What I Learned From This Move

I survived my move!  (Barely, but I did.)  I have moved many times - - heck, half a dozen of the moves have been cross-country - - and this may very well have been the most trying move I have ever dealt with. 

In order to get through it, and without being under the influence of alcohol, I told myself the harder the move, the sweeter the life at the new place.  Don't rain on my parade and tell me otherwise, I'd like to live in my fantasy world a little longer, please.

I did discover these interesting facts from my move though:


Take a day or two off from work before your move.  You'll need it.

Do not take a second shift move.  Under any circumstance.  Ever.  It's hotter, your movers are not as fresh as they were first thing in the morning and without a move following yours, they may not hustle the same way to get the job done.

Always make sure your movers take the washers/nuts/bolts they remove from your furniture with them to your new digs.

Not everyone unplugs tvs and DVD players from the wall - - it's a good idea to double check to make sure your movers didn't unplug those items from the base of the unit.  And leave the cords behind, still plugged into the wall.

Having replacement bed slats next to your bed is no guarantee the movers will know what they are for.  In fact, they may assume you simply collect pieces of wood and leave said slats leaning against your living room wall. 

No matter how prepared you think you are, you aren't.

Two days without the internet and cable can feel like a lifetime. 

An extremely attractive man is certain to become a resident at your old complex the day you are moving.  And you will see him while dressed in an old t-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail, sweaty and cursing like a drunken sailor.  (Or so I've heard . . . )

It's perfectly acceptable to purchase alcohol at 6:45 a.m. on the day you move.

It's a good idea to pack an overnight bag with spare pairs of underwear and changes of clothes in the event your movers put your boxes, oh, wherever.

You will have more stuff than you thought.

Regardless, you still can't have too many books.

Never underestimate the power of a hot shower or of a garage.

Not being able to cook for a week seems like a nice break but you really do get tired of take out.

My dog has a pretty damn good life (actually I knew this before the move.)  But hey, he did a stellar job following me to make sure I unpacked each box exactly right.

Being two blocks from Trader Joe's has its advantages. 

Three days of going up and down three flights of stairs in 90 degree heat while carrying boxes/books/totes will kick the ass of any gym workout.

Moving is the perfect time to purge items you no longer want, need or use.  You may find yourself giving stuff away just so that you don't have to move it.



How about you?  Any moving tips or horror stories you'd like to share?

Can You Get a Packing Hangover?

No, really.  Can you?  Because if you can, that's what's ailing me.  I woke up with a headache, body aches and completely exhausted.  My stomach even felt testy. 

Yes, I'm moving.  Isn't moving a joy?  I actually don't mind moving itself, it's the packing up for the move.  All together now . . . UGH.  My biggest gripe is that no matter how much you prepare, you're never fully ready for it.  I guess that's my fault but you can only do so much before you get your boxes or crates.

I did elect to go with plastic recyclable boxes this time around versus the traditional cardboard box.  The good is that they are delivered to you (and picked up from your new destination), they stack inside one another when not in use and you don't need tape.  I repeat YOU DON'T NEED TAPE.  No "installation" whatsoever.  Yes!  You also don't have to worry about breaking them down once you're done or having them collapse while in use or being stacked.  Or worse . . . having some rogue spider come crawling out at you.  There is also no secondhand embarrassment because you are carrying your kitchen wares into your new place in a KY or hemorrhoid cream box (which you, of course, took from behind Ralph's.)  Plus the recyclable boxes I got are pink (pink is for girls!) and pretty.  And it is so important to remain stylish while moving (ha).

The bad is that they do take up a bit of room, which I did not consider when I selected how many to rent.  Oh well, bygones.

So my home currently looks like a Bebe Gallini factory (shout out to The Brady Bunch - - anyone get the reference?) although not in the shape of a powder puff.  Just pink.  Everywhere.   

My mind is also everywhere, trying to remember the last minute things I need to do in addition to my usual daily activities.  And oh yes, work.  Work too.  Yesterday I left my house without my mobile phone.  Not good. 

Today I left and went to the gas station because once I get close to a quarter of a tank, I get edgy.  I pulled up to the pump, popped my tank cover and reached for my bag.  No wallet.  NO. WALLET.  Close the tank cover, jump back in the car and go back home to retrieve my wallet from my sofa, where I left it last night after having to dig out a credit card.  Return to the gas station where all the pumps are now in use.  Of course.  Wait.  Get a pump and notice that previous plan to check the air pressure in all tires with my new device while gas is pumping must be scratched because a garbage truck is currently idling by the air machine.  Finish pumping gas and notice the garbage truck leaving.  Hooray!  Not so fast, Will Robinson.  A sleek BMW slides into its place, a man gets out and walks away.  To where, I'm not sure but it doesn't appear he is actually putting air in his tires.  Hmmmm. 

