I Moved, I Saw, I Have Not Yet Conquered...

I have been utterly absorbed in my move.

Life has revolved around packing tape, cardboard boxes, lost utility knives, and furniture assembly.

Throw in a little falling-down-the-stairs action and chasing-the-dog-up-slippery-rocks-while-too-pregnant action, and you've got yourself my existence since the start of February.

I had sort of felt invigorated and ready to write lots again after you and I had that chat about my not being sure of what to write about. Then the move came and bitch-slapped me onto my (growing) ass.

The new house has stairs. Lots of them. Some more slippery than others. But at least my glutes are finally getting some exercise (unless eating ice cream bars counts as ass exercises? No?)

I had taken lots of pictures of random things to share with you, but now all I can focus on is the 1,405 loads of laundry that need to be done to wash the musty smell of two houses ago out, along with the moldy death smell of the last house. I can set the load up with my eyes closed, source the Tide and the Borax, and haul shit up and down two full flights like a champ.

Unrelated - don't try to run down stairs with your eyes closed.

Oh, right, and I'm not supposed to be lifting anything at all.

Anyway, just felt the need to assure you all once again that I am still alive, just terribly distracted and terribly tired.

What's new with you?
Know of any ice-cream related ass exercises you'd care to share? You know, ones that involve eating the ice cream?

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The Cheapest Homeowner Ever

So I had an amusing conversation with my husband the other night.

No, he isn't the cheapest homeowner.

As I've been pulling my hair out, rocking in the fetal position, and packing the odd box or so, it seems like I am being forced to make decision after decision about whether or not everything I've ever owned is worth packing.

As a frame of reference, the reputable moving companies are quoting us around $1.52/lb to move our shit. Yes, PER REMOTHERBLOODYFRIKKENDICULOUS POUND.

That 30lb ceramic slow cooker from 1972 that doesn't even have one of those one-prong-bigger-than-the-other-electrical-cord-safety-plugs? GONZO.

That sweet stereo from 1995 that took me forever to save up for? You know the one... with the real, ADJUSTABLE equalizer on the front? With the double cassette deck? The one I was listening to when I heard Kurt Cobain killed himself? That doesn't even have a CD player, just an auxillary plug where you've housed your sister's ancient 6-carousel CD player? YOU KNOW, for those DISC things that us old people use to play music?

(Jeez, kids these days, what with their minuscule iPods and lack of interest in hulking stereos and obscenely huge CD storage cases that outweigh the car's spare tire) . GONZO.                                                                                                     (._.)   (<- That's me looking all sad at it, while I grieve the loss)

QUALITY = Goldstar. Although, in all fairness, it HAS lasted me almost 20 years... Christ I'm old. (Image = my own, yo).

That six thousand pound ORANGE wall unit from IKEA that cost a whopping $780 about 8 years ago? You know the one that took up the entire dining room wall? The one that took a day to assemble with your handyman father? That had a GAJILLION pieces, screws, shelves and was dearly beloved by your husband?  / sarcasm font. Yeah. GONE. For a huge loss.

I only bought it for the 649 free Allen keys. And so I could get the 99 cent ice cream cone. (Image = my own, yo).

Lather, rinse, repeat.

House in shambles? CHECK.
Giving shit away for free online? CHECK.
Donations through the wazoo (again - is it good enough to donate? should it just be thrown out?) CHECK. Then second guess. Then change your mind. Repeat.

So I dismantled the lamps in the house as best as possible. We'll see if they make it to the end destination in usable condition. It's a crap shoot, really, when you throw something with a lamp shade into a wardrobe box.

Yeah, I live on the edge, motherf_cker.

After said dismantling, I have a pile of energy efficient CFL bulbs, full of trace amounts of harmful chemicals. Not supposed to throw them out, you know. Don't want to pack them poorly, have them break, and end up with shattered glass and MERCURY on, or in, our shit.

So I am on the phone and I ask the hubs what I should do with the light bulbs. He pauses. Then he says:

"Aren't we supposed to leave them there?"

Careful, there, photographer person. You rattle that change too much and you're lookin' at mercury poisoning.

Okay, not really.  (Image VIA)

I ponder this. I'm pretty sure that lamp contents were not signed over in the deal. So I sass him about it.

He still seems unsure of what to say to me.

It is at this point that we realize that I am talking about loose lamp bulbs, and he thinks I am contemplating removing every single light bulb from every single overhead light fixture in the house.

In the midst of my stress, I had to laugh. Could you imagine moving in to a house and some bastard taking all the light bulbs? Moving in the dark?

In some ways I am surprised the people we bought this house from didn't do the same. They took all the toilet paper and even window coverings that were supposed to stay with the house.

Ah well.

MOVING F_CKING SUCKS, Y'ALL.


_________________

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5am Cookies? Nom Nom Nzzzzzzz

Surprisingly, throughout my process of packing, bubble wrapping, sorting, taping, folding and sobbing  cleaning, I found something really effective to distract myself while still doing work.

I decided that rather than pack, I'd bake my mom cookies.

Starting at 4 in the morning.

And not because I was "rising and shining" early, but because my bedtime has been falling around 6am for the past several nights.

Now, this happens to be one thing I didn't research about moving or packing, but I can only ASSUME that my baking cookies TOTALLY helps my cause, and somehow helps me pack.

Right?

Maybe?

Also... I totally need to blog about the award bestowed upon me by Keith in my next post, because it's late and I have to check on my cookies.

I also want to write a few Olympic posts... As in, I made some serious self discoveries while watching sports, and I think Oliver Pistorius in one amazing athlete, and genuine gentleman.

Please tell me you saw him run? He really is an icon on and off the track.

Oliver Pistorius just blew my mind today. I hope he is proud. You know, of his accomplishment, not about blowing my mind. [image VIA]

I'm in the most respectful kind of awe, ever. (Because talking to your mom on the phone for 12 minutes straight about Pistorius' awesomeness is apparently ALSO helpful when it comes to not packing).

______

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True Test of Marriage

Try moving a dog-drool covered couch out of the basement, between three doorways within two feet of each other, with an injured thumb.

How the hell did it get there in the first place?

THAT, my friends, takes real love. (You know, since I don't have patience.)


______

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