Monday, December 11, 2006


The Three Stooges of Moving

Well, I began the long and arduous task of moving yesterday. Normally I try to move all in one day, but the power company couldn’t get to the new house to turn on power and gas until Monday. This creates 2 problems: 1. Cold weather has finally arrived in South Carolina, so staying in an unheated house for the weekend would suck 2. It gets dark at night, so staying in a dark house at night would also suck. Sure, I could have stayed with friends or my folks for the weekend, but I chose to move using two weekends and the evenings this week instead.

Originally I had a few guys lined up to help me move, and my sister and the girlfriend had promised to help as well. Here’s who showed up: Kyle. The other 3 guys mysteriously didn’t answer their phones, my sister has a huge project due for her finals this week (she’s still in college,) and the girlfriend conveniently fell asleep on her couch and didn’t hear her phone ring (which, oddly enough, happened the last time I moved.) I’m telling you ladies, Kyle’s a catch. He’s smart, has a good job, and is reliable. Hell, for a dude, he’s not too shabby looking either. However, he’s not terribly coordinated.

I bring this up because neither am I. Two uncoordinated guys moving heavy furniture is always bad. Now factor in that we’re both slightly hungover, making our wits and reflexes less sharp than normal. Also take into consideration that when we played baseball together growing up, Miles, Kyle and I were the benchwarmers and the coaches referred to us as “The Three Stooges.” (Miles didn’t help me move, but in all fairness I didn’t ask him to. His name is just included because I needed it for narrative purposes.) The point being, Saturday was a comedy of errors. We got ourselves stuck behind furniture, dropped things off of the hand truck, and were just generally uncoordinated. I’m kind of surprised I didn’t back the trailer I was pulling into a tree or the house itself. No…I’m not. I’ve got mad trailer-backing skillz, yo.

I also helped my dad move my little sister out of her apartment this weekend (while she was still at my parents house, working on her project.) Am I just a sucker for moving? No, I’m getting free decorating and furniture arranging advice from her this week, as she is an interior designer, and I am the equivalent of a monkey on acid. I’m dying to see what she does with all of my PBR memorabilia and mismatched furniture.

Now if the power company will call me this morning so that I can meet them over there to get the gas and electricity turned on, I can finish up moving next weekend. Horray! Ain’t no party like a movin’ party, ‘cause a movin’ party don’t stop!

I hate moving.

Moving is horrible. I measure the success of a move by two factors:

1. Nobody got divorced/broken up.
2. Nothing got destroyed.

Apart from that, injuries are commonplace and you'll be aching for weeks. And so it goes.
Well, nothing is destroyed yet, and I'm already divorced, so let's tentatively call it a success.
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