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

Decide that it may be best to deal with my tires after work, given that I did not bargain for returning home to retrieve wallet.  Will make up time to work by speeding a little bit on the toll road.  (Yes, I was going 75 . . . okay, 80. Tops.)  Fly by one of California's finest.  No, no, no.  Slow down, place hands at the ten o'clock and two o'clock positions while simultaneously watching for flashing lights in the rear view mirror and praying that the officer doesn't come behind me to pop me for speeding. Prayers answered!  Officer either sitting on the side of the road to intimidate and screw with people, napping or eating a donut.  Regardless, I am relieved and happy that I did not get pulled over and therefore forced to embarrass myself by the crying jag I surely would have slipped into. 

That was my day before eight a.m.  And it's only Tuesday!  Tuesday!   

So don't tell me there is no such thing as a packing/moving hangover because I surely am suffering with one.  What is the cure?  Please don't tell me hair of the dog.

Why Do I Do This to Myself?

Cryyyyyyiiiiiingg  . . .

I know what will happen.  I know before I make the choice to sit and subject myself to it.  I know that no matter how happy I feel before I start, I'll be in tears by the time I'm done.

Yes, I'm talking about Undercover Boss.  Damn you, Undercover Boss.  You get me every time.  Well, maybe except for that episode with Armando Montelongo because he's a snake oil salesman if ever there was one (and can someone please tell him that Jesus Christ Superstar hair is wrong on so many levels?).  But I digress.

Undercover Boss follows a script, sure.  Somehow they always manage to find employees that have hit particularly hard times and/or have a gut wrenching emotional saga that they willingly share to a stranger in front of a camera.  Hey, it happens. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the show's format is designed to create that Hallmark moment that will make you feel weepy, guilty and grateful all at the same time and then maybe even feel as though you should patronize whatever business is being featured that week.  Excellent marketing strategy, ABC. 

Maybe I should watch The Walking Dead to man up. 

Where are those Kleenex?

Time For a Bucket List

Image: hercampus.com

I am not one for New Year's resolutions.  I generally figure that most people make them either in a mad panic or because they are going through some sort of emotional upheaval (guilty!) and they rarely stick (guilty!).  The last time I made a New Year's resolution (other than "It's all about me," my standard New Year's motto) I drove myself crazy with guilt over not sticking with it, which really does little to start your new year off right, know what I mean? 


I've never made a Bucket List.  Sure, I've had little mental checklists of things I'd like to do but I've never put it to paper.  With my aunt's passing, it's made me realize that life is too short not to do things that are important to you, or to put them off for some indefinable time in the future.


It got me to thinking about things that were somewhat light and fluffy (dancing in the rain) to a bit more serious (I know, I know, I should floss on the regular) to absolute game changers (meeting someone that loves me enough to not want to suffocate me in my sleep . . . and vice versa.)  


Making the list was challenging (do I really want to say that?  Will I look like a shallow ass?) and fun (hey, I forgot about that!)  It was rewarding to think of things I have accomplished and inspiring to think of things that I still need to do.


So without further ado, here is my current (and sure to be revised repeatedly as my mind has been known to change more than a few times) list!


1.  Laugh every day (check!  Okay, this is somewhat of a cheat because once I thought of this I realized that I do laugh every day.  Often at myself but laughter is laughter.)


2.  Practice yoga and meditation daily (this involves more than just putting my yoga pants and t-shirt on while I'm unloading the dishwasher)


3.  Floss daily - - or at least more often


4.  Finish my book and get it published (must do THIS YEAR)


5.  Take a hot air balloon ride (this goes with a "facing my fear" theme since I have issues with heights that comes and goes . . maybe dependent on who I am with at the time.)


6.  Drive a NASCAR stock car.  Fast.  (Yes, I know.  This is impossible unless you really know someone.  But hey, a girl can dream.)


