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I sold the Weaselmobile!


Just got an email from the kid I left my car with. He finally got my price (which was so low, a dealer snapped it up now that the weather’s improved. Feh). There goes my last tie to the old me.

Welp, it’s like I always say: whenever God closes a door, he opens a window. And chucks me head-first out of it.

Now I really am like somebody’s nana from the Old Country. No job, can’t drive, talk funny, don’t get anybody’s jokes. I think I’ll just hang out in the kitchen, grow a mustache and cook ethnic food from now on.

Everybody up for a mess of hominy grits and chicken-fried ‘possum?

May 28, 2009 — 7:24 pm
Comments: 34



Welp, that’s two-thirds of my swag crammed into Badger House. The only casualty so far, a small bottle of patchouili oil that leaked out over a bunch of stuff in transit. My hands smell like the illicit lovechild of the Glastonbury Festival and Woodstock.

How bad is it? I poured Uncle B a drink and he turned it down because the glass stank of hippie.

Ow. I’m off. Bath. Booze. Laterz.

January 16, 2009 — 7:54 pm
Comments: 53

I wonder why he never used this…


Huh. I found this in a box with the sushi-colored bandaids. Sometimes I wonder why I bother to buy him nice things.

I’m moving all his shit out of the dining room, to make room for my shit, which arrives tomorrow afternoon. Well, two thirds of it, anyhow. They took my trans-Atlantic container and broke it up into three crates for storage. I really didn’t think we could absorb such a very great deal of shit at once, so we’re accepting delivery of two.

Um, yay. I guess.

We had our last counseling session with the vicar earlier tonight. Uncle B managed to peek over her shoulder and read, “you can slip in the stuff about Jesus now” in her vicar’s notes. But it was just a pinch of Jesus and a little prayer and it hardly hurt at all.

Actually, the vicar never says Jesus, she always says “Jesus Christ,” which makes me think she’s about to cut loose with a string of profanity.

Also, the way she says “God” is flat-out terrifying. Like Gowwwdeh. It sounds serious as a heart-attack.

Anyhow, I’m going to go contemplate my sins. By which I mean soak in a very hot tub with a very large vodka and listen to Classic FM by candlelight.

I’ve got a tough day tomorrow. I’ll probably have to get out of bed before noon.



January 15, 2009 — 8:29 pm
Comments: 11

What was I thinking?!


We went down to visit my stuff today. The local mover guys COULDN’T have been nicer. They had shifted my container’s worth into three large crates, and they were incensed on my behalf that Arpin hadn’t packed it properly on the front end. They offered to help me file a complaint.

“Look here!” the man said, “this chair is broken.”
“Oh. Heh. Yeah. Broke that years ago. Shouldn’t have leaned it back on two legs all the time like that.”
“And this! It’s just wrapped in plain paper!”
“Oh, that. Hm. Yeah. It’s kind of crap, that thing.”

Folks, I have just spent umpty-ump thousand dollars moving an entire container of complete shit to England. Sentimental value, my silky sable ass.

Anyway, we’ll have to arrange for a dropoff next week. We’re expecting torrential rain and gale force winds, but a good soaking isn’t going to make things any worse. Just to show willing, I grabbed a box marked “kitchen” — and brought it home to discover the Museum of Godawful Tacky Ceramics.

Did I think a heaping helping of buttugly was going to cheer me up?

January 9, 2009 — 7:30 pm
Comments: 17

oh. how nice.

witchOh shit. My stuff’s here.

Uncle B and I were standing on the shingle watching an indigo snowsquall tear through a red sunset over the English Channel when the movers called.

(NO I didn’t have my goddamn camera. He popped off a couple of shots with a pocket camera; I’ll fish it out of the back of the car tomorrow and see what he got).

The movers want to know what part of it I’d like them to deliver to the house and what part to put into storage right away. Honest to crap, that’s like buying a 30-ton load of horse manure and deciding which shit you’d like now and which shit to save for later.

Oh, and Jill will obviously have to be burned. 




