(no subject)

There are going to be some harsh words soon, I just know it. As of last night, when I moved several boxes of kitchen stuff over to the new place, the vast majority of Christina's stuff was still spread all over the place. I couldn't clean the living room or the kitchen because she had stuff strewn everywhere. As far as I'm concerned that means *she* can clean the living room and the kitchen but at this point I don't see how she's going to get everything out of there on time as it is, much less have time to clean.

Everything of mine is now out of the house, with the exception of a few things in the kitchen. I figure I can fill up a few more boxes of kitchen stuff -- a few containers and any food left over that I think Tommy and I might eat. And that's it. Tommy's dad is coming over this evening to help move the last of the furniture -- mainly the bookshelf Christina sold me and the table and chairs I have in storage. And I have to try and fix the blinds in the bedroom window. I think I'm going to leave the torn up carpet as it is, mainly because it's not my house and I'm afraid I might mess it up even worse if I try and patch it myself. That way he can either do it himself or pay to have it done out of the security deposit.

I should be able to start relaxing now. A couple peices of furniture and a few boxes of food and it *should* be done. But I know that I'm the one who will be getting irate phone calls if Christina's stuff isn't out and the house isn't clean when the landlord gets back and I just *know* she's going to take what she needs and simply leave the rest of the stuff for us to deal with and I'm going to be spending all day tomorrow and after work Sunday hauling crap out to the garbage and frantically cleaning.

Responsibility sucks.

(no subject)

Damn sciatica which has been mostly good lately is now acting up just in time for me to go try and move furniture in a little over an hour.

And yes, I know my journal has turned into a whine fest lately. I'll be better soon, I promise.

Names

I've always been intrigued by the way a name makes such an important first impression. Particularly last names, which are much harder to shed. If you don't like your first name you can go by a nickname or your middle name, but you're pretty much stuck with your last name unless you go through all the legal rigamarole to change it.

iroshi mentioned in passing earlier a conversation noting the unfortunately named Dr. Looney. Imagine introducing yourself by that name day after day. Or the poor soul I went to high school with: Charlie Butkis. Yes, it was indeed pronounced "butt-kiss".

And then you have all those people with what would be perfectly normal last names that have instead become the object of immediate distrust and scorn based on an unfortunate association with some notorious personage. How many perfectly nice, respectable Hitlers out there go through life permanantly scarred because they have the misfortune of sharing their name with (in the immortal words of Eddie Izzard) a mass-murdering fuckhead? How about all those people whose name really is Mudd?

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, except to be thankful that my own last name is a nice, normal name, short and easy to spell, and with no unpleasant associations of which I am aware. Except for the unfortunate fact that it also happens to be a relatively common boys' first name. But that's another issue altogether.