Songs of a Move

Moving is always a pain in the ass, as you have to touch every. single. thing. you own (or so it seems) before you decide what is actually making the cut for your new digs, what hits the trash and what you will give away.

Smoking wreck

Moving morphs me into a smoking wreck. And I don’t smoke. Ever.

Every relocation situation has emotions behind it – whether it’s excitement, anxiousness, fear, happiness – and as I found myself moving yet again this summer, I thought back on previous times when I transitioned to a new place. And each memory was accompanied by a specific song, which had really never dawned on me previously.

So here are anthems from a few of my life changing moves…

Relocating to Nashville with no job, an apartment waiting for me that I’d never laid eyes on and $900 bucks in my pocket, I packed up a U-Haul, put my cat on my lap and headed for a city where I didn’t know a single soul.  I visited Nashville a week prior and spontaneously decided to give it a whirl. I didn’t have a ‘real’ job in Iowa with standard amenities (a regular paycheck and health insurance being examples), I didn’t have a ball and chain persuading me to settle down and pop out love children yet and it just seemed like the right time to make a big move.

Packing is so fun if you leave it 'til the last minute!

Packing is so fun if you start the night before you leave.

While filled with exhilarating emotions, when the day came to actually leave the comforts of my family home and the wheels turned out of my driveway, I drove down I-80 with big, fat “what the F am I doing?!” tears rolling down my cheeks.

Bawl baby in three...two...cue the song.

Little does this picture convey that I’m a water balloon waiting to burst inside of my SUV in a mere matter of seconds.

And what song was blaring on the stereo, aiding my sudden emotional insecurity of moving so far away from every familiar person in my life?

Wide Open Spaces” by the Dixie Chicks.

Cliché? Hell yes. Did it make me feel better? Oh F yes.

Carrying on like a bawl baby, acting as if I would never see my home state of Iowa again, singing along with the song…

“Who doesn’t know what I’m talking about
Who’s (me sniffing) never left (I wipe my snotty nose) home (I begin bawling), who’s never struck out (now crying so hard can’t catch breath)
To find a dream (me wailing) and a life of their own
A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone”

I think every trucker I passed and glanced down at my car thought about running me off the road to put me out of my own misery. But at the end of that long weekend move, I was excited, scared and ready to take on Nashville with all of the gusto a young gal such as myself could muster.

First 'real' apartment!

First ‘real’ apartment and it’s mine. All mine.

As life happens, I found a job within the first week of my move, met friends, joined a band, found a boy I shacked up with and all seemed to be falling into place. Except when it didn’t several years in.  I lost my job, vacated the shared house with my boyfriend and ended up getting to move in with my parents (every adult child’s dream come true) all in the same week. To say that it was epic shit show is an understatement.

Shit show.

A year full of hot mess and mascara stained cheeks that forced me to laugh at my ridiculousness.

The world seemed to cave in, the sky fell down and the Earth under my feet was ripped from beneath me.  I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t catch a break. Not only was I reeling from a difficult break-up (I’d been with this man longer than some gal pals had their husbands) I couldn’t believe I had given my blind loyalty to friends only to have them vacate as soon as I needed them or even worse, take advantage of my trust when I was most vulnerable. Valuable life lessons learned and true friends left standing. Oh snap!

The song that played on constant repeat this time around?

Grenade” by Bruno Mars with a doozy of a chorus that goes like this…

“I’d catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on a blade for you
I’d jump in front of a train for you
You know I’d do anything for you
Oh, I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won’t do the same”

I was able to get through the tough year with family, best friends, running my ass off and any liquor I could get my hands on (the always oh-so-healthy coping mechanism).

Car bomb shots seemed like such a good idea...

Car bomb shots with cousins seemed like such a good idea…

But not really...

Until they went down the hatch…

Of course when my liver dried out and I was able to eek out the funds to make the move into my mini manse after 10 months of parental living, the song blaring from every available speaker was “Fuck You,” by Cee Lo Green, which has pretty much become my life anthem (side note, please play at my funeral if I should die before you. Thanks).

And now for my recent humdinger of a move…

Feeling kind of like a card-carrying adult, I was thinking at this point in my life the next step for me would be to move into a bona-fide house (or at the very least a spanky condo) and I was very happy in the small duplex I was renting, which is where I planned to stay until the timing was right for me to leave. But instead, I got kicked out of my mini manse duplex two months ago when the land lord’s son knocked up his girlfriend and they needed to expand to my side. Rough news, as I lacked the funds moving requires and the last thing I wanted to spend what little savings I had on first and last month’s rent, pet deposits, utility transfer fees, endless tanks of gas, etc….

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all.

Oh you need me to move ASAP? Let me just get my trusty shirt, sunglasses to wear inside due to swollen, shit show eyes and get drunk first. Thanks.

