Cool Gabe & Friends:The Story of My Most Recent Move

As you may know, if you know me and we talk and I tell you things, I moved as of August 1st. Yes, I left my comfortable and lovely (albeit occassionally fly/maggot infested) apartment to branch out on my own, sort of (with Chelsea and Sarah).

Making the arrangements to move in New York City is I am sure like most moving situations in other cities; however, I've never hired a professional mover. In towns such as Charleston or Atlanta, everyone has an SUV and is willing to lend a hand in exchange for beers, food and of course my excellent company.

Before the big move, I scoured Craigslist for several weeks. I was just so excited about having a place of my own that I wanted it fully furnished with wonderfully shabby-chic, gently used, perfectly AJ-esque ecclectic style furniture and fixins. But my overeagness had me sending out e-mails to people who were moving, wanted their stuff out, and my continuous response was always, "oh but could you just hold onto it until August 1st??" Most of the recepients of these e-mails were less than excited and some just didn't respond; however, there was one gentleman who was giving away this AMAZING green couch, for free! In his Craigslist ad, he wrote a beautiful sonnet about the green couch in question. I respond with zeal and fervor and perhaps a bit of poetry myself and the guy seemed impressed. He wanted it out immediately but refused to give to anyone who he didn't feel would give the couch a good home. I know that sounds really weird, right? I mean...it's a couch. But I am not one to turn my nose up at a free couch so I let him know of my unwavering desire for the beloved green couch and should he not find a suitable owner, I would love to take it off his hands at the beginning of the month. I searched for other couches, all the while, hoping to get an e-mail from the Green Couch Guy.

Lo-and-behold, the green couch owner did not find a suitable person to take the couch so he e-mailed me towards the end of the month. At this point, I was so in love with the idea of anything free that I decided to hire a mover to get this couch and a dresser I'd found on Craigslist for pretty cheap. August 1st was a Monday and both of the respective owners wanted their items picked up on Friday. I figured my room was big enough (in my old apartment) to house an extra couch and dresser for two days. So I set about to find a mover. Movers on Craiglist vary from highly professional with packing materials and a variety of different vans sizes to the more cryptic messages from movers saying, "we will move your stuff."  So I decided to go for the cheapest one I could find. This one "guy" listed that I could have two guys for $50/hr. Well, that just seemed dandy to me. I said after my fifth move into the sublet that I was not going to do anymore moving for a long time. The experience of moving that many times with my now (as of his last check-up) 16 pound cat took it out of me and the thought of doing even the slightest bit of heavy lifting left me feeling panicked and tired. I know that sounds bratty; but, whatever. I dug around in the snow looking for keys, drove around with crazy cab drivers, lived with a  half asian ammature porn participant and did it all within my first month of moving to New York. If I want to hire a damn mover and not lift a finger, well, in my mind, that is my right. Ok, so yeah, a little venting never hurt anyone. Anyways, back to the story at hand.  Everytime I texted this mover I'd found, as one does in this technologically advanced day and age, "he" signed it, "Cool  Gabe." Or even, "yeah Gabe." So I'm thinking to myself, as is Sarah, that this Gabe character is a bit kooky but we say to ourselves, "okay, why not, let's go with this guy."

So Friday arrives, I've set up the pick up times for 7 p.m. and 7:45 thinking this won't take too long. There will be two guys, they grab a dresser and a couch and voila. Furniture. So Sarah and I, being you know, the bright characters that we are, go to a bar in Greenpoint near the first house in order to have some chicken wings (damn good might I add) and a beer or two. I mean we're going to have to ride around in a van with two strange men for about two hours, it's probably best we have a buzz on, right? *Reading that back to myself now, it does not sound like a good idea at all. It sounds like the pre-story of a Lifetime movie about two drunk girls getting abducted and taken into white slavery. But actually, in this story, we are not abducted or anything to that effect...

We walk to the apartment where we are supposed to pick up the dresser. We are waiting for "Cool Gabe" on the stoop of some guys apartment. While we are waiting, it starts to rain. Then it starts to pour. Then a van starts circling the block with what looks like a kind of handsome gentleman from afar (I really should get my eyes checked). Eventually, I call Gabe and tell him that he's passed the house and to park the damn van as we are getting soaked. So he complies. Then "Yeah Gabe" steps out of the van.

