop Triscuits. With water.

First of all, a ‘tin of sardines’ is the only thing I can think of in which I have ever used the partial phrase: ‘A tin of *blank*‘. Who says, ‘A tin of *blank*‘? Nobody, that’s who; except possibly the British when referring to biscuits… and by extension then, possibly Madonna as well. Only the British and Madonna ever say, ‘A tin of *blank*‘, except for me when referring to tins of sardines.

And you. You will also say, “Why I am I eating this fucking disgusting tin of sardines?” should you ever happen upon the chance to do so.

Secondly, who in the hell eats sardines (except the Scottish)? Again, nobody. Even so, the market gamely tries to sell them. And they’re not hard to find, either. There are dozens of varieties, all stacked up neatly in their tins, next to the cans of tuna. There are so many, in fact, that you have to spend literal minutes deciding between them, as if to say, “Hmmm, I wonder which tin of vile disgusting mess I’d like to shove into my pie-hole today?”

Did I mention that I love it? I didn’t did I? I totally love the sardines… and I don’t understand why. I question myself through the entire process:

internal monologue
“Why am I pulling a tin of sardines out of my pantry?”
“Hell, why do I even have a tin of sardines in the first place?”
“Why am I opening this?! Why am I pulling back this oversized pop-top?”
“Gah! I’m not really going to eat that am I? Look at the scales! Look at their headless bodies!”
“I’m eating it. I’m eating it. Why am I eating it?”
“…”
“More.”

It’s weird, and I fear what may come next.

I’d like to take this opportunity to claim FIRST in composing a post referencing both Pamela Anderson and sardines. I think I’m pretty safe on that assumption.

For a while now I’ve been thinking of completing my pre-mid-life crisis and getting a motorcycle (hi Mom!). Not only would it instantly make me bad-ass (if what TV has taught me is true), but it would also make my commute a hell of a lot faster, save me money on gas, and give me the excuse for wearing leather chaps that I’ve been looking for.

This bike would definitely fit the bill.

The thing about living without heat, or hot water, or gas to cook with is that everything is cold. The air is cold, the floor is cold, the showers are really cold, and the food I’ve been eating is cold.

I really shouldn’t call them showers, per se, they’re more like sponge baths coupled with the incredibly humbling experience of washing your hair under ice-cold water. But I’m clean.

It’s amazing, really, what you can bear. I don’t mean me specifically, I mean humans. I’ll never look at another homeless person again and wonder how they could possibly deal with the conditions that they are living in, why don’t they just do something? Why is because humans are incredibly adaptable.

No heat? Wear more clothes.
No fire to cook with? Make sandwiches.
No hot water? Take cold “showers”.

Not that I’m equating myself with a homeless person, my hardships don’t even come close. My place is freezing, but at least it’s a place. It’s just that this whole experience of living in an empty two-bedroom with nothing but a bed and chair, with no gas, and really only a tenuous end in sight… it’s shown me time and again, how pliable people can be when called upon to do so. No need to freak out, I’ll manage, is the philosophy.

Of course, it may also be because I just don’t fucking care. Just none of it is really a big deal, you know? It’s inconvenient as hell, but nothing to really break down about.

So my apartment burned down and I lost a good half of my stuff. So what? I can buy new stuff, and it gives me a chance to purge a lot of junk I don’t need.

>I got rear-ended three times in less than 2 months. Well, that’s just a good freakin’ story that will grow and expand in the upcoming year. “Yeah, I got T-boned by a semi going about 80. It was cool, though, he gave me a shot from his flask and he still takes me for rides when he comes through this way.” (Aside: I could have lived without the first guy not having insurance and me eating the $800 for a new bumper that got destroyed within 20 minutes of its existence, however).

So they turned off my gas, and I’m squatting in a freezing hole of an apartment with no amenities. Bleh… you just have to laugh at stuff like that, don’t you? I’ll just bitch and whine every now and again on my blog, and everything else I can work out.

It occurs to me, though, that this might also mean that I’m dead inside. I’ll have to explore that one later.

The thing about President’s Day for The Unfortunate working masses like me, is that there’s no traffic in the morning.

That’s about it.

