Monthly Archives: August 2010

Holy Moly, We Moved, Pt 2: Getting Here, or Breaking and Entering

So much space. And yet...

There’s nothing like filling a 26-foot U-Haul, one flatbed truck, and two sedans to hammer home the fact that you own a lot of shit, except maybe filling all those vehicles only to realize there’s no room left for your two sad little houseplants.

Thank goodness we had an army of kick-ass friends who came out to help load all of it, a small fleet of die-hards who rode on up with us in all those extra vehicles, and more kick-ass friends to help on the New England side of things. It almost made moving weekend into a big party, except with Advil instead of alcohol.

It took around nine hours for our little convoy to traverse the 400 or so miles. A month later, a few things stand out in my mind: 1) There are no good radio stations in Connecticut; 2) Saturday night is a bad time to attempt traveling through NYC; and 3) I should have just gotten the fried chicken at the rest stop like I wanted.

Also, Dan is a saint for driving my Miss Daisy arse halfway up the East Coast. I tried really hard not to doze off in the passenger’s seat on you, Dan. But Connecticut’s hypnotic dullness extends even to its chunk of highway.

The only wrench that was thrown in the works was the fact that, when we pulled up to our place around 1:30 in the morning, we couldn’t find the key the contractor left for us under the mat. This was because it wasn’t there, a fact that it took ten minutes of frantic looking and at least three pen lights to ascertain. Luckily, this issue was soon resolved when Ty found an unlocked window in the back of the house (um, thank-goodness-and-also-WTF?) to hoist me through.

It was not a graceful maneuver.

Next up… Part III: This Old House, or The Money Pit

Getting older, running editon

When you return from your Saturday morning run, the first thing you consume is:

A) a “hair of the dog” hangover cocktail.
B) breakfast.
C) water.
D) Advil.

Holy Moly, We Moved, Pt 1: Packing

Packing is one of those tasks that I forget how much I hate until I find myself doing it again. The one exception to this is the kitchen, since, from move to move, I remember quite vividly how much I despise packing box after box of breakable shit. You don’t realize what a genuinely retarded number of beer glasses you have until you have to wrap each one in newspaper before nestling it in a bed of styrofoam peanuts that you can only hope will keep it in one piece as it travels 400 miles in the back of a 30 foot monster U-Haul truck.

Despite my hatred, I volunteered to do the kitchen this time around in an inadequate attempt to balance out the fact that Ty had about ten times more belongings to pack than I did. And, while it did suck, there were a few saving graces:

  1. I packed everything with old issues of The Onion. Random howls were unleashed at irregular, often frequent intervals.
  2. The kitchen was air-conditioned.
  3. Just kidding!
  4. It allowed me to avoid packing little painted miniatures.
  5. I unearthed some fun shit in there. Such as:

Exhibit A: the Chinese Take-Out Condiment Bag, which we have been adding to for the past four years

Exhibit B: The Rapcat Paper Bag Kitten Jersey, which was at the center of one of my favorite controversies of 2007

What controversy you say?

Next up… Part II: Getting Here, or, Breaking and Entering

Sneak preview

Those of you who also follow my funnier half on Slayer Placemat have already gotten a taste of the Homeowner Funtimes that the two of us have been having here at our new house.

My take on the past week or three will be up in the next 24 hours. A warning: it’s gonna have a lot of this:

“where DIY meets WTF”

Everyone, thank Natalie for introducing you to regretsy.com.