2007-07-25

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I haven't had to do this in ten years, so I've forgotten:

Moving. Fucking sucks. Harder than a meth whore with a $250/day habit. And I haven't even scratched the surface of what needs to get done between now and Labor Day weekend.

I am still, not surprisingly, in "purge mode." Every weekend, we bring BOXES of stuff to Boomerangs (I have been asked, numerous times, if I'm going to have a "tag sale," or if I'm going to put my crap up on Ebay or Craigslist -- the answer is NO. I do not have the time, patience, or organization skills required for any such undertakings; I want this stuff GONE, and I'd just as soon see it all go somewhere that'll ultimately benefit someone living with AIDS). And then I get home, look around, and freak the fuck out because there's still so much shit.

I am gradually getting more ruthless. The kabuki mask I bought at Pier One when I was 16 is not going to take it personally, you know? Of course YOU know this; I don't. Getting rid of certain things feels like nothing short of betrayal sometimes.

This morning I hauled two bookshelves onto the curb. The books that were on said shelves were packed into boxes. FOUR boxes. There are still at least six bookshelves -- all completely full -- to be emptied. And I won't even go into the records. Yes, I am aware of what an inordinate fucking pain they are to move. No, I'm not getting rid of them.

And through it all, I have the sinking feeling that the houseboy and I are going to be utterly by ourselves come Moving Day. Let's face it -- nobody wants to help you move. You can offer a Beluga-Caviar-and-Shitake-Mushroom pizza, a magnum of Cristal, and oral sex -- for each and every person -- and you'll still hear: "Oh, I would totally be there, but I have a....thing...I have to go to that day." The last time we moved, it was me, the houseboy, and my dad. I am not about to enlist the services of my 71-year-old father this time around, no matter how many pushups he does every morning (100. Oh yes he does).

No, I have to operate under the assumption that it will be just the two of us, and by day's end we will have killed one another (which would be a pity, since we would then have no opportunity to enjoy our fucking awesome kitchen). A pessimist, after all, is never disappointed.

lisamcc at 1:07 p.m.



3 comments so far
lj lindhurst
2007-07-25 14:27:21
why don't you HIRE someone to help you? when I moved my painting studio, I hired two guys, they did EVERYTHING, and they only charged me $80 TOTAL! look on craigslist, there are tons of people...
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Mari
2007-07-25 22:39:50
Oh yeah, everybody -says- they'll help you, but then magically on moving day either grandma went into the hospital or they need to wash their cat. Then when it comes time for them to need help moving, an overwhelming sense of assholiness washes over you, and I tend to want to have a hooka emergency while my better half sucks it up and gets walked all over. My solution? Burn it all. You get a bonfire, no moving hassles, and new stuff. Whee!
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Lexi
2007-08-23 16:22:10
Dude. Listen. You can't move all on your own. You can totally just get a couple of guys cheap, and it makes all the difference in the world.
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