The Move She is OVER. Hip hip fucking hooray.
Don't get me wrong. I would say it went rather swimmingly as moves can go. (But who wants to that again any time soon?) They showed up ten minutes early and moved my stuff in a little over 3 hours. And they gave me four guys! And only one of them was a prison escapee. And I got an imaginary boyfriend for the day. Money well spent.
My bonus dollars were for the fact that I - correction: we - were Making House. It could have been the lack of sleep, a week in Miami without seeing one remotely non-gangsta being, and operating on very little sustenance in the belly over the past few days. The caustic combo may have contributed to the thoughts of a make-believe boyfriend. In any case, he was the good-boyfriend variety because he catered to my every whim. Our conversations went like this:
"Where should I put this?"
"Should I move it over an inch?"
"Let me do that for you."
"How is this for you?"
Sexually-charged is right. All that we were missing was a nice pat on the ass and a term of endearment. OK. I called him Muscles. I don't think he minded.
I also tried to get him to drink a beer with me - just to firm up calling it a "date." I think he turned me down because he didn't want me buying. And then just like that he left. I guess it was time to be somebody else's boyfriend.
Boyfriend-for-hire: And he'll move your shit!
She won't love him like I did.
After Muscles was gone and no Puss'n'Boots to talk to (wah), I was alone amidst the boxes of my Material World. And the reality of all this hit me. Y'all I have this huge mortgage tied to my name. What if I lose my job? What if the hot water heater breaks? How will I afford that? How do I change the air filter? What if my plumbing gets clogged? How do I change those damn lightbulbs in that funky track lighting in the kitchen? Should I just not use the kitchen lights?
Who will help me when something breaks? Muscles took off in a dusty path!
Then I let those worries go (for now because this is what I do - worry) when Mav came over to break in the place with a bottle of champagne and the discovery of my new neighborhood bar across the street with "kitty" - appropriately - in the title. Now endearingly called, "Sophie O'Shea's."
At the end of the night, I was inviting the whole bar over to my new house. There were only about six people - one of which may or may not have been Tom Arnold. Luckily for me, Mav had the sense to nix that idea. "You have boxes everywhere! Where are people going to sit? You can't have people over, Boa."
But you see, I am in a happy place right now. I want to have YOU over. I want to talk about my house. I went to lunch with the Flirt the other day and I was rambling on and on about my color schemes and decor, etc and his eyes may have been glazing over - but I DIDN'T CARE. Aside from the fact that he lost favor with me big time circa my birthday, but I simply want to talk house with everyone.
I ordered new checks at the bank with my new address and I made them change it. I wanted it to say "Unit" instead of "Apt." and I explained to the bank teller why it was important that it say unit since I am "owner" now and I want my damn checks to reveal this. To everyone.
I had to tell all the Goodwill employees, that I have been donating many very nice miscellaney to over the years, that I will now be taking receipts because "I'm a howeowner and I can itemize now!"
I found a way to tie my "condo talk" into a conversation with one of my account reps who lives in Boston - because, y'all - that is where the lady I bought the house is moving to! Coincidence?
My mom has gotten the play-by-play of the whole house. Square foot by square foot - where I am putting everything - what color everything is. By the time she visits me in a few weeks she will have a good mental image before even seeing the place. My momma lets me ramble. I love her so.
I know, you want me to shut up already. I want me to shut up.
But, you see, I am just happy about this decision to plunge the DC market - insane as it is. Finally, I am happy with where I am at my age. Good job. Great friends. Supportive family. No boyfriend? For now? So.....My Own Home.
There is something so fresh about moving too. Routines are changed. My medicine chest is on the left hand side now. The shower head is on the other side of the shower. I enter my bed from the left. My pots and pans and dishes and silverware are all in different spots. In the new place, as you go to each of these new spots your movement is more deliberate because you have to THINK about what exactly you are doing, where you are going, and where That is. As opposed to Old Hat. An old hippy art teacher I once had would say that I am being Mindful.
I opened up my medicine chest today - a medicine chest I have been opening a couple times a day for the last week - and only this morning did I see this little note taped in the corner in very small lettering,
"Don't give up. The best is yet to come."
I think about the person who had to post this affirmation in a place they were going to go to everyday. What were they going through? Or did they leave it for me in some kind of karmic sharing?
Or did Muscles leave it for me to remind me that it's not make believe....The Best might just be right around the corner from My New Home.