2010-08-03

The Big News.

The big news: we're moving again.

After the semi-traumatic experience that was our last move, I hadn't really been planning on spending this summer hunting down boxes and ridding myself of books I'm not going to read again.

But an opportunity presented itself, one that we would be foolish to turn down. One that is essentially going to make us homeowners, with all the scary ramifications that entails. It means more space for considerably less money, even though it is taking us out of my beloved Jamaica Plain and into (urp) the suburbs.

The last time we moved, I couldn't wait to get out of the old place and into the new, because the old place was full of bad mojo (to say nothing of kitchen appliances that were installed during the Nixon administration). I was willing to endure the stress of packing and the logistics of relocation because the new place was so nice and new and sparkly. Now I can't wait to get into the new place because I just want to be DONE WITH MOVING. I want to pass GO, collect $200, and bypass the nastiness altogether.

Because moving....it sucks. We're hiring movers this time around, because if we learned anything last time, it's that by a certain age, NOBODY WANTS TO HELP YOU MOVE. Pizza and beer is not going to cut it. You can assure folks that everything is packed and labeled and that everyone will receive a money-farting rainbow pony at the end of it, and you'll still be up against a chorus of "Aw, gee. I wish I could help, but I have this....thing....I have to do that day." And that's completely understandable. Because moving SUCKS.

So, the actual transportation of our belongings will be handled by professionals who will be paid considerably more than victuals and effusions of thanks. Even with this load off my mind, I'm still beyond freaked about the whole thing. I would honestly rather endure daily pap smears than go through another move. And I don't have the luxury of taking periodic chemical commercial breaks to "deal" with it. Just smile and pack, chump.

Then there are the additions to the family to consider. Foot Foot and Mephisto, bless their formerly-feral hearts, have transitioned well to domestic life, and here we are changing their domicile.

They're going to hate us. So much.

But as I have been told to do by people who used to drink a lot, I have to be grateful. And whining aside, I am. Because once the inconvenience and disruption is out of the way, we are getting 2 porches, a yard, twice as much room, a Johnnie's FOODMASTAH practically across the street. And the most awesomely unironic vintage bathroom ever:

For real, y'all. The "Mad Men" set designers could not come up with a better bathroom. In fact, January Jones will be coming to our house to film a scene in there.

lisamcc at 11:27 a.m.

4 comments so far
Merrilee
2010-08-03 17:23:22
All I can say,although I'm a McColgan by marriage, is that McColgans are collectors. When we moved here after 13 years in our first home,I vowed that I would pretend move every five years. I vowed I would never again collect a whole cupboard full of tupperware that I never used and ended up throwing away. Alas, I haven't kept my vow. The 3000 sq.ft home with an extend double car garage and an 8 X 16 foot shed, acre and a half lot only feeds my addiction of hoarding. So good luck my niece and know that you will feel a cleansing peace after this move.
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xorbit
2010-08-03 20:17:46
I adore that bathroom vanity! I adore that sink! And the cabinet! Ohhh... (and if you saw our bathroom you would understand why) And I do agree - moving is horrid, only slightly less horrid than swallowing one's pride and attempting to borrow money from one's mother (in this writer's own experience, ha).
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Tina
2010-08-06 01:43:57
I see your bathroom and think of orange sherbet ice cream. I would like to come to your new house.
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Mike
2010-08-07 02:54:16
Admit it, this is an elaborate plan to set yourself up to shout "Get off my lawn!"for the next 50 or so years.
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