Monday, April 28, 2014

Moving On...Sideways

The time has come once again. Time to pick up stakes, and much like Bruce Banner, or Kane from Kung Fu (insert more up to date reference) move on.

I thought that I had gotten lucky this time. Ever since I was 17, I’ve moved over and over again. Never staying anywhere longer than a year. Be it a college dorm, army barracks, storage container in the middle of the desert, coffin, or pineapple under the sea, I’ve constantly been moving. I don’t even bother to unpack anymore. I’ve been living out of boxes since before I started growing chest hair (last year). It’s not the most efficient way to live, but on the bright side, every time I repack for another move, it’s like Christmas morning. Oh wow! I’ll say to myself, there’s my itching powder and whoopee cushion. I’ve been looking for those things for months!* And there’s my Brooksman and  Professor Lord action figures! Is that an old VHS tape of Labyrinth starring Jennifer Connelly? Not to mention the oodles of ironic tee shirts that I buy (usually involving support for child suicide, or announcing to the world both the length and girth of my undercarriage.) that randomly appear in the oddest places. You’d be surprised, but then again, we’re talking about me here, so you probably wouldn’t.

Of course, it’s a damn hassle to have moved over a dozen times over the second half of my life. Always having to buy boxes, calling moving companies (I learned years ago to do as little heavy lifting as possible. Smart? Of course. Lazy? You bet.) I haven’t put up a picture or painting on the walls in years. Speaking of which, at what age is a guy not supposed to put movie posters on the walls? Is it age or economic status dependent? Like, if I was rich, I could probably nail soiled diapers on the walls and people would call me the next Warhol. But as a bachelor in his early 30s, who (usually) lives alone and hasn’t put down the toilet seat in years, I’m chastised for putting up my Die Hard and Indiana Jones movie posters. What a world we live in.

You know who’s lucky? Oscar the goddam Grouch. He’s got so much subterranean real-estate that he has both an indoor pool and a tennis court. And the weird part about it is that I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t have legs. And even if he did, who would he play with? Everybody hates him, (which I’m not going to get into right here. That’s an entry unto itself.) Wait, Oscar has a car too. Which I believe he also kept in his trashcan. What’s that about, where’s he driving to? If I recall (Since my knowledge of Sesame Street is legendary**) Oscar usually had a garbage man carry him around, still sitting in his trashcan (the mind reels). As you can tell, I think about Oscar a lot. Janice too, but that’s another story. 

For the last three years, I’ve kind of been living in the same place. I first moved into my two-bedroom apartment back in 2010. After a year my lease ended and I had to move elsewhere. In one of those odd quirks that pop up so often in my life, my neighbor lost her job and had to move out. Which means I got to move in. Have you ever had to move one door over? It’s the easiest move you’ll ever have to make. I didn’t even have to pack, (which greatly appeals to my laziness).

In another weird twist, in my first year of living in my new apartment, four different sets of tenants lived in my previous place. That seems weird to me. I mean, I didn’t notice any paranormal activity, or apparitions or conjurings or Blair Witches or poltergeists or any other ghostly phenomenon that earned its own Hollywood movie franchise. It’s still unexplained to this day. Mysteries abound in this world.

Anyway, the time has come again for me to move along. I must once again pack, once again call the movers and once again make some new place my home. “But Josh, why not just buy a house? Why not lease a condo?” Good questions. The problem with that is that I’m free like the wind, man! I can’t be tied down by domestication. Besides, the day I own a house is the day I’m rich enough to just walk into a realtor’s office with big ass bags with dollar signs in them, and I’ll buy a mansion for straight up cash, (and that place better have a two-floor pool, a laser tag arena and a moat to keep the riff raff like you out).

Until then, feel free to come help me move. Free pizza and beer for everybody!

*That’s a true story. Not kidding in the slightest. And if you’re nodding to yourself and saying “I know Josh. I totally believe that is how your life works.” Then you know me well and I am ashamed of my life choices.

** Example: did you know that Sesame Street takes place in the same city as the Simpsons? That’s right: Toledo.

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