A Blog Entry 65 Million Years In The Making…

Greetings, true believers…

…some people with whom I have consulted have expressed their concern over my trying to update my blog with events that have surpassed some invisible “Timely/Untimely” line. I choose to update in light of these attacks to my blog’s character and give you a rundown of events that have been lost in the ether somewhere. Even in writing this blog entry, however, I have managed to stretch the writing process to 4-5 days, adding bits and bobs as I go until finally, in the end, we have the most uninspired, illogically paced and logistically inept pile of steaming feces imaginable.


Yes, I haven’t updated in a while. My apologies on that count. I do have an excuse, however – I packed, then moved, then unpacked, then got lazy. I’m only human…no, it’s true – I AM only human.

In any event, I moved recently. Yes, I escaped my lesbionic fucktard of a roommate…almost. After freaking out about being ‘forced’ to move out legally (1 & 2), then moving out 3 items at a time throughout the ‘extra’ month she had to pay rent for and finally telling me she’d be back “next week” leaving her curtain rod, bag of garbage and food (not to mention an unpaid Rogers bill in my name)… …she waited three weeks to reappear, but decided on the last day (May 30, 2006) she would make an appearance.
Knowing that the bitch owed me money, she tried to arrive at a time when she thought I wouldn’t be there – during the day. Sadly for her pathetic ass, I had taken off the entire week to ensure my move went as smoothly as possible. I’m packing up my kitchen and I hear a key in the door. I had the latch on (in case she did show up, I intended to not let her in until she paid the money she owed). I somehow forgot this when she tried to come in, because I opened the door for her. She immediately said, “Oh! I have your cheque, but its back at the apartment” (Let’s remember here – she moved ,literally ACROSS the street). Like an idiot, I let her in anyway, coz frankly, I can’t stop her from entering – she did pay rent (although she did it kicking and screaming like most whiny two year olds).
I informed her that I threw out most of her food (since most of it had gone bad, including the rotting bananas and loaf of bread she left on the counter). She looked at me like I’d killed her mother and goes, “Well, I had things to do.” Fine by me – it ain’t my food.
I told her where I had packed her Tupperware and left to take down the shelves in my room. While I was in there, I heard the door close. I walked out and opened the door. I intended to say, “When can I expect my cheque?” All I got out was “When can-“ and she turned and SCREAMED at the top of her lungs,


I just replied with “Jeez, I was just asking. Relax, BITCH.” Then I slammed the door, knowing full well she never intended to return with a cheque. Part of me is still considering taking her to small claims court. Its only for $70, but the recent addition of a new bill (containing LOADS more long distance for her) is making me consider it very seriously.
In the end, though, I should thank my lucky stars that I didn’t wake up one night with a bloody tampon next to me on the pillow…EEK!

So, the next day was the big moving day…FUN TIMES! My mother had stayed over on the evening of the 30th and helped me pack up the last bits of stuff. There wasn’t much left by that time since I was so well organized.
I wake up the morning of the move around 6am and finish up what needs to be done. The movers were to arrive at 9am, finish by 11am and move onto the new place (which is ½ a block away – 5 minute drive tops). Then from 11am to 1pm, they move me into the new place – all of this was according to the visual estimate that the company owner gave me. I put Orko in the bathroom with his toys, food, water and litterbox. He was not amused…
9:15 rolls around and the guys finally arrive. After a half hour inspection of my apartment and what was packed, they started to move me at 9:30 (my apartment is like the T.A.R.D.I.S, it does not obey the laws of time and space). Being alone with the movers, I had no one to talk to, nothing to do since everything was packed. I poured myself a glass of water and watched them work from my balcony. They seemed unusually slow, but I kept telling myself that they’d be done on time…then 10am passes…then 10:30am…then 11am…
At this point, I was starting to get extremely worried. I started cleaning up after the movers had moved things out of rooms, checking on the cat, pouring more water and eating yogurt. I continually looked at my phone for the time – 11:30am passed…then 12pm…then I started to freak out.
I asked the guys how much longer it would take and they informed me that I had ‘too many small things’ – interesting, since your BOSS did a visual inspection and told me how long it should take you. So, in order to speed up their process, I told them to ignore certain items which I moved into the living room. By the time we left my old apartment we had 10 minutes left on the window for the service elevator at the new building. UGH.
We finally got to the new place and thank god I was able to push back my service elevator window. The two movers informed me that moving me IN would be quicker than moving me OUT. Weirdly, though, it took about the same time. Around the 5 hour mark, I phoned my friend Chris who thankfully came to offer me moral support. We watched as the movers took 8 hours to complete the move. The estimate I had received stated “4.5 hours” – fucked up.
They handed me an invoice for – get this – $560, minus my $50 deposit, so it totaled $510. Ew. I handed them a cheque since I didn’t want any trouble, but then once they’d left, I noticed on the invoice that it stated “Maximum Charge if probable cost statement given is Total from Probably Cost Statement plus 25%.” When I got up the next morning, I immediately put a stop payment on the cheque and sent an email to the moving company contact I had been dealing with (who happened to be the owner).
After a few stressful days, he finally wrote me back and told me I was correct and that he would put a new invoice in the mail for the proper amount ($300) and to offset the negative impact of my move (and subsequent damage to my apartment – they totally tore up the floor in one corner) that he would put a gift certificate in with it. I was stoked. Not only did I only have pay the amount invoiced, but I would also get a sweet ass gift certificate to shove in people’s faces while I laugh at them derisively.
A week or so passed and I finally got the invoice in question. I opened it up excitedly…I read the amount – $300.00. Nice. Then something else fell out onto the floor. I looked down as my eyes refocused…Blockbuster. Gift. Card. Sorry? Surely a mistake…maybe the amount would redeem my faith. I cracked it open.

