Bustin' a Move

The move is complete. Spliff and I, with the help of OE and Thing Two, have successfully transported our stuff from the old place (the land of crazy) to the new place (where the old tenant left a 3 foot bong). It wasn’t as smooth a transition as we would have liked, but hey, we are here and my bed is here so…I am happy.

First, I would like to say that next time I move, I will sell my soul to have someone pack all of my shit and then move it and unpack it all. That’s all I’m saying.

On Saturday, Mr. and Mrs. Fat Thighs woke up at 5am to move their shit out of the downstairs unit so that the new people could move in. Of course, Mrs. Fat Thighs started to vacuum at 8am, forcing me out of my coma and reminding me that I was hostile to begin with. So, I felt that it was only right that I wear heels on the hardwood floor all morning and then jump around when walking on carpet. Oh, and yell out the window about how fucking lame she is. I know, it is totally mature…but I was totally pissed off. Dammit.

Anyway, Saturday turned into packing, then drinking beer, then eating pizza, then packing, then drinking beer and my renaming of TT and Spliff (Orangjello Koolaidus and Laquisha Auquanetta Spensive...I don't know...just go with it) finally with all of us passing out at 10. Don’t worry, yesterday the fun started early. I was out of bed and packing by 8:30 even though the new landlady had called to let me know that the previous tenant still had things at the apartment…Rather big things. Like a couch and an armoire and…an iguana or some variety of lizard that eats crickets. Crickets make a lot of noise. I don’t recommend having them in your house. Anyway, so, we couldn’t pick the truck up until 10, we couldn’t unload the stuff into the new place until the guy came to pick up his couch, which he had strategically placed right in front of the goddamn front door, and we couldn’t clean our old apartment until we could get all of our stuff out of it.

I scrubbed tile, I mopped floors, I swept everything until I could make a life size Ernge out of what had been lurking under beds and in corners. When it was finally time to head to the new place, it was 4. And the stairs are like a ladder. The couch was still there, the crickets were chirping, the armoire stood in the middle of Spliff’s bedroom and there was a computer right in the middle of mine. All of which, we had to move outside (not the lizard) and put in the yard. We now have the distinction of being the only home in our posh little neighborhood with a couch in the yard. But I guess if anyone’s going to do it, we’re the ones. I am wondering though, if he is going to a) come back for the damn lizard b) get the couch out of the yard, and c) bring the effing keys back! EEEK!

The good news is, (and this is SUPER good news) that our new neighbor is so freaking cool. He came out while me and OE were standing in the truck and offered us cold beer. And then he made us pina coladas! It was like heaven. I love the new neighbor! YAY! And his thighs are delightfully normal from what I could tell…and you know what that means…normal sized thighs + pina coladas = rad neighbor.

The part though, that I can't leave out, was the drama packed meeting at 10 last night with the Psycho Landlord. OE and I were at the new apartment putting my bed together and Thing Two and Spliff had gone back to the old place to clean out the crap that had been left behind and clean up. When they got there, everything was as we left it. But, by the time OE and I had arrived there was something new. There was a stupid old lady lying in the middle of the living room. Not only was she lying on the floor with a pillow shoved under her shoulder, but she had pulled up half the carpet from the dining room. From what I understand it went like this:

PL shows up at the apartment right after TT and Spliff arrived. (Keep in mind, she doesn't work on weekends OR after 5 so it made perfect sense that she would come over at 10pm to pull up carpet.) She started doing her thing, which still escapes me, and suddenly shrieked in pain. When neither Spliff nor TT ran to her aid, she yelped louder and called for Spliff to call her husband, Mr. Psycho Landlord, who wears his sweat pants just under his ears. By the time, I arrived, she had somehow gotten a pillow jammed under her shoulder and was still whining. I can't help it, but I didn't care how much pain she was in. Karma is a bitch. She continued to scream about wanting a pain pill until her husband got there and gave her one. She took it and immediately felt "whoozy". Mr. Psycho Landlord couldn't pick her up because he has a bad back, so he slowly helped her to her feet and walked her to the top of the stairs where she, very dramatically, falls down, hits her head on the kitchen door, and refuses to move. Neither I nor Mr. Psycho Landlord ran to help her. We both stood and stared, he with a look of irritation on his face that must have looked much like mine. At this point, TT had to carry PL down the stairs and place her gingerly into her car and try not to "accidentally" drop her. He didn't. I wished he had. Eh...bygones.

Of course PL called me at 8:45 this morning to tell me that she had fractured her shoulder, because clearly, I give a shit. Oh, wait...no, I don't. I don't care at all. But she insisted on telling me about it for ten minutes. And how the doctor doesn't take medicare so she will have to find another one. And how she dislocated AND fractured it. And how she now has to have Mr. PL drive her around and she doesn't know how she is going to get the keys to the new tenants, because, obviously, this is another thing that I am totally stressing over. Hmmm...Nope! Wrong again! And really people, at 8:45, there isn't much that you could tell me that I would give a shit about.