Progress Report in the Time of Cholera

I have a move date.

I have a phone line.

I even have a phone! (Found in Mr. Box at the storage unit.)

Have had untold insanity with the phone/DSL people, the power and water people, and, well, everything. I’ve done every single thing you’re not supposed to do under Mercury Retrograde and, so far, the results do not disappoint. Although I’m sure much of this is just part of the natural chaos of moving.

Tomorrow, I sign paperwork in Burbank for a contract with Uncle Walt. I’m not counting this against the Mercury Rx because I’m literally “re-turning.”

Meanwhile, this is my new love, Miru.

He belongs to the people I’m staying with. It turns out T is no longer allergic to kitties, so they’ve taken in Miru from outside, where he was dumped by his asshole former owners who had him declawed. Miru has adopted me as his second mommy. We spend much time snorgling and cuddling. The Frenchman approves of the affair. I’ve even sent him pictures. Meanwhile, workers are using jackhammers to tear up E/T’s patio. I might be on a morphine drip by Thursday.

Holding Back the Tide

Unsuccessfully, I might add.

I’m feeling a wee overwhelmed by the pending transition. But I did speak to my former hairdresser, who referred me to two gals who used to work in her salon. I remember their work, which was awesome. I just didn’t remember their names and I hadn’t any idea where they went. They’re both at a salon & spa up in Burbank. I dropped the salon an email, but I’ll definitely try to call Tuesday.

There are other details floating out there. Damn, I hate it when details are not nailed down. It’s much more fun when I can watch them squirm and bleed!

For example: Feral sent me a generous box of ritual supplies — mostly herbs and a vial of special water. That box somehow made it through French customs unharmed. I now need to come back with said box and bring her in return some tasty dried ritual goodness. I can’t decide how to do this, though. Either way I risk confiscation of everything, including what she originally sent me. It seems the best way to minimize this is to make sure everything is well dried and put in zip lock bags. But still.

The sword and the umbrella will be fine, methinks, but it will be vastly more expensive to send those back than it was to bring them in. (Especially the umbrella, which used to be broken and fit just fine randomly stuffed in my suitcase.) Both fit nicely together in the original box the sword blade came in.

I just need to make sure that my P.O. Box place accepts those big bags of books sent by boat.

And then there’s the social race. Almost every night there’s another social gathering to say goodbye. I’m looking forward to Sunday night, as we’ll be meeting one of the editors of make/shift. I have an idea to pitch to her that night for an article. They only have one issue out, and I can’t subscribe at the moment. Maybe she’ll be able to give me a better idea of what they’re looking for.

I’ve had completely ridiculous encounters with so-called feminists who denigrate the BDSM lifestyle and any form of casual sex. Isn’t feminism about women having power over their own lives? Women being recognized as having equal rights to men, equal pay, equal recognition, equal social standing? Sometimes I have great difficulty with the movement, even as it evolves over time. Call me an equalicist, not a feminist. I’m not saying that there are no physical distinctions between the two genders, just that no moral, social or financial distinctions should be made.

Okay, back to whatever was waking me up.

La Fête des Mamans

Today is Mother’s Day in France, so we went to Cannes and took The Frenchman’s mother to lunch at a lovely jardin, which is an outdoor restaurant.

It’s the last time I’ll see Cannes for a while. The city resembles Beverly Hills so strongly that I almost felt homesick, except that Beverly Hills reminds me of everything that’s wrong with L.A. — or, at least everything that isn’t sitting right with me these days. Still, I felt sad to leave it and his mother.

We’re tackling some serious packing issues over the next few days as we figure out how to get our artwork home with all of our other affairs. It’s expensive to move everything back. Of course I’m bringing my shoes! How’s a diva to live without them? They require their own suitcase naturally.

I became a bit sick today thinking about going back to the U.S., but it’s for the best. Who knows? Maybe something will materialize that can bring us back to France, especially to Paris. I suspect nerves and not enough sleep were the primary culprit of unease today, though.

I hope to have some publishing news in the next few weeks. I’m crossing my fingers but it’s hard to pack that way. So, please everyone cross their fingers for me?

Merci. 🙂