7.  See Jane Austen's England -- and all of England (from one red to another, look out Prince Harry!)


8.  See a game in every MLB stadium in the country (road trip!)


9.  Listen more, talk less  (so very hard sometimes)


10.  Move back to the beach (check!  Yes, I cheated - - I'm moving within the month - - but it makes me feel good to check something off)


11.  Find that special someone who makes my heart flutter, doesn't make me apologize for who I am and who loves me unconditionally, even when I say something silly (and who doesn't drive me crazy)


12.  Make others laugh


13.  Create a home I love


14.   Be completely debt free


15.  Learn how to ride a motorcycle (scary prospect for those who know about my San Diego moped story)


16.  Visit Paris


17.  Make the New York Times bestseller list (YES!)


18.  Start playing the piano again


19.   Learn a form of dancing (Ballroom?  Salsa?)


20.  Take martial arts again


21.  Swim with the dolphins


22.  Make my home more feng shui


23.  Plant a garden/grow vegetables


24.   Be the change I want to see in the world (thank you, Gandhi)


25.  Achieve closure on any past unhappiness that may still linger


26.  Dance barefoot in the rain (I've run through the rain barefoot but I'm going to say that doesn't count)

27.  Get a sporty car (Mercedes S63 AMG 4matic in black is my fantasy car - - dream big!)

28.  Hold a koala (this is really a two-fer since I'd probably have to go to Australia to do this!  And yes, I know koalas will bite, scratch and pee but my ex did too and it didn't stop me)

29.  Fly first class at least once

30.  Visit Scotland (Highlanders, here I come!)

31.  Procrastinate less, live more!


So there it is. 


How about you?  What's on your Bucket List?  Let me know -- so I can relate, laugh or edit mine.

The Perks of Being a Writer: You're in My Book!

Any fellow writers out there? 

Being a writer can be a lonely business.  You spend hours by yourself, stressing over what you're putting to the page (or stressing even more if nothing is being put to the page), second guessing everything from your characters' names and motivations to your choice to write in the first place.  You may find that your back aches and your ass spreads (standing desks are awesome) and your eyes get weary from staring at the screen, thinking what you've written is crap or utter genius.  Or somewhere in between.

One of the perks to writing fiction is the creative license.  If I'm writing a character based loosely on myself, for instance, I can cherry pick those qualities that I feel are my best and even shine a golden light on those that are less than stellar.  As an example, while I may be the most impatient person in the world in reality, my fictional heroine is quirkily impatient and it pays off for her - - she may have the winning lottery ticket or meet Mr. Right because she's impatient.  Something that was said to me by someone else may have been meant with contempt or general jerkiness but I can write it to garner laughs.  And whereas the real me may have taken ten minutes to dig up an adequate comeback, if at all, my fictional character is quick and has an acerbic wit. 

I take the qualities I love most in my friends and will often combine them to create characters in my stories.  Have a friend that will drop anything when you need something?  A friend that will organize the trip to the craft store when you think your best option is to make a voodoo doll of your ex?  Someone who won't remind you of the time you thought karaoke was a great idea (right up there with dancing on the bar) after a few cocktails?  Yup, he or she is going to find their way into my book.

This goes for people you don't particularly care for as well.  Piss me off and guess what?  You're likely going to be in my book and I may even kill your character.  Ha!  Not only that but while I may not see or give you a comeuppance in real life, in literary life, it's going to happen.

I love this about writing.  It's like therapy, only cheaper and without Kleenex. 

Let's Talk Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles

My original movie boyfriend (sigh) Jake Ryan

Jake Ryan.  Can you even say this dreamboat’s name without a wistful sigh?  I still recall watching Sixteen Candles in the theater, giggling with my girlfriends and then being lovelorn over (sigh) Jake Ryan and Samantha’s good fortune to land this hunk.  Surely this is exactly what would happen to all of us when we turned sixteen, no? 

Where art thou, Michael Schoeffling?

Jake was perfect.  He had it all.  Gorgeous, popular and he drove a Porsche.  He seriously could not get any better.  What I find so interesting upon rewatch as an adult is that we know next to nothing about him.  Yes, we know he’s good looking and we know his family is wealthy and he seems to be a nice guy.  He’s looking for a girl that he can have a real relationship with.  (An aside - - how many teen boys would aspire to this, much less admit it?)  All these things are exactly what a teenage girl swoons over.  But what does Jake do?  Is he an athlete?  Does he draw or write?  What are his hobbies?  These things are less than secondary to the overall story in Sixteen Candles, which is how terrible Samantha’s sixteenth birthday is with her family forgetting and focusing on her spoiled and vapid older sister’s wedding, her lack of waking to four more inches of bod and pining away over the seemingly unattainable dream guy Jake Ryan (sigh).

