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