Archives for posts with tag: moving

The discard pile

Newly emptied panty drawer

Them’s my panties. I’m kind of fascinated by the amount of underwear I purged and the amount I have left over. I think I have a panty problem. Is it totally weird and overshare-y that I’m posting these pictures? TOOOOOO BAD!

I, APPARENTLY, GROSSLY underestimated the amount of underwear I owned. Because I threw away over half my panties, and I still have a two month supply of clean panties, which includes at least a week’s worth of black cotton Victoria’s Secret thongs. I don’t wear thongs that often! Clearly, this is a RIDICULOUS amount of underwear, but they’re all really nice pairs and comfy, and I like them! I just couldn’t bring myself to throw away perfectly good panties that fit and are cute and comfy.

Nor was I able to get rid of my size 10 Gap jeans which I have only worn MAYBE three times, but I LUFF them (though I did toss the size 10 long length jeans that still had the tags on). I also kept my Lynyrd Skynyrd “Support Southern Rock” t-shirt that’s a little bit too tight because I love it also. I was pretty ruthless otherwise. I ignored pleas for pardon from my brown corduroy fedora and the REALLY cute dress I wore to a friend’s birthday (which now, unfortunately, gives me MEGA porno boob), and I have three FULL trash bags of Goodwill stuff in the back of my car. I’m quite pleased with myself, and now that The Purge is over, I’m feeling much more confident about the rest of my packing.

I should DEFINITELY be able to get my bedroom and assorted last minute stuff put in boxes this evening and get all my clothes in the back of my car for transport to the house tomorrow and …

…AAAAHHHH I’M SORRY, I’VE TURNED INTO ONE OF THOSE BORING PEOPLE WHO ONLY TALK ABOUT STUFF YOU COULDN’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT. Seriously, SERIOUSLY, I promise it won’t last forever. I just can’t find the words to talk about ANYTHING ELSE. I’d really like to tell you about That Time I Played Laser Tag (SPOILER ALERT: not my Thing. Not even close), but every time I try to start telling that story all that comes out is “packing, moving, stress, new house, blahblahblah”.

I am really looking forward to being in my house and not thinking about moving anymore. I’d much rather be thinking about MAH BIRTHDAY. And Christmas! And presents! And Booze! Especially booze. And my birthday.


AAHH. This move is TAKING OVER MY LIFE. No joke, It is ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT: packing, meeting the gas man to get the gas turned on, meeting the cable guy to get the internet sorted, meeting the landlord to sign the contract and get the keys, going down to pay the deposit and get the water in my name, finding a washer and dryer and meeting the guy to get the set delivered and installed. Oh and I need to call him to see if he takes credit, otherwise, I’m going to have to scrounge up some cash for that. Oh, and I need to get some cash transferred from my ING account to help pay for the Home Depot dudes we’re gonna hire to move our shit. And if I don’t hear from the Uhaul guy by tomorrow, I need to call HIM to make sure we’re REALLY FOR REALS ready to go Saturday morning.

I PROMISE that I won’t be talking about this forever, so please just bear with me the next couple of days.

Right now, it’s like my life is divided into BEFORE the move and AFTER the move. And after the move is like this MAGICAL time when ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE, and somehow I think I’ll be more inclined to do all the shit I don’t do now THEN. For instance after the move I will:
-start going to church regularly (even though church will now be EVEN FARTHER AWAY)
-start cooking more often
-start eating really healthily
-start exercising
-start a regular yoga practice
-pay off all my debts
-be more available to my pets and my plants (I haven’t actually SEEN any of my plants in about a week. I hope they aren’t dead.)
-have friends over more often
-have time to connect with the feller more (nevermind that we already spend 99% of our free time together; I told him I was looking forward to spending more time with him AFTER THE MOVE, which would be the hour and a half it usually takes me to drive to my apartment after work, pick up some clothes, feed the cats and drive to his place)
-manage my time better
-do all my homework in a timely manner (once I get back into school … next fall)
-buy a unicorn and shoot rainbows out my butt.

Something about this move just makes EVERYTHING seem possible, like I will be imbued with new habits and SOMEHOW not be the same girl I am right now, who still has to pack about half of her shit. But! AFTER THE MOVE! I will NO LONGER be Miss Procrastinator Putting It Off Pants, and you know, that’s definitely an ideal I would like to strive for, but I’m realistic enough to know that, really? I’m gonna end up like this. It’s gonna be six months before we unpack the very last box and have everything set up the way we like it. But today? AFTER THE MOVE, I’ll be a new getting shit done woman!

I both love and hate home hunting, be it apartments or houses or both. I love looking at Craigslist ads for housing, until I don’t anymore. Until I have spent SO MUCH TIME looking at Craigslist ads and have found ABSOLUTELY NOTHING that is EVEN CLOSE to what I want in my price range, and I’m SO SICK of seeing the SAME ads for the SAME apartment complexes that will NEVER let me and my three cats live there in peace.

And I love looking at apartments and houses and floorplans and imagining where all my stuff would go and what it would feel like to come home to this space every night, until I realize that this place is ALL WRONG. Then I just want to leave RIGHT NOW. Like the one time I was checking out a one bedroom in Oakland, and it was ADORABLE, and had really beautiful hard wood floors. And then I walked in the bedroom. It was the TINIEST LITTLE-BITTIEST room I have EVER seen. And the closet was a joke. I could hang a total of three things in there. And I knew, I KNEW I couldn’t live there, but I still had to look at the kitchen and bathroom and ask smart sounding questions and pretend like I was interested. Because I don’t want to waste everyone’s time by leaving thirty seconds after I walk in. This is when a lemon law for housing would be handy.

So it was with excitement and some trepidation that I went into this most recent round of home hunting, except it was harder now because not only was I looking for a place that fit all my criteria (which are mostly allowing three cats and having a washer and dryer), but I had to find one that fit all my feller’s criteria too (which mostly dealt with location in relation to his work and soundproofing). But finally, FINALLY, I found a few places that fit the bill, and we were off checking them out. After being stood up by one realtor, we looked at a house together. I don’t know about him, but it was practically love at first sight for me. It has this AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL picture window on the front porch and a large living room with a fireplace and BUILT IN SHELVING. I LOVE built in shelving. Built in shelving rockets an okay place into being a place I might want to live. I LOVE IT. And then the feller says HE loves it! And I love it! And WE LOVE IT! LOVE LOVE LOVE!

And then comes the waiting. We’ve applied, we’ve touched base with the owner, we’re waiting to hear if we get the house we love. Did I mention we love it? In fact, I may or may not have already started mentally decorating it (I DID). My plants are already living in the laundry room during the winter months. The breakfast nook is already my study corner. I’m already working out how to fix the awkward angle of the tv to the couch to the fireplace. I’m already (mentally) sending dang mail there. So pretty much, I can ONLY think positive thoughts because, otherwise, someone is kicking me out of my home. MY HOME. MINE.

And thank the sweet baby Jesus, we got it. I got the call this morning offering us the house “if [we]’re still interested”. Still interested? Heck, aren’t I already LIVING there?

Move in is next Saturday. This next week will be a flurry of packing and getting utilities turned on and switched over and calling the internet company to ask why the FUCK my bill just jumped up by $20?! That shit don’t fly around here.