Rolled in to Hollywood before even the tranny’s were up and about, which is pretty early. They were still putting their wigs on, shaving their legs, and doing the ol’ tuck-n-tape. I’m sure their late start suits them fine as it’s been too cold in the mornings, lately, for the boys to strut around in their sparkly gold mini-skirts like they usually do. I mean, sometimes you have to wait until 12:30 before it’s 72 degrees around here… it’s getting to be ri-goddamned-diculous. And your high today in New York City: 37-degrees F. Jebus, I love this town.

Anyway, I wonder if, 150 years from now, people will honor Dubya the same way we do Lincoln today? Will there be a Bush Memorial? I envision something like a huge pile of innocent Middle Eastern bodies with a heroic Bush perched on top, resplendent in marble, holding over his head a 1:1 scale WMD made from paper mache. Something tasteful.

Miniature golf girl came over last night, which was no small feat considering she lives in The Valley, and I live at The Beach. Even more of a minor miracle as I don’t even have the pretense of entertainment options at the moment. No TV. No X-box. No couch. No heat even, at the moment. Such is the draw, apparently, of someone completely devoid of any of the usual seduction devices… I’m forced to do it all without aid or assistance.

Not that it was all that successful by frat-boy standards. We talked a lot, huddled together on the bed (ostensibly) for warmth, and called it a night at one.

But it’s good to have those kind of nights. You don’t get conversations with the 21-year olds.

A fire update

Oh, you thought because it’s been nearly 4 months since the fire that everything was back to normal by now? You considered, reasonably to yourself, that if it takes about 6 months to build a complete home from the ground up, than surely a 2-bedroom apartment can be renovated in less than half that time? All good thoughts… in theory.

The latest goes like this: my apartment has been painted. There is new cabinetry in the kitchen, attached to the new walls and ceiling. There are new windows replacing those blown out by the fire itself, or broken by the fire department.

Things that still need to be done include: putting in the flooring in the bathroom and kitchen. Installing every appliance-related thing in the kitchen including the water heater. Tiling the kitchen counters and back-splash. Installing ceiling fans/lights in all of the rooms. Re-finishing the hardwood floors.

All of this stuff should take a week max if a crew of 4 works every day… and it’s been in this same state for at least a month.

The other news is that they turned the gas off in the loaner apartment I’m staying in, as it seems no one (meaning me) notified the gas company that I was crashing here. The awesome thing about that is that once I contacted them, and got the account put into my name, they graciously offered to come out and take the lock off of the gas so it could be turned back on… next Wednesday. Which means that, since last Wednesday night, I have had only extremely cold showers, no heat, and no cooking ability save for the microwave I bought yesterday. But I’m not complaining… it all makes for a great story.

Last night, my friend Jules sponsored another event at James Beach… which basically means that she picks and chooses amongst her copious friends and corrals them all into one place. Luckily, I’ve made the cut the last few times.

It was fun, and I think it was mostly because I seem to be hitting my stride, lately.

I had one of those moments where you float outside of yourself, look down, and observe your body from a vantage point of roughly a foot or two above and behind your head. I looked down and noticed that I was telling a joke, or being somehow witty, because whoever it was I had just met, and her friend, and her friend’s friend, were laughing their asses off. There was a lot of touching of me while the talking continued. Hand on the shoulder, gripping my arm, raking down the chest.

And then, I somehow extricated myself and ended up with another group of three girls, with the same effect. When the hell did this happen? Floating over my head, I glanced to the right and saw a couple of guys I had met that night, looking at me and shaking their heads. My real body turned to look at them, and one of them game me the high-sign and said, “You’re my idol!” And all I could do was laugh.

I am not your next American idol, trust me. Even if (as I observed), I spent the entire night talking and holding the attention of three groups of three women at a time, and even if I got an appreciative comment and a guy-fist-to-fist thing, and even if I got unprompted hugs, unprompted compliments, and a very unwanted unprompted phone number… I am still no idol. I’m just a guy with crippling-ly low self-esteem who’s humorously self-deprecating, can tell a decent story from time to time, and seriously now ladeez: is very, very single.

But I did have fun, and that’s important.

And better still, when Jules called me this morning, she opened with “Well weren’t you the belle of the ball last night!” Which is worth more to me than any of the other stuff because Jules and I have been friends for forever and a day.

While, talking to my friend on the phone she says,

“Woah, a bad accident… I gotta look around.”

sigh