Moving Schmoving...

At least I got to go to the movies first and enjoy some of my weekend! (Yea for the Philadelphia Story at the Artcraft Theater...go here: http://www.historicartcrafttheatre.org/home.html
to see if there's anything that floats your boat for the 2010-2011 Season. (Gone With the Wind? Yes please. South Pacific? Sign me up! Oh and THIS April 23rd and 24 they are showing Breaking Away...c'mon, you know you want to go see it!)

So after the movie, I head out with my buddy to have a few drinks. Since downtown was going to be a clusterfuck of madness due to the Big Ten, we headed to Ripple.

Sigh.

Let's just say that when 22 year old boys have lots to drink they become friendly with me. Apparently they are the only form of human male who thinks me not only "pretty" (And my hair got stroked...a lot. Weird, I know..I'm not an Irish Setter, but who can explain these things), but witty and charming, too. See--booze does work miracles : ) Get home, plop into bed and think about getting up the next day to help mom and dad "finish" up the moving.

OH. DEAR. GOD.

Let me preface this by saying that when I stopped by on Thursday to see how it was going, I was shocked. Kitchen? Not touched. Basement? Ditto. Clothes packed? Bathroom? Garage (which still *shudder* is no where near done....and they sign over on FRIDAY)? Ha ha ha! And the movers were coming the next morning at 8 am. Silly me thinking they would whip through stuff and very little would need to be done.

So I get there at 10 am...and I get home after taking seven loads of stuff to the laundry mat (How fast was that? One hour and all the stuff was done. If it wasn't such a pain in the ass and so freaking expensive...note to self: when you make big monies and strike it really rich--install your own laundry mat in your house. Why has no one else thought of this? Seriously people!), hit the grocery to actually have food that people will eat, and then had to pick up my house because the rents are staying with me on Saturday night.

So we can start the whole thing over on Sunday.

My parents, it would seem, move at the speed of snail. Granted, they are both sick (with the same crap I have it would seem), but c'mon people. Yes--they sold the house uber fast, and only had two weeks to get things together...but that's two weeks. Two. Weeks. If it were me? Everything would have been ready to go come Friday. I couldn't help it, by Sunday I was in Drill Sargent mode (the kitchen still needed to be finished--argh!) and if I didn't take charge, my head was going to explode. Hmm. Maybe I should have militarized. I seem to be good at it...

"I know you are my parents--but listen up..." is how it began. "There is still a lot to do here, so we are now officially in divide and conquer mode. Mom--stay downstairs. DO NOT come upstairs until it is done. I will finish the kitchen. Dad--this ridiculousness of buying a handful of boxes at a time? Over. Go buy EXACTLY what I have down on this list. No groaning--just do it. And remember: I'm the one who decides when it is time for you two to go to the home, and there's no one to fight me. Don't push me or I'll do it now and then we won't have to deal with this anymore!"

And this is how we moved every single time. I'm not kidding you. Scrambling around to the last minute to get everything done and taken care of. Except my stuff. After I was seven, I wouldn't let them pack my stuff anymore and moving day(s) consisted of me sitting on my boxes..hoping they all got on the truck. At about 12, I got to play referee and separate the two of them to keep them from killing each other (moving makes my normally laid back father a tad bit cranky..something mom, the instigator, like to take advantage of) and to crack the whip to keep them in line to make sure it freaking got done. The only good thing about this move? For the first time EVER, the rents finally hired movers! So I wasn't loading up the back of U-haul and driving a giant truck up to Atlanta. Thank god for small favors.


It should also be mentioned that when I moved out of my family home (as it were) in 2003 for good, I had moved, with my parents, a total of 13 times.

Thirteen times. I attended seven different school systems (that's not counting schools in them) in 12 years. Hell--people, you are lucky I'm as normal as I am.
So guess who hates moving???

Needless to say, there are two reasons for getting my out of my current locale: Death or Marriage. Let's see which one comes first, shall we??