Three's The Charm

I've lived in my new apartment for almost 8 months. But it looks like I moved in 2 weeks ago because of all my artwork lying against the walls. My mother gave me my first piece, an enamel of an owl because my nickname in our family was The Night Owl, when I was only 16 and I've amassed a large collection since then. Last year, when I thought I was going to be homeless, my only real concern was my art collection. I even went so far as to make a list of who would get each piece. I typed the list crying. (that line added for sympathy)

In my last apartment each of the pieces was carefully curated and hung in the right spot and that means I just stuck it where there was a blank space on a wall. But now all the walls are blank and it requires some forethought as to style, grouping, colors. Bedroom? Living room? I asked for some forethought for Christmas but didn't get any. If any children are reading this, THERE IS NO SANTA CLAUS.

But that isn't the only problem with the move. Out of all the things I packed, there were missing items.

1. The electric shaver. I found the charging base but not the shaver. I shuffled the charging base from one area to another, hoping that when I one day opened up that particular hiding place, the shaver would have magically materialized and be sitting in its base. And of course from the moment I discovered it missing all I wanted to do was shave my legs via electricity. I eventually found it tucked into a side pocket of a Betsey Johnson purse, shoved high up on a shelf. Six months after I moved in. Obviously I'm over the Betsey Johnson if I didn't use it for 6 months. I can't imagine under what circumstances I decided to put it inside a pocket of that purse. To keep the purse company in the move 1.7 miles from my old home? When I see my Alzheimer's counselor next week I'll ask him what he thinks happened. I'll also ask my Alzheimer's counselor what he thinks happened when I see him next week.

2. The sign. I had it on my front door in the old apartment complex and it really cut down on the vicious menu-delivery people who bring food to one apartment and then make the rounds of the rest of the place, brandishing those cheap menu print-outs like weapons, clogging screen doors and forcing tenants to scream obscenities at people who don't even speak English because who else would take a job like that? Not Americans! God forbid! I did, however, have a celadon Buddha I bought in South Korea stashed in the planter outside the door (see photo) so before the police arrested me for that concealed weapons signage they might stop and think that I was a disciple of Mother Teresa. I know you all believe that.

I finally found the sign wedged in a box of paintings I haven't unpacked. I put it on my balcony so the squirrels won't get any bright rodentia ideas and pull up in their little moving vans when I'm not home.

Although I would pay good money to see a squirrel moving van.

3. The 32 gig back-up hard drive. When I bought it I had no idea how big 32 gigs was. I had a general idea. I knew it could hold a lot of data. Like the Magna Carta or the Gutenberg Bible. But it's not until I plugged it in and hit one of the many buttons that were written in computerese that I realized I didn't even have 7 gigs of data. Or 5. I'm not sure I had 1.

So when I came home this week and couldn't boot the computer I had an epic meltdown. First, I'd have to buy a new one with non-existent money but second, HOW DO I TRANSFER THE DATA OFF THE DEAD COMPUTER? Oh I know! I'll get it off the missing 32 gig back-up hard drive!

So now I have to buy another one. Because as soon as I do I'll find the missing one because THAT'S HOW LIFE WORKS AND THERE'S STILL NO SANTA CLAUS.