Showing posts with label cleaning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cleaning. Show all posts

Friday, September 20, 2013

100th Post! ...And Still About Moving.


We are finally out of "Le Shithole" and into a much better place.  The journey here was quite exciting.  For one thing, our old lease isn't really up for a couple more weeks, but I'll get to that.  


First, I'll start this one off letting you know about the wounds I received before we even really started moving.  

See, I was putting laundry away, like an adult, when I realized that there was 
A. a little dent in the floor where a slightly pushed in foot of a dresser could catch and 
B. a reason why the paperwork for the dresser said to NEVER have more than one drawer open at a time, which had never been an issue before that moment.  

Cue the dresser slowly tipping... Okay, maybe it was fast, but it felt like slow motion.  It also seemed that I suddenly had no legs: 

Instead of, you know, MOVING OUT OF THE WAY, I decided I was Wonder Woman and that I was going to save the dresser.

Fun fact: I am not Wonder Woman. 

That being said, I did manage to not only "save the dresser" which wouldn't have died or something anyway, but I also saved the pig.  

Yes.  Yes, I saved the giant, shiny, metallic purple piggy bank, which was filled with coins, as it HURLED AT MY FACE.  

This is not the last image anyone wants to see before they die: 


The goggles make him go faster.  

Totally a sign to move, we sent our old landlord a notice and when she didn't respond, we called to make sure she got it.  

She got it. 

She just didn't seem to particularly care. 

Okay then.  

So, she scheduled a time for showing the place, (even though she hadn't looked at it to clear us first but whatever) and we were all fine with that. 

We were frantically packing and cleaning to get it all ready, so imagine our surprise when she showed up a day early to show the apartment. 



When we called her, she complained about the state of the apartment.  

...The apartment we still lived in.

The apartment we still had our crap in.

...

The apartment she basically broke into, assuming no one was home, to show to a stranger when we still have stuff there. 

What followed was a crazed mess of WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW.

In being so frantic, my well meaning, wonderful, perfect boyfriend managed to drop a shelf on my leg.  


Yes, THAT leg.

Here is the map of pain that was my leg: 

To clarify, the dropping of the dresser before hadn't just bashed me in the knee, but also did some interesting things to my shoulder and arm, due to Wonder Womaning it.  

So, my right arm kinda matched my left leg: 

I, of course, then hurt my other leg multiple times on my corner desk. 

Still, the frantic packing had to continue.  

This meant that clearly labeled, well packed masterpieces quickly gave way to these: 





My handwriting often mirrors my attitude and lifestyle of "GARBLEIFJLKEFJIECFALFUCKNUTS"

My legs were still hurting a couple of days later, and steadily getting worse with each movement.  

Eventually, it felt like my legs were somehow too long, trying to get up to that old, shitty, third floor apartment.


After a few walks back and forth, I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be mostly useless carrying things, so I stuck to packing and organizing where I could. 



Pretty soon, I could barely even feel the pain, because I could barely even feel my legs at all. 



I'm amazed the men-folk didn't die.  
My knight didn't want to stop, which led to us kind of sitting him down to tell him he had a problem.  
Who knew moving might need an intervention?  

We were so thankful that a few of our best buddies came to help out too!  Poor bastards stayed with us until it was downright unreasonable for them to bother.  

There was, of course, a causality.  There is always one.  


Thankfully, this will be an easy fix, as it was only the glass part that cracked.  

I was unreasonably sad about it, but not because of what it was, so much as general stress, pain, and remembering that I've had the damn thing for a decade in storage and can only NOW comfortably set it up where I live.    

Once it's fixed again, it shall resemble Lydia's vanity from the Beetlejuice cartoon.  

The new place is amazing, by the way.  We effectively moved from the city to the country and it's not even that far away.  

We even got some new furniture for the occasion.  I got rid of my corner desk, which had served me well for a good seven or so months, and got a real writing/computer desk.  

 Is now: 

And!



ALSO!


The kitchen is huge. 





Oh, and



We even get a new bed on Tuesday!! 




...We also have spiders.

BUT it's a giant step up from cockroaches and mice, so awesome.  

We quickly realized that we each have three keys.  Two are for the front door, and one is for our apartment.  This is awesomely secure, but none of them are labeled yet sooo...
Extra fun in the dark! 

I made the decision to get key caps for them, because I'm a cool kid.  I got too many so that others can use them too, if so desired.  



The ones I actually ordered are a pack of kitten heads, multi-colored skulls, and ones to make the key look like a guitar.  ... "Keytar"

I only didn't get Oswald the Lucky Rabbit because I figured his ears would come off right quick and I'd be sad.  

