Yesterday morning, when I woke up, while performing my morning ablutions I felt an odd but very powerful sense of disconnection from reality. The familiar seemed strange, and the strange seemed even stranger.
I racked my brain to figure out what was different.
Could it be that it was the first morning I was waking up in the new house in Brooklyn that E.S. and I finally, after a maddening series of delays, finished buying?
It was certainly a possibility, but somehow it still didn’t seem quite right. And the feeling of unfamiliarity only intensified.
Then, as I was wandering around the rooms (in my socks, since the floors have obviously not been scrubbed since 1972), I saw a box I had marked “OPEN IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!” I obeyed my instructions and looked inside.
I almost cried with relief when I saw that it was my bathroom scale. I installed it in its proper place and the strange feeling dissipated at once.
Then I stepped on the scale.
I should have stuck with the odd but powerful sense of disconnection from reality, because now I have to go kill myself.
First, seven exclamation points? Bathroom scale or not, that can’t be gauged as justifiable.
Second, if you avoid buying an air conditioning unit like the one jutting out the side of your neighbor’s (or neighbors’) house, you might be able to sweat off the pounds in your sleep that can potentially ruin an otherwise decent morning.
If you kill yourself, can I have your house?
Congratulations!
And don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll drop the extra pound or two cleaning the floors. 🙂
Nice house! Congratulations!
Reality is a bitch.
Suicide really isn’t a constructive approach to the problem (although the dead are quite good at weight loss).
Winsdor Terrace? Eastern Slope? Western Boerum Heights?
Right. I want to know that, too. If the husband and I manage to get out of our current eviction process with a suitable pile of cash, we’d want a house very like yours.
Congratulations on the new digs. Don’t kill yourself.
Just will yourself to believe that the extra weight was due to the socks.
Mazel Tov dalink! We are so proud.
Can we visit when we’re in the City That Never Sleeps for Pride?
Note on the scale; you may need to adjust it for your new floor.
Thanks for the photo, it’s going to make it a lot easier for me to stalk you. 🙂
[will] It’s a decoy.
Congratulations on the house, Joel. Hope you’ve got a guest room 🙂
You finally bought the house? Congratulations!
Who paid the last dollar?
So the most humpable bottom in greater NYC gained a pound. Take a breath. Try to stay connected to us mere mortals, handsome.
Finish writing the damned story and then kill yourself, okay?
Dewdrop: Such a lovely home. I’m so happy for you. Ask around to the neighbors for the name of a nice Polish woman to come clean those floors for you. Don’t ever forget — you are an artist, Gumdrop, not a charwoman.
Don’t despair about the extra ounces. Moving can be very disruptive to the system. All you need is a few prunes or maybe a colonic and you’ll be back to your modeling weight.
And those persons who intimated you might have gained a whole pound or more, they’re not really your friends. Feh. Jealous bitches.
Love you, Bubbelah.
Aunt Perky
I can’t believe you’re such a grown up!
How exciting! It’s really beautiful! How’s about some interior photos? Is there a guest room? I do windows, but it’ll cost ya!
More blogging about the show(s), please. How’s the “too gay” cast working out?
Oh you and the scale.
.. always avoid the scale. Put it in a new box and write “Never Open Again”. It’s like the puzzlebox in those Hellraiser movies — once you examine it you’re in for trouble…
A Man of Property, eh?
Who’da thunk it?
I’ve been ignoring my bathroom scale since May 31st (the day I moved in to my new condo unit). The measuring tape has been stashed and hidden in one of my drawers.
I console myself with the fact that I live on the 5th floor and my building doesn’t have an elevator.
Sigh. This blog used to be so good.
i think i love you.