"Gabe" is probably about 5'10 and maybe let's say...130 pounds? Give or take? Maybe? In addition, "Gabe" is alone. The second guy is not there to help with the move. Thirdly, it has now commenced to monsoon. And lastly, Gabe, in my opinion, is undoubtedly, a post-op transexual. *Discliaimer:  I have NO ISSUE with transexuals, transgender, look let's just say I am more than LGBTQ friendly. However, this guy weight a little more than Sarah and I do. I mean, how the toot are you going to move my dresser and/or couch on your own. Let me state again, I refuse to help, but I mean, I guess if it came down to it, I would've helped because we were there and it was you know...already arranged.

Before having the entire party enter the apartment of the dresser owner, I decided to check it out for myself. I loved the dresser, but decided that we really shouldn't move it in the rain. It was getting really bad and I just figured someone (me) was going to slip and die and kill Gabe under my weight. But during this time, Sarah and Gabe got to chatting. They got real close, I guess some might say. She might say otherwise. But this is my blog and I am going to say they were besties by the time I'd made my decision to get the dresser on Monday.

I told the guy with the dresser, I'd be back Monday. He said he'd already have moved but his roommate's girlfriend was there and she was SUPER nice. She gave me her number and said she'd hold onto the dresser until Monday. Yay! A break for Sarah and I. So we get in the van with Gabe. Ah, this is one of the better experiences of my life. Really. Because Sarah had just moved and had no idea how to get around the Williamsburg/Greenpoint area, I sat in front, while Sarah literally flew around the back of the van at every twist and turn. I told the green couch guy we were going to come over but I didn't want it to get ruined. I wish now that I had saved the series of texts between this guy and I. They really were hilarious, until they weren't and then they just got kind of hostile, hence their deletion. So ok, Sarah is getting thrown around in the back of a van. There's a hole right over the back left tire. Sarah's just chilling, sitting next to the hole, having her life flash before eyes, you know that old chestnut. During this time, I am trying to stealthily get pictures of Sarah as proof while listening to Gabe tell us about his girlfriend, I mean ex-girlfriend, sorry. Things we learned during the ride:


Sarah, notice gaping hole to left.



Gabe is from Seattle or Portland, not quite sure.

Gabe has a girlfriend or ex-girlfriend, not quite sure.

Gabe lives with his girlfriend or ex-girfriend who rides a bike.

Gabe's girlfriend or ex-girlfriend was going to try to kill herself but instead Gabe gave her a carton of cigarettes and some mushrooms and I guess it works because she was still alive at that point in time.

And finally we learn that Gabe doesn't really know the neighborhood too well because he couldn't get us to the other house. When texting the Green Couch Guy, he more or less scoldled me on choosing such a poor mover. Gabe said he couldn't get over to Green Couch Guy's apartment because there was, and this is true, substantial flooding and wasn't sure if his "ride" could really take it. So there's that. So we decide to head back to my apartment, buy some beer and sweat (because it was hot as sin at this time in July). Gabe took possibly the longest route to get there, then indicates to us that he and his gf/ex-gf live just over there! Ah! And we could've been so close to each other! Gabe dropped us off on the corner and I guess we gave him like $10 for the ride? Essentially, Gabe was our taxi driver for a brief period of time. Our cruise director in life truly. At least for an hour or so.

Ok so come Sunday afternoon, the day before our big move, the moment we've all been waiting for, I text Gabe to just verify that he and his crew (one other guy I hope!) will come to my place the next day. Gabe texts back saying, "No, the van isn't working." (I assume flood damage to his ride). Glad, I checked Gabe, thanks a lot for letting me know. So I had to find another mover in the sea of seedy Craigslist postings. I found one. His name is Stan. Stan seemed pretty responsible on the phone. We agreed on a time. The guys were going to move all my stuff in my current apartment into the new one, then I would hop in the van with them, go to both the dresser and the couch locations and get those pieces too.



Bed, notice giant cat in dead center.