Once we were done the initial moving in, of course we had somewhere else to go.  My Knight in Pinstripes had already promised a friend that he would see her on her birthday, and he wanted me to meet her.  
We also dragged our housemate, who deals with all of our shit rather amazingly well.  

It wasn't as busy as we thought it would be.  Plus, we got to hear a woman who sounds like a less strung out Janice Joplin sing Lady Gaga, so that was cool. 

Rob's friend (who apparently knows a bunch of my good friends?  *sings*  It's a Small World After All) recognized his need for a hair cut and may still wind up taking care of that for him

From Bruce Campbell look-a-like to Mullet Man. 

We are still working on unpacking.  Every now and then, I get frustrated and give up for a little while.  

For example, I couldn't find the two Batman pieces, one Wonder Woman piece, or one Superman piece, so I just-

You go, Super Wonder Woman Man! 

With all of this going on, I've felt a little burnt out because I also have other stuff I should be doing.  

I have a million projects, papers, and presentations I should be working on for school.  

I haven't had time to draw beyond sketches, this blog, and doodles in my notes, so I feel weird spiritually. 

I've been so burnt out... All I want to do is sit and play games. 

BUT I'm getting back in the swing of things.  I present something I don't even remember what next week, and I'm feeling pretty confident that it'll go smoothly.  

Getting this post up feels good too, so there's some emotional balance there.  

I've got the weekend to catch up.  

I've even been driving and eating alone more often, so those are good signs for my mental health.  

I think we'll be very happy here.  



Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Going Domestic



To start this off, I should mention that my housemate FATE and I have a strange kind of friendship.  He refers to me as Mom and I refer to him as my son.  Normally, this means whoever I happen to be dating is by proxy his "dad" and generally that person just kind of shrugs, accepts it, and never brings it up.  

Rob took this Dad thing to heart.

I'm not kidding. 



We quickly became a bunch of grown ass adults playing house.  

...

My therapist says it's okay so shut up.


Rob and I have already domesticated each other anyway.

He cooks for me:





I do his laundry:




Domestic!





In any case, now that I'm finally settled in, moving is happening again.  

Technically, I'm not the one moving, so there is that.  ...  Rob is moving in, Xena is moving out, FATE and I talked about moving more rooms around, and we decided to have my room be a studio/office space for whoever is in the apartment, since Rob and I might need a little more space, but we'd be sharing a bedroom.   

*Cue Rob's grandmother asking what my clergy father must think of Rob moving in with me* 

Hypothetically speaking, this seems simple enough.

...

It's been chaos. 

The problem is that Rob needed to start moving his stuff in, but there isn't space yet.  As a result, we have boxes of stuff and some of my stuff crammed into weird places and everything is just teetering on a I-don't-know-where-this-goes string. 



After a bit of this, I had started to go a little utterly-too-intense over trying and failing to find things.  I stopped really communicating when I got too frustrated and instead opted for hand gestures and strange noises.  

For example:



Meant that I had lost this thing: 


And I wanted it. 

We've already invested in more shelving in an attempt to avoid our clutter invading the clutter of the other:


This shelf did not stay in that spot very long and it will be moving again, I'm sure. 

And in the meantime, we've each started organizing the few things we actually can have some control over until we are all settled on space again.  

Rob and FATE organized the entertainment area: 



And I have started doing little projects in an effort to eventually become this super-pseudo-mom.  
Between Rob and my own fuckery, we have a lot of magnetic, wipeable, and cork boards.  
Like this one:


I decided that these would become a giant area of wall.  I wanted one slightly bigger wipeable board, so I made one out of a frame that wasn't useable for it's intended purpose and some old color swatches:






 In the meantime, I've been stressing over where everything will go and what I could possibly fit now that I couldn't before.  

Can my vanity now fit in our bedroom?  I could use it as a side table... Maybe? 




What about my drawing desk?  Surely that'll go in the office/studio for everyone to use!  ...Right?



Lastly, we had cockroaches seep in from downstairs, but now that Rob sprayed the Hell out of every corner in this apartment, they seem to be leaving us alone. FATE saw two, "half-dead" recently, but that's it.  Next, we'll have to patch the giant holes where they were getting in.

On the way, we should probably re-caulk the asshole tile:



Every time someone steps on this thing, he or she assumes he or she was the one to magically break it.  I don't know if everyone I know collectively has no idea how tiles work, or if they all just think they weigh a lot more than is possible or what, but no.  No guys.  No.  The tile was already busted long before.  

I'm sure fixing it will be another post.  

...As well as rearranging, organizing these rooms, possibly painting things...  

Stay tuned!