Monday.
Yep.
That’s how inspired I am to write on Mondays. Yep. That’s what you’re gettin’.
Coffee, get to work. Dammit.
We had a very productive weekend, even though I didn’t run. (It was an eight-mile training run. Come on. I’m still healing from the 26 last week. And still fighting that cold. It was an easy call to stay in bed.)
But we did manage to move Lala into her new place, which is my old place. There. I’ll let you think about that for a second. (At dinner one night, we told Bethany that Lala was moving, and she said, “Where?” I said, triumphantly, “My place! Can you believe that?” She sat there for a while, as did Christy, and then said, “Wow!” It took me a minute to realize I hadn’t differentiated places, and that she wouldn’t automatically know that I meant the place I was vacating. They were troopers, though. “Wow!”)
What I didn’t realize earlier, though, was how WEIRD it would be moving her in to the place I had just left. For her housewarming present, I got her the best present of all: Movers. She thinks I’m the bee’s knees for it. In reality (shhh, don’t tell her), I was just lazy. It’s definitely a girlfriend’s job to help move, and I couldn’t bear to lift another box. (There are only two real unavoidable jobs in Girlfriend Land: Moving, and airport runs. All other jobs are negotiable.)
So the movers arrive (at seven pm, instead of one, ouch) and the same two guys that moved me out, moved her in. They were a little surprised, I think. They remembered my desk. Then her apartment with its red and yellow walls filled up with her things, and suddenly, it wasn’t my place anymore. It was like all those boxes and towels and bedding and musical instruments were so imbued with her her-ness that my me-ness didn’t stick around. I’m glad about that, too. I had wondered if I would feel like she was staying at “my place.” But nope. I took a shower there, and there was this moment of complete brain-disconnect when I was standing there, and I knew the shower, knew how to work the fiddly handles, but I didn’t really recognize it, since it was Lala’s new house.
I can’t quite explain it. Huh.
I was going to say more, about how well the cats and dogs did last night, and about how I had a lovely little knitting afternoon yesterday, for the first time ever in my new home, watching the Amazing Race, but I just got a call from my gay porn-star boyfriend that I met years ago in Venice on a boat. He’s in town with his new man, and he’s now out of the industry (to many men’s sorrow) and living in Miami Beach, and I have to hear ALL about it.
Hmmm….I wish I had an ex-porn star gay friend….it just sounds so…something. I mean, yeah, I have lovely gay friends…but sheesh, they are you know…bor-ring….One does work in a prison tho….and I have a grand time ribbing him about it….
😉 Glad you are enjoying your new home…and that Lala’s got your old place, I think it’s cool!
So the truth is out…you are really a water sl**t; now you have that wonderful bath old friend shower is handed over without a backward glance!! Now why would you need a shower when you never lifted even a box?, cough.
Stay resting a while longer eh, those shins will dance so much better with lots of Lala’s attention than you trying to do training runs. Hec you’ve run one marathon they needn’t know too soon they are Island bound in the near future.
Happy gossipy catching up with your friend, you have quite a bit of news yourself too so enjoy.
getting movers is money well spent. when i moved from my studio apartment in 1998 to my condo, i splurged and hired movers. not only did i not have to beg and plead with friends to get them to help me (i was over 30 as were a lot of my friends and i was getting those kind of “i have a bad back” type excuses) but i also NEVER EVER HAVE TO MOVE ANYONE ELSE AGAIN. because i don’t ask them to help me. movers did the job again just a couple of months ago. i love movers.
Actually I know EXACTLY how you feel in Lala’s new place. We sold my parents our townhouse we lived in for 2 years and they still live there 5 years later. Once in awhile I think, HEY, I used to LIVE here! But rarely.. Now if is just Mom and Dad’s house..
You were SO wise to hire movers…
Movers! You got Lala movers! You are the Queen of Girlfriends!
Wait ’til you get married, then airport runs become optional. 😉
I’m so jealous~I want an Italian ex-porn star gay boyfriend (did I say that right?) Your life sounds so glamorous!
I can think of a -third- job that’s mandatory in girlfriend land! *wink wink*.
Now, how come I don’t get to have a gay porn-star boyfriend? Grr!
I sooooooooo love reading these slice of life entries you publish. You have such a cool life!
I’ve gotta say that hiring movers is waaaay better than moving the boxes for her. My husband has done the bulk of the last two or three moves. Getting movers would be more like a gift to us than just to me.
Plus the last couple of friends we moved nearly became not friends (everyone who showed up that took a ‘never again’ vow)
As was said above, you are truly a Queen among girlfriends and a Princess among Rachels.
Hmm… Porn Star boyfriend? You have to tell me his stage name(s)! Ahh South Beach, I could tell you stories……