Well...Stan and his accomplice Jack were about 45 minutes late which is fine, I guess. They got all my stuff packed and unpacked in the new place within an hour. Super awesome. We get the dresser. No problem. The guys are funny and entertaining. They bickered like an old married couple. Stan was clearly of some of eastern european guy with ample tufts of back hair sticking out from his shirt. I really loved them. Jack and Stan...not Stan's back hair tufts. Anyways, get to the couch place. The couch is SO comfortable I am BEYOND STOKED. I cannot wait. Well..Jack and Stan tried for AN HOUR (which is not free by the way) to get this couch up our narrow stairway. It wasn't going to happen. They even sawed off part of our banister (which they did not put back). So eventually they had to give up. I took the cushions (which are now being used as my headboard) and we had to leave the couch on the street. It was so very sad. And the Green Couch Guy, you know, he'd put so much faith in me and everything. After Jack and Stan left, Sarah and I went to get more chicken wings (which now that I think about it was the second time in like 3 days). During this time, I texted Green Couch Guy to let him know. He was actually really really pissed. And I actually felt really really guilty. Sarah was not quite so sympathetic. But there was nothing more I could do. I wasn't going to pay Jack and Stan for another hour just to get that couch redelievered into a space in which it did not fit?! Ah, it was really so sad. The next morning I was leaving for work and I saw the trash guys coming to get the couch. I said to them, "you don't have to take it just yet?!"  The "sanitation workers" said, "oh yeah, we really do." And that was that. The end of the green couch. At least I got a headboard out of it I suppose. We've since gotten a couch and used Stan to retrieve it for us. Late per usual, he did not have Jack with him this time but some other little fellow. We didn't exchange names. It was very brief. Anyways, The apartment is just wonderful, fly free, comfortable and best of all, MINE!

The Seventh Level of Hell

Ok disclaimer: Many posts to come are those that have been hiding...deep in the crevices of my brilliance. Yes, I understand you ask yourself, "why not share your genius with the world?" and to that I respond, "uhm...I'm lazy?" Yes. That and extremely busy. Lazy/busy does not equal wit and candor therefore; I am here again to write to you all the nonsense that I can because let's face it. You really do want to know. So as I said, these have been hiding, in my brain, and also as drafts on my computer so their timing may seem off. Such as the following, about it being extremely hot for instance. It is now becoming glorious in New York so this was started...oh let's say...in July? Sorry for the delay all you kitten lovers...but here we go again...


Sometime in July...

Well, as I am sure many of you have heard or even, unfortunately enough, felt the miserable state that New York has been in. It's hot. Like really hot. Like something is bubbling inside my stomach hot. I moved to New York, bitched about the cold, couldn't wait until summer because, let's face it, I moved from Charleston a place so hot one can fry just about anything on the sidewalk, and by southern disposition, usually try to. So why am I so uncomfortably hot? Why can't I handle it? Why are both Hux and I interchangeably crying/sweating ourselves to sleep? This story actually begins several weeks ago...(so who knows when actually in the grand scheme of time)

Before it was miserable, it was really quite glorious out. The sun was shinin', the breeze was blowin', the kids were singin', the kittens were purrin' (you get the picture). So in order to enjoy this beautiful weather in my apartment, I cracked the windows (obviously to an appropriate kitty cat level to ensure the safety and well being of my main man). It was beautiful. The wind and breeze came in and I have this big ass fan and all is just easy peasy breezy wonderful. But then came...the flies.

So many flies. Like disgusting amounts of flies. It icks me out just thinking about it now. They were everywhere. I've dealt with flies before but this was something new to me. Now, I knew this in theory ok. But so..you know how maggots...come from flies? I knew this, of course, but the whole mechanics of the fly/maggot birthing process was something I never thought about, in depth. Well, now the entire process will be permanently burned into my brain until the day I die. So, one fine day, fed up with the fly infestation, I take my copy of the Fountain Head (still haven't finished that lofty endeavor), and I wait to attack this HUGE fly. I aim, without breathing, karate kid style, and throw the book at the fly. I succeed. But I can't find the evil being. I look on the ground. On the windowsill. Where is its nasty ass? Oh, he's on the book, dead, with maggots FLOWING out of him. Shouldn't there be an egg laying period before the cretins can move? Isn't that how gestation works? Evidently, not.

As you can imagine, hysteria ensued. I did enough hand washing to give even the most OCD kid a run for their money. But this was just the beginning. Because once you kill one, the taste of blood lingers in your mouth. You want them all dead. But being, you know, the semi-yogic, kinda girly type character that I am, I kept myself from attempting the wide spread genocide of flies. But then another little funny thing happened. Again, laugh all you want, but I couldn't just close the windows. No that would be foolish. It was just too lovely of weather to squander. Side note: in Charleston, especially north of Spring Street, most of one's windows are not only nailed but also painted shut, for safety purposes of course, so the ability to the let the wind flow freely through my room was just too good of a treat to pass up. Until..until one fateful day...

