Zombies to Stuff

My dissertation on stuff continues.

Today I sold more of my last post eviction stuff at a pal of Gilley's garage sale. The mission: Generate some walking around money.

Shit. I'm still kicking myself because this cash shortage is something I caused myself.

How? By accidentally screwing up the address for my new PO BOX, you see correctly in the video below HOLLYWOOD CUTBACKS.



But instead I goofed up the address and the check went instead to the Shoalin Temple of LA, as I bitch about in my last blog "You are a Total Duchebag Grasshopper."

Today I walked into the dimly lit storefront temple during meditation to gongs and the smell of incense.

In hushed whispers I learned that the Shoalins monks had received my check letter but that they returned it to the sender.

How Zen.

This return was instead of holding onto it for me as one monk agreed Thursday. Guess monks don't talk to each other just like the rest of us schmos.

Therefore, sadly for me, it could be another damn week until I get my next paycheck.



Total sales for stuff sales today: 1 HD TV, 1 DVD player, 1 Desk Lamp, 1 Herman Miller Aeron chair, 1 Masia Warrior Stick from my ex girlfriend = $110.

This scavenger cash allowed me to pay Gilley back for his loan from yesterday. That felt good. But until I get my blown payment from my new client I'm almost back in the hole after groceries and a little relaxing today.

It's stunning how much stuff costs versus how much stuff is worth in today's messed up world. I feel like I am living my favorite video game FALLOUT 3, battling for survival in the Capital Wasteland.



So I'm feeling tired from the sale, for which we got up at 6 AM to set up. The buyers were primarily Hispanic, or should I say the shoppers. Buyers were about 50% white and 50% Hispanic.

I'm left feeling overwhelmed by the task ahead of me of rebuilding my life from the ash heap that is Hollywood.