Out of all of John Hughes’ teenaged characters, Jake Ryan is possibly the least developed and fleshed out.  Granted, he is not a character we would find in the awesome ensemble of The Breakfast Club or even the charmingly credited “The Geek” but his lack of any real definition makes me wonder if this was a conscious choice of Hughes - - after all, teen girls crush on boys in their classes all the time merely based on looks and/or popularity - - or a side effect of Sixteen Candles being his first foray into filming a teenage girl’s angst.




Could you imagine him sitting behind you in class?

The true character of Jake Ryan is relatively irrelevant to the teenaged girls who flocked to the theater back in 1984 (myself among them), finding him, and his scorching good looks, to be the absolute ultimate.  I thought then and I’ll agree now that he’s a pretty darn good catch from what we know.  Only one thing chinks the Ryan armor and that’s this - - he placed his passed out drunk girlfriend into his father’s car with The Geek (who could not drive) and sent them off with a “Have fun!”  Harmless and funny back in 1984.  Today, watching it and seeing that the Prom Queen and The Geek supposedly had sex in a parking lot later that night, although neither of them truly remember it, is a bit unsettling.  Jake’s girlfriend Caroline is presented as a somewhat snobby party girl that he’s tired of (Jake’s friend points out that Caroline knows how to party serious) and it seems that we’re supposed to believe that she is such a spoilt nuisance that this is perfectly justifiable behavior. 

That said, Jake does stand up to his friend in defense of his burgeoning attraction to Samantha, a sophomore.  Definite points for that.  He is also extremely polite to Samantha’s grandparents, who answer her phone, when he attempts to call her (outside of saying “Eat me” when he thinks no one is answering, that is.)  He also retrieves her undies from The Geek to return to her. 

Perhaps most amazingly, the end of the film shows Jake and Samantha sitting in front of a birthday cake, lit with candles.  A birthday cake he got for her.   Everyone together . . . awwwwwww.    

Awful bridesmaids dress but hot guy

My Weekend - Part 2

Have you ever noticed that when you have a three day weekend, you have to pay for that holiday?  The Friday before Memorial Day wasn't so bad but this past week has been brutal.  So busy that I just couldn't get around to posting here and finishing up part 2 of my journey home from several weeks ago. 

If you read part 1, you know that my aunt passed away rather suddenly and I had to fly to Atlanta for the funeral.  The only silver lining to a funeral is that you get to see people that you may not have seen for years - - in my case, my cousin that lives in New York.  It was a treat to spend several days catching up with her.

The funeral itself, while it brought me to tears, was truly a celebration of my aunt's life.  It was wonderful to see how many people and lives she touched - - how inspiring. 

That was on a Saturday and I was departing on Sunday morning to return home.  I had only gotten maybe four hours of sleep for the last few nights so I woke on Sunday morning feeling less than bright and cheery.  I had to connect through Dallas once again and, as always seems to be the case, my departing flight did not leave Atlanta on time.  Why is that?  Is it just me or are all flights late out of Atlanta?  My layover in Dallas was an hour so I was starting to become concerned when we finally boarded.  Hooray!

Not so fast!  We hadn't been in the air more than an hour when the captain came over the speaker to announce that since there were storms in Dallas (actually tornadoes and thunderstorms) we were having to reroute around Dallas and fly in from the west side.  Which would add approximately an hour to our trip and make it impossible for me to make my connection.  What are you going to do?  (Clearly nothing when you're just a passenger.)

I had digested this information and was thinking it was a good thing I had an early-ish flight when not long after the captain began speaking again.  Due to the rerouting we were out of fuel.  Umm, excuse me?  Surely this can't be good.  We were going to have to land at the closest airport where we could fuel up - - Abilene.   Hooray?
 
Definitely not happy campers on board.  Some began asking the flight attendants if they could get off the plane in Abilene, others bemoan this bad luck.  Surprisingly, I felt almost zen about this.  No type A personality rearing its ugly head on my shoulders. 

We land in Abilene, where it's bright and sunny.  No signs whatsoever of any kind of storms. Interesting.  No idea how far Abilene is from Dallas but clearly far enough to have its own weather.  We sit on the runway . . . for a good hour.  We were apparently the third plane in line for fuel.  Oh, and just to keep things interesting, we have also not been cleared for takeoff.  So we can fuel up but we can't go anywhere.  And better - - Abilene has two or three schools and all of them are having graduation ceremonies on this weekend.  So there are no hotel rooms or rental cars available.  Classic.

