While moving I’d stop every once in a while with the thought “I should totally blog this” and then remember that I needed to pack/move/clean/unpack and I wouldn’t write it down.
My Bad. 🙂
Moving is a bitch, and hopefully I won’t have to move again any time soon. Cross you fingers! (No really, I’m serious.. cross them now!)
I’ve also spent the last few weeks trying to devise ways of never moving anything again.
1. Buy a house, and work hard to pay it off in one year. (This also made me realize why it might be good to move back to Podunk, Nebraska – not a real town, but you get the idea – for cheap houses)
2. Win the lottery and hire movers/staff to do all this crapola.
3. Sell everything I own and move into an RV.
At one point of the move, I pretty much just sat down and gave up. I’d already borrowed money from my parents to afford first/last months rent. Then I had to hit up Getty for money for movers. I have heavy assed solid wood furniture and a washer and dryer, there isn’t any way I was going to bribe friends into moving me.
The movers had come twice and moved everything large from my apartment, and all I had left was the kitchen and bathroom. I didn’t think it was that much left and I could do it.. right?
About half-way through that day, I realized that I was not going to get everything done. I was sleep deprived and my entire body hurt from moving the day before.
I just gave up even though I knew I couldn’t. I found myself sitting on the floor crying and having a massive pity party.
While I have friends.. I don’t have “moving friends”… You know those people who you ask “Can you help me move?” who will actually show up? Yeah, I don’t have those. (Anyone who would possibly be that gullible had already seen my place and how much heavy stuff I had, ain’t no one in their right mind agreeing to that.)
So I’m about an hour past my pity party, and I decide to just move what’s really valuable, and hope like hell the old apartment complex doesn’t anal rape me with costs.
It was then, my phone rang.
“Hey Maruska, how are you?”
“Umm I’m good, how are you?”
It was Ken. You know Mr. Crazy from NYE?
“I’m good, what’s up?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about you and there’s this …” (insert blah blah blah invitation to something I’d rather go to than pack but not enough that I’d actually go with Ken) “would you like to go with me tonight?”
“I’m sorry. Thanks for the invite, but I’m busy trying to move out of my apartment today.”
I purposely didn’t put any invite for him to come help, but I will tell you that my voice/tone was something much more akin to someone being buried alive.
“Do you need any help moving?”
“Yes, actually I’d love some. But it’s ok if you have other plans.”
“No no, thats what friends are for, I’ll be right over.”
I swear to you I cried with joy.
Ken not only helped that night, but the next night he offered as well.
He was awesome and sweet. He essentially hauled everything up two flights of stairs on his own while I packed.
I swear to you.. He totally earned a night a dirty rotten sex.
And then he started talking.
The man loves to spout trivia as if everyone else around him will find it as fascinating as he does. And when you’re not as fascinated, he gets sad. Like a little scolded puppy.
Trivia for me is like torture. I can handle being on a trivia team and answering questions if I know them, as long as no pressure.. etc. However, expecting me to remember random facts or spewing them at me, is the mental equivalent of sitting me in an interrogation chamber and demanding I tell you things of which I don’t know (and the pressure is just a guarantee I won’t know it) or tying me to a wall and throwing tennis balls at me and expecting me to catch them. (These two “Feelings” are why I pretty much just avoid trivia at all costs, it is also why I suck at timed tests.)
My brain holds what it holds. That’s it. I can’t make it hold anything it doesn’t actually use. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. It will however hold random bits and pieces that now and then show up as Trivia questions, but your guess is as good as mine on what those lucky little bits will be. Essentially on a night of trivia, I’ll know exactly one answer out of 50, if you’re lucky.
This trivia spewing thing of his, is enough to remind me not to touch him with a 10 foot pole, but I am also struggling with that feeling of owing him big for helping me move.
So for now at least.. I’m letting Ken think.. that he may.. someday.. have a chance.
I’m not sure if this is cruel or nice? *sigh*
It’s cruel right? I should just let him down easy. *sigh*