I hate packing. I have never liked moving. It's one of the most chaotic things that can happen in your life. hat I have come to hate most about packing is reliving some memories that you would rather not when you happen to come across a certain item (or items) that transport you to a time where you wish that no one would really miss that person so you can throttle them to within an inch of their lives and make the world a much better place.

Item Number 1 -- An eight ball from a pool table.

Yes, the black ball from a pool table. This goes all the way back to when I was living in Florida and sharing an apartment with a woman named Nicole. To make all of you NYCers a little nauseous, we had the entire second story of a house with hardwood floors and a tiled bathroom and we each paid a paltry $187.50 each for rent...yes, you can get that much space for $375 in Florida. Anyway, Nicole was, and I still think she is, a confused person. Confused in terms of her sexuality. She was married to this guy whose name escapes me and had three kids. At some point, she either had a breakdown or was put into a hospital for observation or something like that. Sadly, I didn't learn the details of this until much much later (as in I had already moved in and been there for a few months). She and her husband divorced because she either decided she was a lesbian, realized she was a lesbian, or couldn't decide between the two or something like that. Her husband kept custody of the three kids.

I got the pool ball because I thought her husband was being an ass. When we were dropping the kids off at his house one day he was being a jerk and not really being rather nice to myself or to Nicole. I asked Nicole for the keys to the car so I could see if I had packed somethings I meant to take home from work with me in my bag. On the way to the car, I passed the pool table and had an evil idea.

Of course, the most important ball in all of pool (unless you are playing 9-ball) is the eight ball. What better way to get back at him than to take the eight ball and make his life ever so slightly uncomfortable. With my fingers working fast, I pried the eight ball from the return rack at the base of the pool table and took it to my bag. After Nicole and I had left, I showed her what I had done and it became a little rallying point for us.

A few months later, things between Nicole and myself weren't so hot. I was left alone in the apartment with all of her crap, still in the boxes, piled around me. She was content with her relationship with her then girlfriend, P.K., and wasn't taking care of her messes at home. Mind you, she was out of work on disability at the time (not exactly sure what kind of disability, but I think it was more mental than physical) and she wasn't taking care of anything at home as it pertained to her items. She would purchase items for the apartment that we had not discussed (such as curtains and bathroom accessories) and expected me to chip in on paying for them. She would spent two days a week in the apartment with her children and I would wind up having to clean up after her kids after they had all gone to bed. Things between us grew tense and eventually, we pretty much stopped speaking to each other. We did not part on good terms. To this day, I believe she resented the fact that I was moving to a new city and leaving her behind.

When I found the eight ball, I wondered what had happened to Nicole in the five years since I left Florida. I know she has moved to a new place but I don't know if she has the same job or even how her kids are doing. I don't think things between the two of us could be repaired but it would just be nice to know she's doing okay.

Item Number 2 -- That box I accidentally moved from Florida

Whenever you move from one place, invariably you either leave something behind, throw something away, or possibly take something that didn't belong to you but it was next to all of your stuff so you thought it was part of yours and you didn't look inside the box until you got to your new destination and you go, "How the heck did that get here?"

This is a quick story but highly amusing. At least for me it's amusing now. Before I left Florida, I split up with a boyfriend. It was a short, brief, wild romantic, but never going to last sort of thing. When we split (because neither of us were into the long distance relationship thing and he's since gotten involved with another guy and they've been together for three years), I knew I had two or three boxes of stuff in his place that I needed to pick up. Just the normal stuff, you know. CDs, clothing, books, etc.

When I got there to pick things up, he pointed me and my friend in the direction of where the stuff was so we could load it into the U-Haul. There were three boxes over there and I thought nothing of it. We picked up the boxes and loaded them into the truck.

Fast forward to about two weeks later when I have moved into my new apartment and I am just now unpacking boxes. I pick up this box, open it, and go, "What the hell?" Inside was a box of porno films that my ex had inadvertently placed in the same general area of my belongings. Now we're not talking about four or five tapes. We're talking about twenty to thirty. This was even more humorous for me because he always said that he was never into porn and that it didn't do anything for him, however, there was proof positive as to the contrary.

I got on the phone with him and asked him if he was missing anything from his apartment. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. He knew that I knew that he knew exactly what I was talking about. Finally, he said, no...there really wasn't anything missing from his apartment. The liar. So I told him I had a box of videos that came from his apartment (because trust me, they were not mind...shocking, I know, but it's true) and if he wanted them back. He feigned indifference and said that I must have been mistaken. So I kept them and ultimately threw them out in the garbage because...let's face it...I prefer live versus Memorex.

Item Number 3 -- Clairee the Cow

There are few people in my life that I can honestly say I honestly and truly, 100%, without a doubt adore and would do just about anything for if they asked. One of those people is my dear, dear friend Teresa.

Teresa and I met when we both sang for the Jacksonville Gay Chorus. I was already an established member and this was her first rehearsal. I sang bass and I believe she sang alto/second tenor (depending upon the arrangement of the song) but that first night, we sat next to each other as our sections were positioned together. I helped her find her way through the music so she could quickly and easily follow along. An instant friendship was born.

When Teresa became the first female president of the chorus board, she asked if I woud assume the position of production director. Between that first rehearsal and her election as president, Teresa and I had grown closer and I had become friends with her partner, Cheryl (another on the list of people I would do anything for). These two women were so dedicated and hard working that you had no choice but to like them. They were willing to put themselves out on a limb to help the chorus grow.

Outside of the chorus Cheryl and Teresa headed up what was called the Calendar of Events (or the COE), a lesbian organization that sponsored potluck dinners, dancers, and get togethers that helped promote unity within the lesbian community in Jacksonville. They were two of the most prominent members within the gay and lesbian community. In fact, when Jacksonville hosted it's first gay pride parade, Cheryl and Teresa were two of the first grand marshalls to lead the parade.

During my last days in Florida before I moved, Teresa pulled me aside and handed me a small stuffed animal (think Ty Beanie Baby but cuter) with a tag on it that said it was Clairee the Cow. Teresa had signed it with a wonderful note and when I went on my first day of work, Clairee was with me. In fact, Clairee had the honor of riding in the cab of the U-Haul with me -- an honor only accorded to the two stuffed animals that I have had since I was a small child.

My first real weekend in New York, I went to Planet Hollywood and bought a small stuffed monkey named George and gave it to Theresa when I returned to pack up my belongings. I found Clairee again last night and I had to smile because I had wondered what had happened to this wonderful gift. I dusted her off and put her with my stuffed animals so I could be reminded of what a wonderful friend I still have in Florida.

Packing. It may suck, but it sure brings back memories.