Dont Mince Words

This morning was the second day in a row when someone from the east coast called to check on me and started the conversation with, “are you dry?”

My standard response was “well, it has been a long time since I’ve had sex, so I guess so.”

I’m working on getting mudslides into my repertoire.

You know you live on the Rose Bowl parade route when…..

you arrive home from work and you miss your driveway because Port-O-Johns are lined up in front of your building.

I was 35 when I realized I should hire men to move me. I made enough money and so did my friends, so the lure of beer and pizza wasn’t enough of a motivator for them. For my four-block move in Brooklyn, I called a Man with a Van.

The Russians showed up. They rule Brooklyn with their mob and their beloved vodka. After watching them operate, I couldn’t understand why their empire fell. They were hardworking, fast, and efficient. For $150, I was in my new apartment in less than two hours.

The Russians showed up again to move me from Brooklyn to Manhattan. It was a little more expensive because of 9/11 truck restrictions on bridges and tunnels. But the Russians got me there.

Finally, when I moved from New York to Los Angeles, the Russians came over to pack my unsold items to ship. They worked at a furious pace and most of them looked like they might weigh as much as my left thigh, but strong like bull.

When I decided to finally leave my “temporary” Venice apartment and settle in Pasadena, three friends volunteered to help (without prompting). I elected to call a Man with a Van and was greeted by Angel Chavez. The morning of my move, Angel was flying solo; his crew didn’t show up. “But I’ve done this before,” he explained, weighing as much as my left thigh. Three hours, 25 miles, and $80 later, he was right. He could do it.

As a woman, I’m thankful there are strong men out there that like to be paid to do a job I’d rather not do. As an American, I’m thankful there are immigrants out there that are proud to do any job just to live here.