I'd been in the habit of just letting my fatty fat big boned beast eat all his food and then refilling it with more food once it seemed more or less empty. Well, Huxtable, being the...temperamental beast that he is, decided to be kinda slow on the eating of his morning wet food. Well since I was running out the door, I really didn't have the energy or time  to clean his bowl (because I'm usually a solid 5-10 minutes late when it comes to going to work...however, all social events I am usually 5-10 minutes early...just a thing about me). And I guess I did this for about two days...because I went to clean his food bowl out and lo and behold...his food is moving! Yep...Friskies was about to take a walk on its own down the gastrointestinal highway of huge and I mean HUGE maggots. Oh lordy, they were disgusting. I actually ended up just throwing out the bowl. What was I going to do? Clean out the bowl and make sure the maggots all went down the drain....ew. No thanks. I may be a brat but whatevs...we got extra bowls.

So that led to a major break down. No windows were allowed to be left open. Punishable by extreme dirty looks and resentful sighs. But then it got hot. But what was I to do?! I couldn't have maggots? Not in my doctor's food!  So I sweat. For an entire month, the month of July, it was so hot in my room I went to work early. I'd go to the gym before and after work to shower because showering at my apartment only led me to sweat and thus revert to my pre-shower state. There was no resolution to this story. Only that I moved August 1st and got an AC unit the day I moved in...which leads me to ask just a general New York question? What's up with no central AC? Are you above it? You do realize most of the country has this illusive thing called central AC...even in the apartment buildings...yep. Comes with...the apartment? Have you heard of this NEW YORK? Just spreadin' the gospel for y'all...I might be a little slow and from the south, but hey, I've caught up with modern technology just fine.

Limbo for Love

As many of you know, I can be quite competitive when it comes to people's affections and attentions. What can I say? My parents spoiled me rotten. I am a dirty little only child who honestly cannot understand how anyone in the universe could ever like anyone more than they like me? Even as I type this, I'm thinking to myself, "no, seriously, how could you like anyone more?" So I could probably use some serious cognitive/behavioral therapy, but that goes without saying. This tale of woe involves this manner of thinking, a few shots and the limbo.

Let me preface with a quick disclaimer. Saturday nights at work are usually dead. We don't get anyone until 10 o'clock and by that time, I am so pissed that I've been there for six hours without making any money that I'm usually rude and continue to not make any money. That being said, a co-worker (who shall remain nameless) and I tend to take a shot here and there in order to soothe the pain that is the Bridge and Tunnels beauties that come into our bar between the hours of 5:30-10.

Since the inception of "Luau" night, a recent addition to the Saturday night line up,  my co-pilot and I have been thrown a little off guard. Our usual mild tipsiness could go unchecked due to the low volume of guests;however, now, with this influx, we're just kinda tipsy trying to remember orders...whoops! But honestly, you eat a hot dog, drink some water you're back in the game right? Well, evidently, I was wrong.

Saturday I ran four miles before work and having sweat out all the lovely toxins that usually absorb my drunken tendencies, so I got pretty tipsy fairly quickly. I honestly had  to eat a taco just to carry on. Not a good sign. Then, if my already surly demeanor wasn't in full effect, one of the other cocktail waitresses came in looking pretty sexy. Ok...this girl: She can only work one shift a week. A shift I was working. A shift that was mine! And she took it! She can't cover any other shifts, just this one. So already, I don't like her. To make matters work she is gorgeous and my bosses love her. I even asked Jerry, my dear sweet trainer Jerry, "do you love her more than me?" To which he simply smiled and gave a light chuckle. Ok now I'm just pissed. And then to make matters worse, she was kicking ass at limbo.

Come 1 in the morning, I was saucy but fun. I was getting along well with the customers and my boss and everybody was having a glorious time. But then, oh lordy, then the limbo comes out. I don't think I've ever limbo'd in my life. Nope. The opportunity doesn't present itself. But after the declared love of this other girl, I had to prove myself the one worthy of their love and adoration. Just to say, yes of course I am the best. You know, I thought, "hey now, you've been working out, you do yoga, you'll be fine! Do it, Johnson!" With the entire crowd cheering me on and a drunken smile on my face, I attempt the second tier of limbo. Seriously, the bar couldn't have been lower than 4'8" and at 5'4" I felt confident as a short person to make it under. Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I was wrong. Dead wrong. I bent back, immediately hit my head, fell over, cut my arm on the pole and that was that. The one and only time I will ever attempt to limbo. I am left only with embarassment and this bruise...ah damn, but now, they'll have to think of me as the loveable klutz, no?