This past week I had the pleasure of moving. Now this move was most certainly a step up as I left the halfway house I was living in and moved to my own actual house. This is actually the first time I’ve had a place since April of 2006 when I went to rehab for the first time. Since then I’ve either been in rehab, in a halfway house, in detox, in the mental ward, or living in hotels or motels in between two of those. There have been good times and bad times of course, but this is definitely a step up.

Its not totally my house as I’m living with two friends of mine, but as anyone who knows me can imagine, I totally run the joint. At least in my own mind. Its nice though and we’ve even got a pool. Which I’ve been planning to go in all week, but just haven’t for some reason. I don’t know if its a lack of motivation, but it might be. So if any hot girls out there feel like going for a swim, feel free to just stop by in your bikini and I won’t have a choice but to join you.

I really hope this thing works out and runs smoothly though because one thing I can assure you is that moving is pure hell. I didn’t even have much to move, but it was still just a complete nightmare. Let me tell you that tempers flare and no one involved in a move is very fun to be around. Its just that the problems just seem to multiply exponentially out of nowhere. Oddly enough, my boss at work was also moving during the same time period. Let me just tell you that the office wasn’t exactly a giant happy fest this past week. Ironically my other boss spent the week down at Fantasy Fest in Key West, which IS a giant happy fest.

I was walking into a great situation this time as one of my friends, was already living in the house and he just let  me and my other buddy move on in. This means that we didn’t have to come up with first, last, security or any of that deal. Now I had a little bit of money and I figured that wow this was great now I can use this money for useful items like a PS3 to replace the one that I pawned, twice, or a nice gambling relapse down at the Kennel Club. Good thing I didn’t succumb to either of those two temptations though because that money poofed itself away in quite a hurray without my assistance. Do you have any idea how much curtains cost? Well, I sure didn’t and those fuckers are insanely expensive. Throw in a steam cleaning for the couch that we were graciously given, a little repair on the ice-maker, and the girl I hired to clean the kitchen and bathroom. Bang, PS3 say bye bye.

Out of all that money I think the girl to clean the bathroom and the kitchen might have been the best investment. You might be thinking, but Frank, your lazy ass could have done that one yourself. Your right, and I could have built my own curtains and I could have googled how to fix an ice-maker and maybe figured that out too; but we hire professionals for a reason. Its like having a criminal defense lawyer, now it might have been super fun to see crazy ass Robert Blake defend himself in that murder trial, but I don’t think he would’ve gotten off like he did with those superstar lawyers. Hire the right people and you can get away with almost anything, ain’t that right OJ.

I digress though, the reason that the cleaning lady was such an excellent hire was that not only did she do a fantastic job, but it was quite entertaining as well. This wasn’t just some cleaning lady that you find in the yellow pages, as they are all fat and disgusting, but rather it was just a friend of mine that wanted the job. She came over on Sunday and cleaned up while I sat and watched the Dolphins beat the Jets. Now this girl is definitely a cutie and man it was like some male fantasy world at work over here. Me sitting on the couch, one eye on the game, one eye on this nice ass cleaning my sliding glass door. Eat your heart out Tim Allen.

Its been over a week now, and I’d say we’re pretty much moved in. There’s sill a box or two laying around, we got a small TV hooked up while the big TV sits idle cause we still haven’t figured out the proper placement and then wire running needs. All in all though we’re pretty dam close. There is an ongoing battle over what exactly gets hung on the walls. Anyone who knows me knows that I’d love to cover every single inch of the walls with a mix of Cory Lopez shredding at Pipe, Paris Hilton, and Tim Tebow running over defenders, but my roommates don’t seem to be of the same elevated thinking. One described my decorating style as “angry 13 year old girl”. They seem to be content with us living surrounded by white walls like we’re on the set of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Hopefully some happy medium will be reached. I wanted to hang up my personalized autographed photo of Burt Reynolds above the toilet.  It reads “To Frankie, your friend, Burt Reynolds”, yeah we’re tight. I was  told that was gay because who wants to be holding their dick and staring at Burt Reynolds on a regular basis. Then today though I walk in and there’s a picture of some carpenter above the toilet. Like Burt’s creepy, but Jesus is okay, what the fuck. Does that mean that I can go and hang Bob Villa on the opposite wall, after all he is a Gator at least.

Sincerely though I hope I stay here for an extended period of time. Hopefully my next move will be into my own house with whatever attractive blonde I decide to raise the future University of Florida QB with. I had one picked out but she seems to have this small ongoing conflict which causes situations of her not being able to stop shooting dope, its been a little speed bump in my plan. I honestly hope too that when the day of the next move does happen either I’ve raised enough money or even better she’s so independently wealthy that I can just firebomb all my old stuff and get all new stuff for my place. I don’t ever want to do the moving crap again.