The Rolling Stones helped me get through this past summer move with “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

“You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need”

The lyrics continue to remind me that while at a forced proverbial fork in the road, intoxicated by my life’s sudden and unexpected twists and plot changes, I just might find that in the end of this chapter I will get what I need (or at least I F’ing better!) – I just wish I knew what that was going to be…(patience is definitely not a virtue in which I’m familiar).

I’ll keep you posted.

Until my next moving anthem presents itself, I’ll be cranking up the Cee Lo and rockin’ out to my life’s theme song as I continue to unpack by touching every. single. thing. I own.

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Relocate Your Pussy

Oh the woes of moving can seem like pure punishment.  But moving with a cat (especially my spoiled rotten fur ball) can seem like cruel and unusual torture. When I first told Ted of our forced impending move a few weeks back, he reacted about as well as I did.

WTF were you thinking? I KNOW.

WTF? We’re moving?! You’re gonna pay.

I tried to coax and coddle as boxes were packed and piles were stacked to keep the cat from going whack. But unfortunately none of my tactics seemed to work…

evil eyes

Evil eyes from an empty drawer.

blah

Sad face from an empty box.

Forget me not!

Scowling scoundrel.

Tissue blanket

Unsuccessfully trying to pack himself beneath a blanket of tissue.

Drama King laying by his fried buddy from the movie Christmas Vacation.

Drama King laying by his fried buddy from the movie Christmas Vacation.

Room for me?

Demanding a spot anywhere he could find.

Mission accomplished!

Mission accomplished.

My Bear turned into a lion before a cat nap.

Acting ferocious before one last cat nap on his favorite blanket.

I hate you.

And reminding me with one look how much he enjoyed his blanket being moved before him.

All of Ted’s shenanigans were making me want to pull my own nails out one by one so I decided to entice him the best way I knew how. Booze.

Cattail time.

Cattail time.

I wanna!

Wine. Always works like a charm.

After calming The Bear down, I bundled him up and took him for a quick look at his new mini-manse.

Sitting pretty in his new palace.

King of his new cat-stle.

Fun in empty cabinets...

Fun in empty cabinets…

Now how do I get down...

Wondering whether to make the oh-so-gigantic leap.

After marking his territory by rubbing his face on every nook and cranny, he seemed to be more at ease.  Even so, he was all nostalgic upon our last trip down the old driveway.

Teddy wanted to go on a drive Saturday afternoon...

Last goodbyes to the birds, squirrels and chipmunks.

Ted all snuggled up in the front seat, on the way to Grandma's house he goes!

Theatrics at their finest.

Because relocating a pussy is nerve-wracking for all parties involved, I wanted to make TB’s first evening at his new palace as comfy as possible. Which is why I tried coaxing him into a happy place with sushi.

blah

My tactics are slowly melting this icy feline.

And while we’re not snuggling in our new place like the good old days yet….

blah blah blah

Pre-moving bliss.

Ted’s having no trouble relaxing on his BFF blankie, making himself right at home.

blah

This is the life.

While meowing the cry of his people every morning at 3am wondering where the F he is will hopefully diminish soon, I’m pulling out the big wooing dog tonight…tuna.

Kryptonite

Kryptonite for kitties.

This will surely end the relocating-a-pussy-anguish, right?

Wish me luck.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Moving Mania Month

In the past 21 days, I’ve been asked to vacate my mini manse (due to the non-use of condoms by my landlord’s son who now needed my side of the duplex to expand their family), searched and found a new castle, scrapped and scrimped for money to pay rent two places in June while also forking over a pet and security deposit (my landlord refused to give me my deposit back early after asking what he could do to help – and then had the nerve to tell me that he couldn’t help it if I didn’t know how to”manage my money” when I told him I didn’t have the funds to move and also ended up telling me to “put your big girl panties on and deal with it”…you can imagine how that conversation ended), moved every evening after work (loading and unloading three car fulls a night was epic fun), consumed copious amounts of Skinny Pirates and wine after going to the doctor and spilling my guts that I can’t function on three hours of sleep per night, I’m beyond stressed and I just might punch someone in the face if the toner on the copier happened to run dry at work (not a typical reason for me to threaten physical violence) and the good ‘ol doc came back in and handed me a prescription…for a psychiatrist (lovely to have your feelings of lunacy verified by a medical professional – couldn’t I just get 14 days worth of Ambien or Xanax?!). Help a girl out!

After all of this I can finally say I’m done with this moving bullshit!

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all.

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all.

Moving is never, ever any fun. But being surprised with a relocation overwhelmed (to say the least) me.  I moved into my mini manse three years ago after an awful year and was my ‘new start.’ Also daunting was the fact that I have shit everywhere. Literally (because I downsized from a house to a duplex). I have shit at my parents house, shit at friends’ homes, shit in a storage unit, shit in my mini manse…but my new palace is double the size of my old (this gal is moving up) – oh snap!

Load by load, my folks (who I am forever indebted to) and myself carried precious possessions to and from the old to the new.

Glamingo handled with care by dear old Dad.

Dear old Dad – the man who is a constant and always around in my times of need. Plus, he sure looks good with a pink flamingo, right?