January 5, 2009 — 8:54 pm
Comments: 24

A lit-tle too clever for my own good…

chewed phone

When they get wind I’ve left the country, my credit card companies will cut me off. I had to have cards to get here — there were a thousand little, and not so little, moving expenses that wouldn’t take cash — so I didn’t let on. I’ve paid my bills online for years, I figured. I’ll call up from the UK, get my final balance and cancel the account from the warm safety of the Fortress of Solitude, I figured.

Ha! Guess what? 1-800 numbers don’t work from outside the US! Well, they sort of do. They work part way. They string you along. They tease.

You know what it’s like to punch in a boring twelve-digit account number and wend your boring way through all the boring choices in a modern boring automated phone system? Well, imagine you had to poke in twenty digits to get in, and a dial tone cut you off at some random point in the process.

You think this post is boring?

Ummm…you’re right, actually.

December 3, 2008 — 8:07 pm
Comments: 25

We Have Weasel…

Well, okay. My To Do list is…done.



I haven’t done much more than sleep since I got in, but I promise to do more. Like drink. And then sleep some more.

Charlotte’s fine. She’s slinking around like a bad smell, but that’s a big step up from sulking in a box somewhere. She’s even voluntarily stepped into a room with Uncle B in it, mostly because she’s flat fascinated by the fire. She’s never seen fire before and, on the whole, she’s inclined to think it’s a good thing.

Wait ’til she sees her first Christmas tree.

Anyhoo, the champagne ain’t going to drink itself! Thanks for the good vibes, dudes.

Another day of treating myself like fine china — cracked, beautiful — and I’ll be back to my old self.

Yeah. Sorry. Best we can hope for.

November 26, 2008 — 6:37 pm
Comments: 37

Recycling: not just for urine any more

Please enjoy this graphic from last Christmas. Today, I am closing on my house and leaving on a jet plane.

Um…I hope. I wrote this a week ago and set it up to auto-post.

November 25, 2008 — 4:00 am
Comments: 45



Some results of my Political Junkie Tour of Belle Meade above. Really couldn’t get a bead on Algore’s house; too many trees. It’s big. Frist’s is ginormous.

Okay, here’s the shed-yule:

8:30 Vet appointment — yay, we’re getting wormed!
11:00 Movers
6:00 A friend picks me up to take a last box to FedEx and have dinner

First thing: empty and clean the fridge, tidy generally
11:00 Real estate agent picks me up
11:30 Closing
3:00 Cat dropped at freight place
9:00 Our mutual plane leaves
2:15 (7:15 local time) We arrive at Heathrow. Clearing a cat through takes 3-4 hours. Don’t ask me why.
6:00 (11:00) My driver arrives.

Deep breath — here we go! I’m shutting down this machine…

November 24, 2008 — 7:53 am
Comments: 50

Side trip

Heh. Cool. I told myself I’d Google image search Nashville and take the first image that popped up. This is it, from a travel site.

Going to see my dad in Nashville today. He was originally supposed to come to Jollye Olde and do the whole father-of-the-stoat thing, but he’s at that awkward age where one broken vertebra leads to another. His dog knocked him over last month and took out his shoulder, which spelled the end of his mobility. He’s still perfectly compos mentis, but he’s gone from a cane to a walker to a wheelchair inside a year. We’ve got to find something for his huge, throbbing weaselbrain to do or it’ll tear itself to pieces on idle.

Weaselbrains are like Lamborghinis. Pre-Chrysler.

Anyhow, my plane leaves at 6, which means I have to be up at three. And I’m checking a six-shooter in my luggage, so that’s always fun. It has to be inside a locked case which is inside a locked case which is inside your luggage — but before you can check it, you have to prove to the ticket agent that it’s unloaded.

That’s no problem with a semi-auto: you transport it completely disassembled. My old S&W 5-screw doesn’t come apart, though. I’ve only done this a couple of times, and I live in fear some security guard across the room will see me pull that thing out of the case and give me two in the hat.

Anyhow — I’m off the grid until late Sunday night. Don’t trash the place!

November 21, 2008 — 3:12 am
Comments: 51