So I am leaving the bright lights and unending heat and traffic of Los Angeles to move back to my hometown of Roanoke, Virginia. There are a lot of reasons why, which I won’t get into here because honestly, they’re just not that entertaining to anyone but me. And my stalker. We all know moving is a royal pain in the ass and moving cross-country in 5 weeks is even more so. But I don’t want to talk about the moving process of going through your shit, packing shit, trashing shit, selling shit, donating shit and so forth and shit. I want to talk more along the lines of the stuff you don’t put on your moving list. And at the end of the day, Johnny Depp needs to understand that if this relationship is going to work, he’s going to have to do his part and chase me a little. He knows where Virginia is. He can come after me for once.
(I thought we agreed it would be me in the car and the dog in the box.)
Old Gray Mare, She Ain’t What She Used to Be
I hurt. Seriously. My muscles and bones ache like you can’t even imagine. My mom and I have gone through and packed 9 ½ years of our lives and that stuff is heavy! We’re not hoarders. Never have been but still it’s a ton of stuff. My arms hurt, my legs hurt, my shoulders ache, my back is killing me, I can’t hardly sleep. This is a lot of activity for a 37 year old, legal desk jockey who’s most recent idea of exercise was getting up to change the tv channel when the remote didn’t work right.
(I’m in shape. Round is a shape.)
Now, I’m toting and hauling and heaving like I’m some kind of ant trying to drag a cheese doodle 537 times my size across the driveway. I even sweat! And I don’t sweat. Or stink. I’m currently doing both of those things on a daily basis. Despite numerous Icy/Hot patches, bubble baths, flasks of vodka and bottles of aspirin, my body is just not handling this well at all. I keep trying to tell myself, “Come on, self! We can do this. We’re still young and incredibly sexy. One more car load to Goodwill. You can do it. I believe in you.” Then my body looks at my bed and says, “Eh. I don’t think so.” Thankfully, the bed’s being picked up tomorrow and will no longer pose such a temptation. Then again, that floor does look kinda comfy even without any carpet…Anyway, this whole thing smacks of effort. And we all know how I feel about effort.
Concentra…oooo, Shiny
My concentration is shot all to hell. I don’t know how they expect me to continue working at work when (a) I never really cared in the first place and (b) I have so many other things on my mind. Things like “Will the cat be good in the car on the trip?” and “Will the dog like her new yard?” and “Will Mom start chasing deer again?” and “How can I best embarrass my nieces in public?” Not to mention all the thoughts of turning utilities on and off, what’re we taking in the car, how much money can we save, how long until Johnny finds me, packing and unpacking, where’s the nearest liquor store to the new house, I need to get a job, etc. And on top of all this, the firm still wants me to be a productive legal assistant?! Isn’t that asking a bit much? Also, all this crap overloading my brain has been keeping me from blogging! I know you’re all very sad about this. I haven’t meant to neglect you. But it’s hard to be creative when I’m thinking about my new life and still having to spend most of my day pretending I give a damn about the 3 millimeter crack defect in the construction of a bazillionaire’s pool!
(Dear God! How am I supposed to live in this hovel?)
So I putter through my days. I take 2 hours to do something that used to take me 20 minutes. And I hate to say it but I really don’t care. I’m so excited about moving home and I’m so focused on that, I’m just taking up space at work until I get can get my last check. Oh, and I’m collecting a lot of free lunches, too.
Dealing with Idiots
Obviously, when you’re moving, you have to deal with a lot of idiots. And not just your everyday garden variety idiot. These are extra special idiots set up in different moving in/moving out utility companies that are hired with the highest expectation of keeping you on hold eternally as well as making your utility changes as long, complicated and miserable as possible. The exception being Britney at Highland Propane-I love you, boo! Seriously though, here is an actual exchange between me and a Verizon representative regarding returning my cable and internet boxes:
Me: We’re moving cross-country in a couple of days and haven’t gotten our labels to return our equipment yet.
Verizon: Let me check on that. You’re moving to another country?
Me: No. I said across the country. This country.
Verizon: So will you still be in the United States?
Me: <banging head on desk>
(Do they speak Virginian over there or English?)
The water company in Virginia:
Rep: You can just stop by anytime today to drop off your application.
Me: I’m still in California.
Rep: So that means…um…what? You want to come by tomorrow?
Me: No. I’ll still be in California. Can I email it to you?
Rep: Oh no, honey. I don’t do “the email”.
Me: <banging head on desk>
This has gone on for two solid weeks now.
Al’s My Pal
My room is haunted. My landlord’s father died in the room I am currently sleeping in about 6 months before I moved in. He’s not mean or anything. Just annoying. He turns the tv on in the middle of the night and sometimes closes the bathroom door, stuff like that. He started up two nights ago, which is the first I’ve heard from him in months. I think he’s going to miss me but seriously, I said to him out loud “I’m trying to sleep, Al. Stop fucking with the tv and leave me alone.” We’ll see tonight if he was listening. The first time he did this, it freaked me out. I asked my landlord about it and said something like, “But it’s not him, right? He’s in heaven with your mom.” To which landlord said “Do you change clothes in that room? Then yes, he’s there. Watching girls change clothes is his heaven.” Ew. You’re a dirty old man, Al.
(Not tonight, Al. I have a headache.)
But I’ll miss you just the same. Be nice to the new people. Unless they suck. Then you have my full support is scaring the everliving shit out of them.
Road Trip!
Sunday morning we (Mom, me, Buttons and Scuppy) will be piling in the car and heading east. We’re taking our time and taking a whole week so we can relax and enjoy ourselves. I offered to tie Mom to the roof of the car for the journey so she and the dog would both have more room to stretch out but for some stupid reason she’s refusing. Just to be contrary, I’m sure. I will be posting mini-blogs each day of our trip so you can experience crossing the country (America) with us. I’ll have pictures and stories about our beautiful country, how much fun the dog is having, how dismissive the cat is about the whole thing, how many time Mom asks “What state is this again?” and how many times I have to stop and pee.
(This is Tennessee, right? We’re almost there!)
Look out, Star City of the South. Here we come!
Woomer Has It! 