Dissecting my wall of shoes proved to be a ginormous task.

Wall of fun.

Wall of fun.

Boo hoo shoe....new places to debut!

Boo hoo shoes….new places for you to make your debut!

While my dad never uttered a peep about how many shoes I own, I happily pointed out that it could be worse.

My dad didn't utter a peep about me having too many shoes but I did tell him that my addiciton could be worse...could be crack cocaine.

Aren’t you glad I’m addicted to shoes and not crack cocaine?

Teddy acted like the sky was falling (he happily took the cue from yours truly) and tried to take up residency in every empty box.

Forget me and you'll be sorry.

Forget me and you’ll be sorry.

And was exhausted by the 48th hour of watching our trio take endless trips back and forth to our cars.

Ted tired out on day 2.

Ted tired out on day 2.

When my mom and I visited storage, it seemed like a good idea to stop payments and call Storage Wars on A&E.  There wasn’t time to sift through everything BUT many trips were made to Goodwill and the dump.

Oh boy...

Oh boy…

I lost many nights of shut eye over whether or not my beloved piano would fit into my new mini manse.  My work family came to my rescue by not only picking up my heavy as all get out player piano but also stepped in to move my furniture and belongings out of three different places with the company truck (I’m one lucky gal (with a happy tear in my eye) who will never be able to convey my level of gratitude).

Oh this has wheels? No problem.

Oh this has wheels? No problem.

Badass fellas kickin' a player piano's ass.

Badass fellas kickin’ a player piano’s ass.

Rollin' down the hill.

Thank God for dry grass!

Lift 'er up!

My heroes!

The madness continued once we stopped to collect my other larger pieces of furniture – I snapped this pic while the boys were trying to maneuver my two ton antique Coke machine down the front steps (naturally, I run and hide when I think heavy lifting is in order. I’m such a bitch).

Shit show.

Shit show.

And while my life still looked like this…

Will this move ever end?

Will this move ever end?

I had to kick up my heels and celebrate the piano fitting into my new and improved mini manse (although the front door of the apartment had to be removed to get the damn thing in – but still!). And yes, believe what you’re seeing – I’m in overall cut-offs (that my grandpa wore while farming – although I never, EVER wear shorts) and sneakers (which I never EVER wear unless I’m working out) but this was a dire circumstance and comfort was above any other fashion issue (unfortunately).

The piano fits!

The piano fits!

Moving into my fabulous new closet, the first piece of clothing I grabbed was my t-shirt celebrating the end of 2010, as I’m finding myself in a similar situation currently.

Poetic.

Poetic.

In between all of the moving shenanigans, I took time out for all kinds of debauchery at a bachelorette party.

Ahh...is moving over YET?

Ahh…is moving over YET?

Wondering about our fabulous attire? We're paying tribute to the bride's love of the muu muu.

Wondering about our fabulous attire? We’re paying tribute to the bride’s love of the muumuu.

There was nothing more fun than getting up after a long weekend of partying and cleaning the day away at my old place, making a few last trips to my spacious new mini manse.

Last load after endless hours of cleaning...

Last load after endless hours of cleaning…

I felt a lump in my throat upon departing the driveway for the last time because change is terrifying but I’ve found it’s almost always for the better.

Plus, I have one hell of a new closet!

Closet heaven. Holla!

Closet heaven. Holla!

Invites to our kick ass housewarming will be delivered shortly – I accept all sizes of Captain Morgan bottles (hint, hint) and Teddy will be available for pawtographs.

CBXB

CBXB!

Bag of Tricks

It’s move the furniture out of my mini manse day! I’ve got packing tape, painting tape, new keys, old keys, sunglasses, lip gloss, a tape measure, vodka (just in case someone cuts their finger we’ll have something to pour on it (are you buying that line?) as I was fresh out of rubbing alcohol), hand sanitizer, gum and a moneyless wallet – oh and a hilarious manual on how to be a man that my gal pal Elizabeth wrote (you know, to read while I’m sitting on my ass, pointing where to put the couch).

My bases are covered.

My bases are covered.

Am I missing anything? Oh yes, my mind.

CBXB

CBXB!

Moving Mani

You know what is fun about moving? Nothing.

But I thought I should have some cute nails while starting the process this weekend, as polish seems to keep nails a bit stronger (and god forbid I lose one in this seemingly never-ending relocation process) and here’s how the polish endured…

Already chipping

Chip resistant? False advertising!

By the end of day one, I looked like I was trying to eek a manicure out for two weeks …

Nails at the end of day one...

I was embarrassed to sign important apartment papers with these piss poorly painted talons. The horror!

By Sunday evening, I was sporting a look only a trailer trash loving honey would love…

Nails at the end of day two...

Nails at the end of day two…

Apparently I am destined to be move of a “pointer” for moving purposes – such as, “that goes in the kitchen” with my finger extended in the direction of my culinary center. I mean, my nails are jewels, not tools after all.

CBXB

CBXB!