Needless to say, no one got off the plane (the drought of hotel rooms and rental cars was bad enough but I'm sure being told they couldn't get back on the plane after getting off sealed the deal.)  We were finally given clearance to take off and flew into the western side of Dallas.  Rainy, gray and packed full of people.  I have never seen so many people in the airport in my life.

I disembarked at gate C27 and ran to the first airline employee I could find.  Despite arriving nearly three hours after my connection was to have departed I was informed that my flight had not yet left and if I hurried, I may be able to make it.  Yes!  Success!

I ran as quickly as I possibly could to the Skylink (Dallas' version of a plane train) and crammed on board with quite possibly every person travelling in Texas.  The doors shut and then . . . nothing. 

Have you ever been inside a subway or train car, packed to the gills, that doesn't move?  No movement, no sound, nothing.  Me being me, I immediately start thinking what a sitting duck that car is and feel myself begin to sweat.

The PA system comes on with an announcement.  The Skylink will be delayed by several minutes due to a car becoming unattached to the train. 

Seriously.  I am not joking.  This return trip has turned into a comedy of errors. 

A few other people like me - - running late, tired and feeling claustrophobic - - attempt to pry open the doors with our hands.  No luck.   We are stuck until the errant car is reattached.  My mind fills with mental images of that runaway car.  How did it become unattached?  Speed bump?  Bored teens?  What?  And were there people on board?  Are they just standing in this car while it rolls the tracks?

After three or four minutes, there is a ding and we are moving - - finally!  The Skylink manages to deposit me, still safely attached to the train, at the A gate and I rush to A34, where my extremely delayed plane still is.   Unfortunately, however, the gate door closed sixty seconds before I arrived and if you travel enough you know that once that door closes, no one is getting through.

Sixty seconds.  If the Skylink had not been delayed, I would have made that flight.  If we had not run out of fuel (seriously!) I would have been able to eat lunch and then make that flight.

I am politely told that there is another flight back home, scheduled to depart in thirty or so minutes and if I hurry (yes, that sounds familiar) I may be able to make it.  Said flight is boarding at C29.

C29?  I just came from C27!  No!  Am I being Punk'd?  I grab my rolling bag (getting quite a workout) and run back to the Skylink to go back where I started.

Along with (it seems) thousands of other frustrated, impatient, hungry and unhappy people.

I am put on standby and told to watch the screens and stay close by.  Watching the screen, I learn that I am number eighty on the standby list.  NUMBER. EIGHTY.  No way am I getting on this flight.  To make things even more exciting, this is the last scheduled flight to leave Dallas for home. 

To make this already long post more brief, I spent several hours commiserating with others in front of C29.  I didn't leave the area - - no bathroom break, no quick food run - - out of fear that the moment I stepped away, they would call my name.  I continued to go back and check every twenty or so minutes, being very polite to the poor agents who had to deal with a lot of tempers, naming every airport I could think of within four hours' drive time of my home.  Each suggestion was met with "They are also on standby."

I emailed my office to state that I was stuck in Dallas with no idea how and when I would leave (but was being told the next day at the earliest by airport employees) and called the pet hotel that was boarding my dog to let them know I would not be returning home to pick him up that day.  I was preparing to jump on Yelp to find the closest halfway decent hotel/motel by the airport when they paged me.  Yes!  It had to be good news!

They got me on a flight just over an hour away from my home!  Yes!  I would figure out exactly how to get home from LAX once I got there but provided we took off (more flights were being grounded and cancelled than taking off), I was on my way.

I bid a fond farewell to my airport compatriots, we wished each other good luck, and I was shortly back in the friendly (although dark and threatening) skies.  I had now been awake almost twenty-four hours.

The flight to LA was unmemorable (thank God) other than the fact that I had to check my carry-on bag due to shortage of room on the plane.  We landed safely and I hurried myself to Baggage Claim, where I would wait for nearly an hour for my lone bag to show up.   The upside was that I got to spend the time with a handsome Air Force man.

So, my bag shows up and I jump on the first car rental bus to come by where I am transported to the off site location to wait in line behind six or so people to pay $140 for a rental car I would have all of ten hours.

What did I learn from this trip?  First, to always do my hair because you never know who you might meet.  Second, pack snacks.  Third, and most importantly, life is too short to sweat the small stuff.  Sure, it was a pain and I encountered difficulty after difficulty but I eventually made it home, exhausted and hungry but none the worse for wear.