The Purge (Part 1?)

**Note: There is a lot of fucking in this blog. Not sex. Just F Bombs**

 

I know some of you are probably really excited to read about this purge, but it was not me going around town killing poor people like in the movie. It was a purge of unnecessary items from my life. I had a really long and rough week last week. I’m currently without a job (again), I’ll tell you all about that tomorrow. Today, though, and yesterday, I have been going through the things I either don’t need,  don’t want, or don’t use. I started yesterday with my closet. I ended up donating 4 bags of clothes to the local Am Vets store. I currently have maybe 20 things on hangers in my closet that I may or may not wear in the future and about 50 empty empty hangers that I may or may not replace clothing on.  The cleaning out of the closet involved a lot of talking to myself. The conversation went a little like this, “Nice pants, even when I could fit in them, I never wore them so why the fuck do I still have them?” and “White pants? Why the fuck did I ever have these? I am way to messy to wear anything white!” and “Pinstripes, super cute, even slimming, but you’ve always been too thick thighed to wear these. Buhbye.” “Oh, bell-bottoms, these were super cute 20 years ago and 40, but sweet thing, your legs are too fucking long and you look stupid in them so put them in the bag because when they come back in style, you won’t be any shorter!”

That was pretty much the closet purge. Then I started throwing away (well, recycling) all the empty boxes. Mel’s TV box, Mel’s PlayStation box, Mel’s headphones for the PlayStation box, and then I got to a Comcast box that still had a small receiver in it that I had ordered for Mel’s room but never was able to hook it up. Not sure if I’m not smart enough or if there just isn’t cable in his room. Either way, as it turns out I’ve been paying $6 per month plus tax on this little box that has never been used. So I took it back to Comcast and returned it. I was starting to feel much better. While on this was going on, my mom was in the kitchen doing dishes. Yes, I had let them kind of pile up. Depression does that sometimes. So she was doing that while I was maniacally throwing shit away. To be honest, I didn’t actually throw much away, because I’m just so green, I have to reduce, reuse, and recycle. Isn’t that how the slogan goes.

Then, this morning, because it’s garbage day, I had to get my couch out of the house. I have been trying to get someone to help me move this fucker out of the house for a week. It’s full of dust and dog hair and my spare dog has eaten a whole cushion. I guess after she ran out of dirt in my cactus plant to eat, she decided sponge would be fine. Needless to say, it is very hard to find someone to help you move or move furniture. Do you ever notice how many friends you have when you are doing for them, but when you need something…… (crickets chirping)?

But then, I had this BRILLIANT idea. It was about 9 am. The liquor stores are open. I live in the “ghetto” according to mostly everyone I know. So I thought I would take full advantage of it. I started cruising by the liquor store looking for some familiar homeless, drinking faces, because I knew if I offered them $10 for five minutes of work, they would totally go for it. I know what you’re thinking…. “you are going to bring a random homeless person in your house?”  Yes, yes the fuck I was because I needed the couch out before the garbage men come today. However, as luck would have it, there was not one single person out at either of the liquor stores. Nor were there any people lingering on the streets or waiting at the bus stops. It’s like when you’re eye is twitching and you tell someone to look at it and as soon as they do, your eye stops twitching. That was my search for some homeless help today.

And in the midst of my cruising back and forth on Magnolia, I was waved down by a couple of the local drug dealers.

“What you need, ma?”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t have what I need. Unless you have a very strong homeless man in your pocket, I’m good.”

Because I did have enough sense to not bring some creepy drug dealer to my house to move this stupid fucking couch. I ended up giving up on my search for muscle and went home with a “fuck it” attitude, which has kind of been the attitude I’ve had for a week now, because I’m really honestly and truly over it, all of it. So I got home, walked in the house, looked around the living room, glared at the couch, and with the strength of a thousand jealous girlfriends, I politely tipped that mother fucker on its side and dragged it out of the house by myself and then walked it one side at a time up to the curb. Then I flipped it off and went back inside feeling accomplished.

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