I Survived The Move!

You know how people have T-Shirts and bumper stickers that are "I Survived" such-and-such? I think I should have one that reads "I Survived The Move." Or at least get a gold star. Because those people who say that moving is counted amongst the top 5 most stressful life events are TOTALLY RIGHT. And when you do it alone because you're a single twenty-something (read: no boyfriend/husband to help/do it for you and you're too cheap to hire movers), it adds an element of, shall we say, intensity.

Despite the fact that I knew in some part of my being that everything would be FINE, that I would GET EVERYTHING PACKED and that I would survive to tell the story of my first big move as an adult, I am quite certain I packed that specific part of my being into a large box that was forgotten deep in the back of a closet somewhere. Because even though I took a day off work, yes, used one of my two personal days in order to pack up everything I own, I was still feeling like I needed to rip out my hair. Or eyeballs. So then at least then I couldn't see the disaster that was my life in that moment.

So I put on Dave Matthews Band as loud as my little MacBook would go and listened to his sweet melodies for hours and hours and hours as I packed and packed and packed. And then took a break to go drink on top of the Met with my friends. Because that's what we do on Fridays apparently. Drink on top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, surrounded by... art. Overlooking the city. Clearly. When did this become my life?

The "Art" on display

The girls... and Wesley

Come Saturday I had rallied my incredibly kind and generous and wonderful friends Alexandria and Wes and Binder to help me move. Only Binder managed to have a little TOO much fun the night before, so when he phoned us at 10:30 we knew we wouldn't be seeing him anytime soon. Thankfully I have friends who understand that I am incapable of anything related to spatial problems, such as fitting everything I own into a 10 foot Uhaul in such a way that would enable the door to close and me to drive it without anything breaking. So they just... did it. I didn't even have to ask or worry or fuss, I just let them work their magic. And suddenly a few hours later, everything I owned was in a 10 foot truck. That I had to drive. Out of Brooklyn. Across some bridges. And to my parent's house. Did I mention by myself? Yea, just want to put it out there how truly special it is to entertain yourself in a Uhaul for 4 hours. No CDs, no phone, scared to death you're going to crash into something else that is moving and/or alive. But I did it. With flying colors and a smile on my face, I might add.

Once home, it was easy, breezy, beautiful getting everything out of that truck with the help of my aunt/uncle/cousin/brother/father/mother/adoptedmotherandfather. Then I enjoyed a beer and dinner with my family. All in all, a day I will not soon forget. Thank you to everyone who helped make it possible and less stressful. I literally couldn't have done it without you.

Wesley in the truck. I will forever be grateful to him because he took charge and just got 'er dun, something that seemed effortless for him, but for me would have been like sticking ice picks in my eyeballs. Yes, that painful.

Ah yes, Kathy's dad and sister WHO DROVE IN TO HELP HER MOVE. I wasn't jealous or anything.

Back in central PA (yes, that is my parent's view there in the background, and no I'm not jealous), the unloading took about 20 minutes. Excellent.

I didn't hit anything, or, more importantly, anyone with my Uhaul!! But check out my classy outfit, internet. This was the shirt I changed into after I got torrential downpoured upon in the last 10 minutes of the move. Hot stuff.