Someone has decided that the heart of Rock 'n Roll isn't exactly tugging at his heart strings and just might not be staying around as long as I'd like.
I understand the desire to follow your dreams and pursue personal happiness; but it saddens me to have to say goodbye, again.
In preparation of my landlord and the building's maintenance man spending who knows how long in my (until recently) not too clean apartment, David and I spent the weekend giving our castle a good scrub down. The place was due for a thorough Spring cleaning anyway, I welcomed the task.
In between 'Friday Night Laramie Time' and entertaining David with yet more stories of escapades past, we managed to get a hell of a lot done.
Residing in my bathroom was, what I thought, a small clog in the tub which wouldn't go away. One visit from the maintenance man and one accidentally broken pipe turned today into a day of welding and bedroom wall cutting. You know, to make room for the new pipes.
I cleaned my apartment to watch it get dirty.
When I got home from work, I expected to find the bathroom and bedroom covered in dust, plaster, and/or greasy tools; another mess I just don't have the strength to deal with.
I looked around to find everything perfect and in working order, and not a sign of debris anywhere. There are still a few things I'd like taken care of, but I'm happy to not have to enter the empty apartment across the hall so I can shower.
Let us not forget: as much as I like a good adventure, I'm not a fan of having my familiar routine interrupted.
It feels good now that all the unwanted, unnecessary items have been tossed out and the repairing has been dealt with.
You know, there are those days where I firmly believe I'm onto something when I feel a bit unbalanced upstairs.
And then a walk to the store can make those thoughts vanish into thin air.
Especially after being approached by a very large, very young, very white male who introduces himself as a very famous, very tattooed, very deceased black rapper.
My boss was able to score tickets to an upcoming Indians game for a friend, and that prompted the following conversation:
David: "Wow. Did you know there's a Party Deck available for $65 a person? ($50 for groups of 25 or more.) All you can eat until an hour after the game starts." Frankie: "Man. Imagine our families partaking of such a pleasure. Hell, my brothers alone would wipe out the wing inventory." David: "They don't eat that much." Frankie: "Have you forgotten the Christmas Ham Massacre of 2005?" David: "Oh dear God. Who knew YBJ was so quick? I mean, I looked away for two seconds!" Frankie: "Now you know why I eat in the family room during our visits."
In all fairness, I've been known to shove the snack food down my gullet a time or two.
The Studios at West 78th Street open house What: Three galleries and seven artists' studios will be open for visitors. When: 5:30-9 p.m. Friday, April 11, and 1-6 p.m. Saturday, April 12. Where: Lake Avenue between West 78th and West 80th streets, Cleveland. Admission: Free; free parking behind the building.
The Studios are gorgeous. Some of my late (not too late) night walks are spent mulling around the building, peering through open doors and windows to get a better glimpse of some of the art and the space inside. I'm amazed by what I see from the street.
And that I haven't been mistaken for a burglar and arrested.
David and I met Lar after work yesterday and accepted his invite for a delicious home cooked meal.
We all decided on skinless chicken breasts and red potatoes. Between me cursing out the computer's damn hard drive issues and David hearing stories from our semi-checkered past; our host managed to cook a magnificent meal.
And the bitch served it all on fabulous new red china. WANT.
Whatever.
We're returning the favor by taking him out to Twist tomorrow night and I'm thinking of busting out some designer duds fierce enough to make his jaw drop to the floor.
