Suitcases - I had the best suitcase ever. One of those older, blue ones with flipping latches and a shell so indestructible that I could lean on the side without it buckling. It wasn’t cool enough to be vintage — and after looking around at various sites, I think it can place it in the late ’50’s early ’60’s. The blue, kind of dark heather blue, highlighted the dents and scars from my travels. From San Francisco to Orlando, it ventured with me. They don’t make ‘em like that any more.
Now, when we lived in Delaney Park, we rented a lovely duplex, just blocks away from Lake Davis, at the corner of Delaney Park Drive and Mills. The neighbors, our duplex-mates, were “interesting” characters. The lesbian trucker with the box of jalapeños is a story for a later day, but there was a woman (the trucker’s girlfriend) living next door with her white supremacist son and various spawnlings that she sired with various men, although none of them, save the go-whitey son lived with her. She lost custody. I could hazard a guess as to why, but I’m sure it would have been less interesting than the truth.
Back to the suitcase. We shared an attic space with the house of social engineering reject, and my suitcase disappeared. My beautiful, rugged, not-so-vintage, rockin suitcase went with them. I was pissed. How dare they!? Through the winding streets (okay, it was just an alley) of San Francisco, through the steamy jungles of South Florida, on the harrowing journey north to Orlando — that damn suitcase saw the world, and then ran off with some trashy fucktards. Did I mention I was pissed?
I’ve been searching for a good suitcase ever since. In desperation (prior to a trip to see the parental units in Colorado) D and I picked up a set that cost 50 bucks or something. They sucked. The rolling bits on the bottom locked up, the fabric was flimsy and couldn’t protect anything valuable (much less my frackin toothbrush) and it looked like every other suitcase out there. My blue suitcase stood out — the black ones were like a slutty cheerleading squad - everyone had their hands on them. I am heading to PA next month, and tired of the shittastic offerings in the box stores, I ventured to the Salvation Army. Actually, I stopped that Thriftco (whadda dump) and couldn’t find what I was looking for. Then I went to the Salvation Army off Michigan.
BINGO!!! DING DING DING!!! WE HAVE A WINNER!!!
Blue, almost the same shade as my old one, firm shelled, a little musty (for some reason I liked that about my old suitcase too) with those useless satin pockets that snap in and out of the sides. But I really really lucked out. Inside the big one, was a smaller one. And inside that — one even smaller (think it’s more for the personal essentials but it slightly bigger than a really large shoebox). Now… guess how much I paid for it… nope… too high.
Guess again….
nope…
Wanna know?
Do you really wanna know?
6 bucks. Yes, I rule the world.
Nail in the Coffin: Talked to the overlord/property manager 2 weeks ago. I swear to god, baby jeezus and all those fun-loving saints that this woman only likes to talk to me and hates D. Which is strange. I’m the bitchy one in the family. anyway, our conversation went well. She needed an end date for our lease, and in a surprising move of generosity, never made us sign an addendum for the extension. I guess living there for three years, paying our rent on time, not freaking out when the roof got shot to shit in Hurricane Charley, fixing things without bothering them and not pissing off the neighbors has payed off. I also asked her for a recommendation, because as much as it chaps my ass, we are going to have to rent when we get to Portland. Logistically, it makes the most sense. But she has an end date now, and I’ve promised smiles and cooperation. It’s not smart to leave things on bad terms, even when she did show up that one time, unannounced. That visit cost us 350 bucks! It’s hard to hide a second beagle. My parental units are overlords property owners, so I should know better. Oh well. I just hope they don’t try to bleed the rock dry when we move. We can’t afford it.
Realization: I sound like a superficial ass when I talk about presents. I get miffed by my family, but only because I have unrealistically high expectations of them. Their visit threw into sharp relief my flaws. Instead of being grateful, I was selfish. It was great spending time with my siblings, and my mother as well. Sometimes I just feel like she wants me to be a different person. My manic depression seems to stay at the forefront of my family’s’ thoughts, instead of my successes, but we are all flawed people. I will say this — they ate vegetarian enchiladas and actually liked them. And they make me laugh — all of them. It was good to see them and I am grateful that they were there for the ceremony. — and Alexis — thank you for my super cool, nifty, skull/stack flip-flops! I love you !!
I’m going to get back to work. I put my resignation in. It felt good.
Have a happy Thursday.
