Having moved four times in five years, it’s official, I’ve gone pro. If there were moving sponsors, this would’ve been free, in fact I’d have been paid to move, each carload photographed for the Moving Mags. However, in these times where moving is not recognized as an art form, I want to share my moving tips, as well as some of the trials and tribulations associated with moving four blocks.

First off, why should it be harder or costlier than it has to be, get your boxes and milk crates for free at Trader Joe’s. They slang a lot of wine, boxes are aplenty. Pack up everything that you can fit into a wine box. Anyone can carry a wine box, even me, so pack what you can carry and start the carloads. As you empty out your old abode you’ll need to be thinking clean, so you can get back your security deposit. White caulk makes an excellent wall patch, what do you care that it’s not plaster, it ain’t your house. Patch any holes, remove the duct tape holding the screens in, and clean as you go. This is especially important for those with furry friends. Hairballs larger than their creators will roll across barren floors like tumbleweeds. Each carload has the added benefit of making your new place feel like home, which is imperative. Bring over your plants and lamps early, foliage and not using overhead lighting conjures an instant vibe.

I was lucky enough to have a Korean friend over to visit prior to the move day. She advised me that I would need a lot of new stuff for the new house. As I hold my money in a clenched fist I said, “We’ll see about that after I pay the movers”. She explained that her mother would suggest new underwear at the very least and that she would be delivering a house plant and laundry detergent to my new apartment, which is apparently a Korean tradition to bring abundance. I am all about abundance, so I relented, “I’ll get new panties, OK?” She told me Koreans like everything new. Her mother would protest the purchase of anything vintage, be it clothing or furniture, because it carries the previous owners Chi. I call it juju but I am a believer and I don’t want psychic cooties.

As we were talking she mentioned that she’d had lunch with a girlfriend who hadn’t had sex in two years, to which I responded, “What a whore. I’m going on four years.” This rendered my usually verbose Korean friend speechless. Then I said, “It’s weird, I actually I haven’t had sex since I got this couch.” My couch was an irritating love seat, which would’ve made sexy time a logistical improbability, but it served well as a place for me and a cat to take a load off. Coming to, my friend asked “Where’d you get the couch?” I replied, “From my awesome gay German neighbor in my old building” Then it dawned on me and I exclaimed “Oh my God, I have a gay couch.” We busted up laughing until we were sideways.

Recovering our breath she asked, “What about your bed?” At my dubious face she urged me on. I told her it was also a hand-me-down which came from a passionate but disfunctional relationship which ended in violence against both parties and tears. She shook her head and we giggled. I went on to say that I would rather shove sage sticks under the mattress than give up the bed, as it was a “Hevenly Bed for The Westin Hotel” and I would never spend five grand on a bed. I said, “I suppose I could get a new duvet and bedding…” My friend made a face and said “What?! You kept their bedding???” I replied “It was a Ralph Lauren duvet and I have other sheets too, but these were chinoiserie and I liked ’em. Anyway, these weren’t from the people with the violent bed. I started laughing and blurted out, “They were from an impotent couple.” True story. We were dieing.

I sold the gay couch, donated the impotent bedding, and have a realm of crystals, prisms, and mirrors (reversed) around the bed. She demanded I buy a box of rubbers that day. I’ll report back on the undoubtedly positive outcome of my Korean intervention.

The other good news was that as I’d carried everything I could to the new place, my move was completed within the three hour minimum. I was disappointed to noted that the Pergo wood floors I thought I had were actual faux wood vinyl, throughout. I figured this out when painting the shit brown moldings. I got to the bottom of it, and then poured water on the floor. It pooled and stayed, “I have plastic floors.” Sheesh, in my panic to have a home I’d sold myself plastic floors. It’s all worked out as a good friend, hetero and hot as fuck, gave me his old couch. So I have good sexy couch juju and rug money (excellent band name: Rug Money). I also have semi-gloss paint on the walls, so should you need to dismember a body, cruise over, clean up’ll be a breeze, but BYOS (Bring Your Own Saw).

The welcome wagon came one night in between carloads. Fortunately, these crooks knew nothing of Manson, and they pulled the screen rather than cutting it.

I drilled the screen in and have dowels to prevent the lifting of the window, plus some curtains, which Paulson has embraced whole heartedly.

To combat the stupid thieves, I recruited JC.

Set up a shrine.

And popped a bottle. Cheers!