Thursday, April 14, 2005

A Place For My Stuff

I'm in the process of moving again, I think. When I say I think, I mean that my flatmates aren't even sure what they are going to do. But to be on the safe side, I'm looking anyway. Our place is pretty cool. Three bedrooms, one bath, balcony looking over the street, all for 800 clams, slpit three ways. However, one guy can't keep up, and I can't cover for him rent wise. I got my own stuff to look out for. My last name isn't Trump.

See y'all, I don't want to move. You know the deal: You move, that means you gotta pack stuff. You gotta cary stuff. You have to ask at least fifteen people to help you out, when you really know that only three will show up, and those guys will want to carry spoons. They will expect a cold six during then and by the time you get to the new place, they'll be to drunk to lift a finger. If you ever have to ask a friend to move, it's usually the last time you'll ever see them. Even if you only move a block away. That is the ultimate sacrifice for a pal. Not giving a kidney, or sleeping with kidnapper to save their life, no. They have given their lifeblood to get you to a new home.

I'm glad I don't have alot of furniture. When I do move, it'll be light. A bed, electronics, my dvd's, clothes, and at least ten boxes of comics. Live spartan, I say. It's sad to think about, but it ehlps. When you have to move, it's easier. Plus, you keep more pals that way. The less they carry, the longer the freindship. Once they start trying to pick up a refridgerator, you can ever forget getting back that ten bucks you loaned them.

So, to borrow from Babs, who always asks good questions...


Oh, and to just to let some of you know, I actually looked at listing in Montana. Ya know, for just in case...

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