I swear. Is it just me, or does it seem a little LACKING to anyone else? The guy had a CHOICE of $10 or $20 or $50…its not like the options were $10 or $200…he CHOSE to give me $10. CHOSE. Seem cheap?

Before you provide your opinion, please note that like all of my requests for opinions, I’m really not interested in opinions that differ from mine. Now that we’re on the same page…

I’ve decided to pay the invoice 1 month late; not really for any particular reason other than my immense desire to be hated on biblical levels.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is the Moving Saga. As an epilogue, though, I’d like to thank my bud Chris for helping me out in a jam. I phoned him, nearly hysterical, in the middle of the moving debacle and asked if he’d come to the new apartment to help out and offer some moral support. He did and we ended up trudging back and forth, losing granny cart wheels/screws/braces in the process. We took the cat over together and Chris didn’t even mind that he’d pissed in the carrying case – the day was NOT fun for Orko, unfortunately. He didn’t come out from under the bed for about 24 hours.

“You shall all suffer for this outrage!”

The new apartment is pretty damn sweet. The cat finally calmed down after a week or so and my body has finally become adjusted to sleeping somewhere else – always a comforting feeling, I must admit. Haven’t done much decorating although I ‘made’ a lovely print of La Crawford (this picture, in fact) using some 8×10 frames I bought at KitchenStuffPlus, Photoshop, the printer at work and a pair of sharp scissors (not to mention some finishing nails and a hammer). I took the photo, blacked out that annoying bit about where it came from (like seriously, fuck you, asshole) and altered it in Photoshop using a handy-dandy filter (to obscure the photo to anyone looking at it from closer than 5 ft or so). Then I divided it into slices that were proportionate to the frames I was using (4 sections wide by 4 sections tall of 16 100×125 pixels blocks) and printed them out, adjusting their size to 8×10 inches. I cut out each of the 16 print outs and mounted them into the frames. Then I hung the first one and evened out each subsequent picture (it was like putting together a puzzle) by measuring and then by adjusting the positioning of the nail catches on the backs of the frames.

Sound confusing? Good. The end result was worth the effort and in the most anti-climactic blog EVER, I now have to inform you that I most certainly DON’T have a picture of my La Crawford print in all its glory. Boohoo. I will endeavour to find my digitally archaic camera tonight to take a nice pic of it.

What else to report on? Well, my friends Matthew & Conal are coming to Toronto this Friday for about 3 weeks, which frankly, has me creaming my pants because they’re great guys. Good drinking buddies (although I had to warn them that I don’t smoke anymore and I don’t drink like I used to – last time they were here was 2 years ago).

Something I’m quite excited for, though, is the annual pilgrimage Ian and I take to Paramount Canada’s Wonderland. Last year we missed out, but the summer (living with an imbecile) was pretty stressful and soul killing (if I recall, I didn’t even partake in any Pride drinking, save ONE day at the pub that resides pretty much at the outskirts of ‘The Village’ – Fiddler’s Green) so he and I agreed to forgo the PCW for one year. I won’t go into my views on Gay Pride at this juncture because frankly, I don’t need to justify my opinions by reiterating them every time I get a chance. And if you’ve ever got any questions regarding my views, please picture me giving you the finger as you ask and perhaps we can weed out some unnecessary human contact.

Back to my REAL point – PCW RULES. It also is a tacky shithole, but then again, its always been my philosophy that to have a good time, sadly, you must put up with some bullshit (see: the time I told off some redneck woman in line behind us for scoffing at my apalling behaviour – letting two friends ride together – while her Texas Chainsaw Massacre family looked on). There are loads of annoying people that trudge their way through the park, only stopping to release air through their blow-hole and take another swig of coloured ice-water; that, and smack their children around.

In any event, Ian and I usually go once a year and have a pretty fun time. Its a good day out for really, not too much money – the ticket, if bought in advance, is $40, the bus is $5 and you can bring your own food and crap to save money. We’ve gone once before with Matt & Conal, and it was the best time going – if only for Matthew’s “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” on every single roller coaster we coaxed him onto. Should be a fun time had by all.

This Friday sees Matthew & Conal arriving around 4:30 supposedly, but who knows. I’m having an small gathering at my new place (less than 10 people) around 8 or 9pm. If you know me in REAL life and know my address or phone number, please consider yourself invited. Just shoot me an email to let me know. BYOB, of course.

I’m going to start blogging about Canadian Idol and Canada’s Next Top Model SOON (with screengrabs by me and everything!)…I just have been too busy lying in bed and complaining to wipe my own ass so cut me a little slack, here.


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~ by seangstm on June 21, 2006.

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