That should mean I can get back to blogging regularly, and boy, do I have some good stuff for you.
But first, let's play a game called, "Where's Bailey?"Can you find the chiweenie in this photo taken during Moving Weekend 2009?
Yes, Bailey, in a secretive, Anne Frank-esque move minus the murderous Nazis and plus the fur, has taken occupancy of a studio apartment-- the bottom shelf of my bookcase. He has yet to pay rent, however.
In fact, he owes me $300. That's how much it cost for the pet deposit. In the first of what will likely be a series of blog posts about moving, here's my 5 Things I Hate About Moving:
- Pet policies: 75 percent of renters don't allow pets, and the other 25 percent allow pets, but only after cash-raping you with a deposit and a series of forms to prove your dog doesn't have rabies/won't attack children/won't hump your leg. What's wrong with a little dog-humping? Beggars can't be choosers.
- Address change: You have to notify every single company you deal with of your new address, let alone the Postal Service. It's at this point that you realize how antiquated mail delivery is, and yet how much of a thrill you get when you have actual mail. I notified all the companies, making it much easier for them to send me bills and other sources of tears. I also got new subscriptions to Maxim and to Cosmo. Capricorn: "You got the subscription to Cosmo in your name?" Me: "Yes. It's for business purposes. It's not weird. Um, right?"
- Packing: It is always at this point that you think, "My God! How did I accumulate all this stuff? I've got an entire moving box full of pens and notebook paper! Where did all these knick-knacks come from? How long has that drifter lived beneath my sink?" Every time I move, I capriciously throw away or donate as much as possible. And yet, I never seem to have fewer things. More than once during a move, I have sworn I'd become a monk and throw away everything except the most essential items. That never works, though, as "essential" on my list includes Tivo, a laptop, a couch, a Shamwow*, etc.
- Learning the New Area: At least this time, I was only moving across town. But normally, this involves starting from scratch and finding the local grocery store/gas station/dope smuggler, and that can be time-consuming. It's a lot of trial-and-error to find the good ones. You have to figure out which Chinese restaurants have good sweet-and-sour chicken, and which ones have an unusual relationship with the animal shelter.
- Hanging up things: I hate hanging up things on the wall, but I love having things on the wall. So I'll bang in a couple nails, and discover the frame is crooked. Then I re-bang the nails, and after thirty minutes of banging, all I have is a crooked frame and syphilis. Plus, you have to get the little frame hang-y thingies to latch on to the nails. I'd have better luck getting Lindsay Lohan an Oscar for "I Know Who Killed Me." Until God grants my request for X-Ray vision, hanging things on little hooks will always be a headache.**
** God won't grant it because He knows I'd only use it to see through girls' clothing. You got me, Jesus, you got me.
Bailey's in the bottom right, if you haven't him by now. And, if that's true that you haven't found him by now, please cut up your driver's license. Thanks.