Aaaah, the joys of moving.
What are they?
Getting rid of old crap, that's about it. So far I've loaded at least 3 if not 17 50-gallon Hefty bags (not a plug) full of unused, two years-untouched crap such. Old shoelaces (huh?), 1/10th of a tube of men's body wash (yow!), and an empty bottle of Grey Goose (a plug).
I've yet to pack my kitchen, bedroom closet, or time management. In the meantime I'm closing on my condo tomorrow, and feeling really good about everything. I have written e-commitments from a couple of guys to help me move this weekend (standard pay scale, pizza & beer), and am about to call in and get my cable, phone, and Secret Service surveillance team changed to my new address. I've got plenty to do.
I'm at the point where most things are boxed up, except my TV and stereo, dishes, pots/pans, . And some things can't be boxed, like the entertainment center, couch, coffee table, desk, bed, dresser... holy sh... bedside table, book case, and multiple storage bins. It's all the big stuff, and odd as it sounds, this is the best I've ever packed. At THIS point, of course. That usually changes on that last day of the move prior to cleaning, where I'm running through the apartment at 11:53pm with a Bobcat front-loader, trailing a Zamboni machine loaded with OxiClean, SimpleGreen, Dasani, and toothpaste (double-action agent for ambient odors AND knicks in the drywall).
OH FAWK, the DRYWALL.
It's been a fun little journey, this homebuying thing. My housing payment is actually $70 LESS than my rent payment, for another 300sq-ft, an extra bedroom (don't tell Bradley Lewis), a small backyard (beer swing on backorder), and a kitchen and master bathroom I can gut and remodel. It's the start of what I hope will be a long line of real estate purchases. By 2015 I hope to own most of NorthEast KingCounty. Militia uniforms on backorder.
If I could share any part of my experience with you, it would be this: Do whatever you can to purchase some real estate. It appreciates immediately. It's not as expensive as you think. They don't want the whole $2.3mil for the place (oops, did I slip?) all at once. And if nothing else, you can do this the old fashioned way. It's been too long since we had a good case of squatter's rights.
Right now, I feel like I ought to just jack-up one side of my apartment and snow-shovel whatever's left inside into a dumptruck. Garage sale forthcoming. I have a custom-made bodywash cocktail that'll knock your socks off, and will leave you with that "Just did a rail" feeling!
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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
4 comments:
Isn't it about now that anyone you vaguely remember that owns a pick-up truck is treated like your long lost friend? With mock interest and friendship you try to barter a few truckloads out of some poor guy, who can't even remember how/when he met you. Then you move on to the friends with a cavernous SUV. Finally it's like, "Say dood, don't you own a big-ass Buick?".
Wow, it's a good thing I only have my chick-magnet Miata.
you mean you haven't packed your good Chinet?
I can't wait to break your things.
That's my prob'm, the only people I know with pick-up trucks are guys I haven't spoken to in a long time. Then they'd wanna hang out afterwards, and I'd have to say "Here's some gas money, sorry I can't go shoot dump-rats with you."
Miatas are total chick magnets. Get 'em home by curfew.
Careful with the Star Wars collector glasses and your whole 'Hello Kitty' collection.
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