sexin' the ex

with the help of some fabulous women, i moved this weekend. there was a guy or two there sporadically, and i am grateful to them as well, but the heavy shit, that was all women. as one profound friend said, "men can do it faster, but women do it better." so cheers to you furniture haulin' chicks.

so i moved from a place where helicopters chop through the air every ten days or so to beverly "don't even think of parking your ass on this street unless you have a permit" hills. when i arrived with my packed uhaul (the one i declined insurance on and then almost hit my friend's car with) there was of course, no where to park. especially not a 17' truck. so, i double parked it obviously and waited for BH patrol to come around, which he did and promptly informed me that i could not do that. so turns out that the SEVENTY-FIVE dollar piece of paper i had to get from the city to put in the window of the truck did me no good because i was supposed to BUY and post no parking signs 72 hours in advance so i would have a space for my uhaul. who the hell knew?
the complications of tryin' to live like a rich bitch...
and even "rich bitches" can't escape the woes of LA parking.

as exhausted as i was, the first night in the new place, i couldn't sleep. i always have trouble the first few nights after moving into a new spot. it's the unfamiliarity of it, i suppose. the heat didn't help. and the fact that i couldn't stop thinking about sexin' the ex only made matters worse. he was one of the guys i mentioned previously, however he showed up at the end after everything was already off the truck, so i put him to work in the ikea department of my belongings (reassembling the bed, putting together the bookcase...). i thought that after seven months, i would be past the stage where i would see him and want to straddle him, but i discovered that that was not the case. in fact, seeing him work that allen wrench made me sweatier than i already was. i wanted the nails to not be the only thing that he screwed in the bed that night, but alas, he respects me.

he told me months ago that he can't re-do me because we've already been together, and it's too complicated, and he doesn't see how people can do that. ACK! i don't need you to respect me; i need you to do me. okay, wait...what i mean is...i already know you respect me that's why i WANT you to do me. plus, i don't have to up my number that way. apparently, as my sweaty friends and i discussed on the way to retrieve more of my belongings, the idea that all guys want is sex is a myth because there have been many an instance when women i know have tried to hand guys some good hoo-ha, guys they've ALREADY had sex with, with no strings attached (theoretically speaking), only to have their text message not returned or the guy never shows up or his mom won't let him borrow the car or in the best case...he just respects you too damn much. i shouldn't complain. i'm not complaining. i'm glad that he respects me. i would have it no other way. but can't we respect each other in between my new 400 thread count sheets?
i am pondering these vaginally immune men in L.A.