Some of Them Want To Use You, Some of Them Want To Get Used By You

The graphic on the left is a timeline of Boys who Have Helped Me Move. As you can see, I've usually had a boy around--be he a boyfriend or a "close friend with a large Jeep who happens to be unemployed and lives across the street" or a "Whatever"--to help me when I move, which happens about every two minutes. Cuz I'm a Ramblin' Man, I'm a Desperado, etc. Also yes I am aware that Tolliver (cited as 'Mover: Ypsitucky 02') only weighs 135 pounds, but the thing about it is that even 135-pound boys (he was 6'4, p.s., so just kinda simmer on that ratio for a while) have something to prove which is that their souls weigh a lot more than 135 pounds and that they are not Wusses. The past few months have been unusually--but intentionally--free of what the grownups call a "steady gentleman caller," and I admit that I have enjoyed a respite from such things as the irrational fear of pregnancy and the magical sensation a woman feels in the morning when the remains of her A.M romp tumble from her cervix as she walks to work. But uh, right now, I could kinda use even an "un-married ex who lives in the tri-state area" or a "good male friend who happens to be unemployed and drives a large Jeep" or really, I mean, probably I would settle for any good male friend who will not be working from 9-5 on the 31st of august. We're not talking like a Melrose Place move or something, this is serious, it's from Williamsburg to Warlem (that's my new word for West Harlem), so like, obviously this situation is problematic. And don't tell me to look on CL for movers. I know. I know all about craigslist and I know all about tree trunks with posters on them too. But they aren't FREE. Or at least, like "just buy me dinner" free. I know that um, as a feminist or whatever, I'm supposed to think that I need men like fish need bicycles, which is funny because I did actually sell my bicycle today which I obviously need less than a man, but I have heavy stuff and men are just stronger than women. That's just how it is. Also I think if I had a really hard core butch lesbian friend, that might be good. I was thinking about that girl at the Lesbo White Party during Pride who told us we were pretty and most lesbians looked like John Goodman. That's what I need. A John Goodman kinda lesbian. This graphical collage of fun contains the biceps of myself, Hav and Lainy. I think the photograph speaks for itself. And also, one time I did move by myself, without any boys or butch ladies. That was when I ended up with a flat tire at 3am on the side of the road with a dead cellphone somewhere in New Jersey and was rescued by a man in a white van (which everyone knows is the vehicle that serial killers use) who said he was an ambassador of Allah, which was awesome because he changed my tire and didn't kill me. But then he called my cell phone about 20 times to see if he could become my gentleman caller once I moved into my NYC apartment. (I tried giving him a fake number but he tested it while I was there so I had to pretend it was a mistake) It's possible that much of this post could be considered un-P.C., but that's fine because I saw this thing on VH1 about how P.C. is over. I am still a feminist and I believe in human rights, religious freedom, and um, equality. Yup. Also "being a spoiled co-dependent asshole" is also Over, and is now considered "being cool." Update: I've hired movers. Which means that these guys are going to move all my shit while Hav and I eat Tasti-D-Lite and watch DirectTV. Any other friends without office jobs are welcome to join the party. We'll be listening to 'S.O.S' and Dolly Parton.