June 27th, 2005


So Friday Night I Moved A Heavy Table.

Last week, B sent us an email saying that he’d hired an interior decorator to help him sell his AVMP (Amazing Vagina-Magnet Penthouse). As part of the decoration process, she’d told him to move a table about 18 inches, and he asked us if we could help him move it in exchange for a free sushi dinner.

There were a couple of questions that went through my head when I read his email, but my marinelife-loving belly locked in on “free sushi dinner.” I replied, "I'm in."

B’s pad sits on top of a sparkling high-rise overlooking a marina and the Pacific Ocean. It's one of those ultra-luxurious buildings where valets park your car and, instead of an elevator, you're carried up 20 flights of stairs by Egyptian slaves. But when I arrived at his place, I could see why B was moving.

From his living room you could see that they were constructing an even sparklier high-rise overlooking a marina and the Pacific Ocean … right in front of his windows. When finished, it will end up blocking half of his magnificent view. Plus, these structures are so close to each other that from his balcony you could practically reach over and high-five someone in the opposite vagina-magnet penthouse. Lord knows why, but B hired an interior decorator - perhaps to make his pad look enticing enough to potential buyers that they’d overlook the fact that there was a giant fucking building right in front of them.


B’s place was pretty sparse to begin with, so the decorator put up some framed black-and-white posters that I could only assume were purchased from Classy Guido Furnishings. In the kitchen, she had a wire pastry tray tower filled with stale croissants, a basket of fake fruit and a Scandinavian tea kettle. The entryway’s console table had an ant farm that turned out to be a flower vase, and a shiny metal tray shaped like a pineapple. We did, however, approve of the table lamp next to the couch.

She also instructed that B move some of his living room furniture a few inches here and there, to make the room look “more roomy.” This included the table. I couldn’t believe B paid this person a couple grand for her services (This didn’t include the framed posters, stale croissants or any of the other decorations.) - two thousand dollars that could have easily gone toward expensive whores and a fine bottle of scotch. The rich just don't know how to spend their damn money.

Anyway, the table we were supposed to move wasn't the dining table, but rather the coffee table. Yet this was no ordinary coffee table. It was the Dark Lord himself, Lucifer. Not to worry, it really wasn't Satan, it was just fucking heavy. At nine square feet and made out of solid marble, I calculated that it weighed just a little less than 14,000 pounds.

Nevertheless, it took the three of us only a few seconds. Then BAM, free sushi dinner. Including the interior decorator’s consulting fee, it cost him $2200 to move his coffee table.


Afterward we met up with some non-coffee-table-moving people and proceeded to ingest a very unhealthy assortment of alcoholic beverages over the course of the evening, resulting in B reciting lengthy Robert the Bruce quotes from “Braveheart” before passing out forehead-first onto a table.

No joke, Robert the fricking Bruce. Haven't laughed that hard in weeks.

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