Saturday, 9:00 AM: Pick up truck. Find out Rob is awesome at driving truck as long as I don't talk too much about the questionable racial politics implied in The Jetsons. Talk about it anyway because that's what I do.
Saturday, 10:00 AM: My parents and sister arrive from Uniontown, PA. My dad immediately made himself useful by managing to Tetris almost all of our belongings into a 16' Budget moving truck. Considering that we couldn't even manage to get everything into a 24' truck when we moved to Towson from Pittsburgh, that represents both an incredible downsizing of stuff on both our parts as well as some first-rate packing on my dad's part.
Saturday, 1:00 PM: Break for lunch. I ribbed my parents for a while about having to drive less than a mile to the nearest restaurant, but these are the ideological sacrifices that you make for people who are helping you out. Although I still maintain I could have biked there faster.
Saturday, 3:00 PM: Commence unpacking. Find that almost everything fits, and that unpacking is way easier when you don't have to move heavy oak pieces up and down narrow row-house stairs. Come to the conclusion with your significant other that stairs, while a useful invention of mankind, are best avoided in any apartments we may rent in the future.
Saturday, 8:00 PM: Break for dinner. Retrieve cats from old house. Are slightly amused that the cat that reacted the worst to moving last time (her behavior earned her the title "Queen of the Rafters") is apparently unfazed, and that old cranky cat is reacting the worst. He's still hissing and swiping at legs. Make a crack about how this will be the last place he ever lives and feel bad about it because that means he might die here and that's morbid, but REALLY, it's just that we hope to be here at least five or six years and he's already ten and cats don't live THAT long. Except for this cat. If Oxford turns out to be the feline Jeanne Calment he's gonna have to suck it up.
Sunday: Let's just not talk about Sunday, okay?
The apartment looks like this, except that there's all kinds of stuff in it now which makes it look like a hoarder house but we're totally not hoarders. Except of LOVE. And canned goods.
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If you want one, it's $1.50 Paypalled to blacklightdiner at gmail dot com, or a trade. Trades are awesome! I haven't been reading very many zines lately besides the ones submitted to me for distro consideration. You can email for my address. That needs to change.
"cats don't live THAT long"ReplyDelete
I wouldn't be so sure. I've lived with and known quite a few cats that have lived into their late teens. I'm spoiled. I'll be disappointed if both of my girls don't do the same.
I hope he does live into his late teens, both because he's awesome, and also because if I keep my promise that means we might not have to move for many, many years. Which would rock. But as two of our kitties died at nine and ten respectively, I'm not as convinced of cat longevity. :( (Although, one had cancer because of being spayed late, and the other was chronically ill most of his life, so maybe they are the exception, not the rule. I hope so.)ReplyDelete
Numbed to the centre of our consciousness, we saw children choked stiff to death, like twisted wax dolls, foaming in their mouths. A young father, holding his dead twins in both his arms, delicately, as if they were fragile toys, was seen posing in front of a cell phone camera, with the cold composure of the temporarily insane, giving his cousin purposeful instructions, '' film it, film it! We need to show it to the world''.ReplyDelete
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