I should think of some other name for this week's column but I'm not going to, because I'm tired and grumpy and don't feel like it. Besides, the column is only on the Web this week, and nobody reads it there, right?
If somebody does actually read this online, by the time you do and if everything goes according to plan — like anything in my life has ever gone that way — I'll be at least somewhat settled into my new apartment downtown and out of Clifton and perfectly relaxed — something I'm not right now.
I'm way too scattered to do any kind of decent column, so I'm gonna write what's going on in my head as I sit here with a bottle of vodka beside me, knowing I have to spit out something. Thank God C.A. is writing next week's column.
· Speaking of C.A., is she crazy? She actually volunteered to help me move. I don't know if I'll say yes to this or not — don't want her to see my shitty furniture.
· This past Saturday my son took me over to Best Buy in Western Hills to buy a window air-conditioning unit for the new apartment. We found a good buy on an 8,000 Btu unit.
(I don't know what this means).
I had opened a new checking account with a bank close to the new apartment and had "starter checks." The girl ringing me up was having trouble with the machine that was processing the check. She called a manager over who had no interest in helping her.
"We don't accept starter checks," the asshole said.
I didn't want to make a scene (totally unlike me) so I put it on a credit card. Hey, Best Buy: I won't be back in your store anytime soon.
· I wanted to thank my son in some way for taking me out to get the air conditioner, so we stopped at Arby's on Queen City Avenue for lunch. The place was deserted. My son got one of their deli sandwiches, and I got a salad with chicken on top. It was all iceberg lettuce — what a shock — and about five minutes into their crappy salad, stomach pains began and I had to rush to their dirty restroom, which had no toilet paper. Ever wipe your ass with paper towels?
· My last week in Clifton's Gaslight District is bittersweet. The old fart who walks down Ludlow Avenue in the morning while I'm waiting for a bus, with his white beard and cheery demeanor and who always runs his fingers through the coin slots in newspaper stands looking for money is someone I'm not gonna miss at all. He gives me the creeps.
· I'm gonna miss Keller's IGA, no doubt about it. I like most of the cashiers there, but I'll miss Kim the most. She's a young hippie, while I'm an old hippie, and we get along so well. She's a little quiet but I can tell she's a good soul.
· I've been taking boxes from CVS's trash bin. What a great selection! If you're moving, too, get over there. As far as going into their store, I don't think I'll miss it much. The service is always kind of slow — and what's with that little shorter lady who always holds my $20 bills up to the light to check them out? Does she think I printed them that morning? Jesus.
· Of all the people who I have asked to help me move, I wonder how many will actually show up?
· The biggest dread with this move — outside of boxing up all my books, which I've already done — is transporting my cat, Phoebe, to the new place. She already knows something is up with all the boxes around. She hates the cat cage — runs every time she sees it — and I wonder how many hours it will take for me to get her in it.
· I need to head over to Sitwell's one last time before leaving Clifton.
· I know I can find vodka downtown but where in the hell do I buy tonic water?
I'll figure things out as I go. I'm really starting to feel excited about the move. I would like to write more (a lie), but I got a ton of laundry to do.