Work work work

When I lived here last time and was homeless, I spent a week with Tony. It was a rosé-filled adventure that featured playing with yachts and jet skis, eating out all the time, lounging on the beach, and doing nothing but indulging ourselves on laughter and fun.

This time, things were much different.

He had offered me work that I gratefully accepted. I envisioned a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and then the same playtime fun we enjoyed three years ago. I had no idea the work was going to be so…hard.

Basically he charged me with two jobs. “Clean and organize this mess; then take an inventory or all the interior bits and pieces.”

Ugh.

It was back-breaking. It was tedious. It almost drove me insane (but mostly because we spent all day every day listening to Riveria Radio, who plays THE EXACT SAME PLAYLIST EVERY SINGLE DAY.) But it was also fun because 1) I have OCD and derive sick pleasure from organizing things; and 2) Tony, Tequila and I shot the shit while we worked, then spent the evenings over ONE glass of rosé with his charming roommate and her darling friend from South Africa.

They told Tony he was working me too hard but I just laughed. “No, I’m just not used to manual labor. This is good for me.”

And today, as we left the container for the last time, I let out a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction. We had achieved our goal. The mess was organized and clearly labeled, and a couple hours on the computer tomorrow will wrap up the inventory.



So tonight’s agenda features more of what I’m used to: Drink fine champagne in the Jacuzzi overlooking the river, waving to the boats as they pass by. Then, take-out Thai food and a movie.


Ah, ain’t life grand?