Hey, remember that time when I said I'd post later that evening and then I DIDN'T POST LATER THAT EVENING?!
Good times.
But I'm back now. I moved into a new apartment, and fun things happened during the move, which I will relate to you now.
I have a dresser, you see. It's a fairly large dresser, and it happens to be extraordinarily heavy. Since my roommate decided of his own accord that we'd be taking the upstairs apartment and didn't think I had an opinion on the matter, (news flash I TOTALLY DID AND IT WASN'T THE SAME AS HIS OPINION) I decided that it would only be fair to let him take it up the stairs. Not by himself, naturally. He had a dolly to help him along.
Has anybody ever heard the tale of Sisyphus? Fellow who did something stupid, got punished by the gods to push a rock halfway up a hill, and then it would roll back down and he would have to start all over? Personally, if it were me, at around the third time it rolled down I would say FUCK THIS and go to Chevy's for a margarita, but for some reason he does it for eternity.
This story is nothing like what happened to my dresser and the dolly. Well, it is a little bit like it.
My dresser made it halfway up the stairs before it overbalanced and began rolling down the hill.
I happened to be underneath it, carrying a box of my roommate's (fragile) valuables. The move I pulled next was inspired by Indiana Jones and twelve ninjas I once saw in a cheesy movie in Vietnam. I dropped the box and vaulted over the handrail into the bushes, while my dresser clattered down the stairs in a cloud of cardboard and very valuable shrapnel. It landed perfectly upright, with hardly any more scratches on it than it had started with, because when I buy furniture, I have the fucking apocalypse in mind.
My roommate was unhappy, but I drove him to work at six in the fucking morning the next day, and everything was forgiven.
He has too much crap, anyway.
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