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Moving Monique - Part I

Many of us have moving stories. We've all had relatives, friends, ex-roommates, acquaintances and hangers-on who, over the years, have innocently asked us: “Hey, can you give me a hand moving this coming Saturday?” - or something like that. It's always “just a few boxes” or “it will be easy,” which in hindsight is laughable, as these assurances turn out to be anything but the truth. And if you sit down and compile, correlate, and compare all the moving horror stories you have experienced first hand, been involved with, or have heard tell of, there are generally a few standard themes: nothing is packed, people are disorganized, not enough time, on an impossible deadline. Usually there are others to help, so it softens the frustration or 'impossible-ness' of it all. But afterward we all usually vow “Never, ever, ever help ANYONE to move again!” It's like that vow we take every time we have a mind-blasting hangover, which in the end is always broken.

A few years ago I had the experience that I can only describe as all your worst nightmares, all your most outrageous helping-so-and-so-move stories, all your worst fears regarding any of that rolled into one. And afterward I got pretty good at relating it all, in about a half and hour, which still had me speed-talking my way though the details, sometimes leaving the smaller things out. Universally when I finished my listeners would react the same way: “Oh...My...God....”

The French Quarter - My Home Too, Dammit

No, just because I am here too, and happen to be walking through the Quarter, and DON'T look like I slept in a dumpster last night doesn't mean I'm a god-damned tourist waiting to hand you money because I should feel sorry for your sad-face and open hand.

Yes, this means you you obnoxious, loud-mouthed gutter-punk who immediately let's fly with a string of insulting accusations and bitterness once I ACTUALLY LOOK AT YOU, ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR PRESENCE (which is more than many in the Quarter will do) and politely tell you I can't help. If I was only mildly sorry for not helping you before I'm certainly not regretting my decision now. Good riddance!

This is my home too, although whereas I have actually lived here in this city for a time I can only assume you have flocked here from somewhere else... well, welcome to New Orleans, but when you are an entitled, white millennial I can't really feel sorry for you if you wind up like this. I will not be driven out by the likes of you.

Next time I too will SHOUT BACK.

Don't F@#$ With The Ducks

Remember those Mardi-bears I mentioned yesterday? “They are pretty dumb but they do funny stuff,” I said? This morning I thought I was going to rip my stitching open I was laughing so hard.

As a plush, it's easy to to just sit. You might call it sleep, but it's different for us. We don't need to go to sleep like people, or fang-beasts. For us it's more of 'being blank' for a while. Some of us do it more of the time, others eventually learn to be 'non-blank' when we want to. It kinda depends on the bear, or whatever you are.

So back to what made me laugh so hard. I was checking out my surroundings (Dave, the other big-guy tends to move me around to weird places...more recently) and I was sitting in a window early this morning. They were both asleep. They like to sleep late. And believe me, lots happens around here when THEY are 'blank.'

Admiring the light on the flowers in the window I wasn't really paying attention to anything else up here. But then I heard a BANG! Now, this house has its normal noises and its “hey, what the hell was THAT?” noises. This was one of the second kind. But... since it wasn't followed up by anything big I went back to staring at the flower and out the window. Soon enough I got my follow-up.

An Unwanted Intrusion

So I was minding my own business... (there is a lot of that around here – at least by MOST of us) and all of a sudden...

Ok, I'll back up a bit. There are only a few times of the day when the big-guy is away from his typey-starey box, and this morning that's when I figured I'd be able to do my thing. I was already upstairs, so no long trips from the dark room downstairs for me. So when I got to the top of the desk I thought, “BONUS!” - he'd left his phone-thingy right there waiting for me! Picture time again! I am getting pretty good at this whole technology thing if I say so myself.

So I was sitting there, minding my own business, taking a few shots of ME, when I heard a not-so-scary voice say in an ATTEMPTED scary voice, “Stop what you're doing AT ONCE!”

Who Needs Thumbs?

Try typing on one of these things with no thumbs. Go ahead, I dare you! You'd probably get something like “&^$F:IUGgdfiajkavba fha89qwewr98yjlg a9wthgo.” That's what I got the first few times. Practice makes perfect after all and look at me now! I'm not giving away my secret though, and that's really how all this happened. Lucky for you it did, 'cause now you get me!

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wyatt, and I live here. Yeah, yeah, you know those other guys... 'them' as we of the plush variety refer to them. Chris and Dave. Not bad humans for the most part. They have their issues. People do. I've been with them a long time now, a lot longer than some of the other bags-o-fluff around here. They found us (me and my pal Paxton) in a place called Provincetown... probably about 1,000 years ago. I don't get this time thing, so you're probably thinking “he's wrong” Well, you are right, I don't know. What I do know is we were BOTH here before just about everyone else, AND those two nasty, fanged beasts that hung around for all that time. Thank god THEY are gone. The dark one was fucking INSANE and the light one was a self-centered BE-otch. Luckily they were more interested in torturing each other than bothering with us. Good riddance!

That's me in the picture. It took me a while to figure out how to use that phone-thing. Luckily the big guy came along when he did, I'd dropped it off the table into that other thing they put their dirties in. No dirties today. Well, not in the basket. The process is usually: 1.) dirties everywhere 2.) Chris mumbles in a bad mood 3.) dirties in basket. Then I'm not sure what happens but they come back and dump the dirties out, fold them and they disappear. Unless Dave brings the dirties...then they stay on the big bed for a long time. This also makes Chris mumble, but he does that...a LOT. Oh well, like I said, they both have their issues.

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