There isn’t much that I hate more than moving which is surprising if you know me… I move a lot. I’m something of a gypsy except I won’t steal your shit. Not your nice shit anyway.
Let’s think about this…
After high school, I moved to Kennesaw. I lived there for less than a year. Then, on to Woodstock where I lived for about a year. Then back to my parent’s house. Then to Duluth for a few months. Then back to my parent’s house. Then to a different part of Duluth. Then back to my parent’s house, only this time, renting their basement apartment. I was there for a little over two years. Then to Clarkston, to a house. Then elsewhere in Clarkston, to an apartment. Then back to my parent’s house after my mother’s surgery for a few months. Then to Atlanta. Then to Decatur. And now, YET AGAIN, back to my parent’s house.
In ten years, I’ve moved twelve times.
Twelve times, I have schlepped my shit down two or three flights of stairs. Twelve times, I have wrapped my dishes in paper and packed them in boxes. Twelve times, I have called upon my friends to help me move.
Twelve times. Jesus, man. That’s a lot of moving.
You would think… After being a seasoned veteran of the moving affair, I would know some tricks. And by God, I do… I really do.
I know that you should get the sharpies with the clips on them so that they can clip on your shirt for quick and easy box labeling.
I know that you should spring for a 3″ tape gun because then you only have to put one strip on the box.
The best place to get used boxes is Starbucks but you gotta know somebody.
And finally, you should ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS wear socks with your moving shoes.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME!??
The yellowing around my ankle bone? Oh, that’s bruising… Which is unrelated to my sockless-adventure. I’m not really sure HOW that happened, but it hurts. A lot.
Also? I feel like someone punched me in my upper-inner-thighs repeatedly, and NOT in a good way. I’m not sure those muscles have ever hurt so bad. What exactly did I do that was SO unique yesterday that is causing me to feel like I succumbed to oral sex with a sadist midget who, after getting near my lady parts, decided to pummel me instead?
I left the parent’s house at 6:30 in the morning to go get a jump start on the packing that I really hadn’t even started yet. Devon came and got me around 9 and we went and got the rental truck which I DROVE! *flex* 16′ feet of big fucking, squeaky-ass truck and lil’ ol’ me behind the wheel. I only hit one curb.
BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG props to Paulie & Dena, the sweetest most hilarious and REAL couple I’ve ever met. Paulie helped me load the truck and Dena packed up my whole god damn kitchen. THE WHOLE THING.
Then the Giant came over with his 23-year old friend and did all of the heavy lifting. Nothing quite makes me happy like watching strong men lift my heavy shit. It’s like… If you could quantify the opening of 100 pickle jars, that’s how manly it was. They helped for about five hours and I fed them lunch.
Now… I’ve got one more car load of little shit. And then the real fun begins… Unpacking. Organizing. Arranging furniture. I can feel my stomach knotting up at the thought of it. But sweet baby Jesus, I will be done by the end of the month.