Ah, New Home
Well, I'm in the new place. Yesterday's moveout/in was quite an adventure.
First, there was the apartment itself. When I picked up the keys on Friday night, I went over for a look around. The apartment had been vacant for at least 3 months, so it had that stuffy smell. I turned on the A/C to get some of the ickyness out, then noticed that there were dead spiders dotting the carpet and tile landscape. The exterminators, at least, were doing their jobs.
When I got back to the house, the packing extravanganza continued. Steve and I have packed dozens of boxes over the last month or so. I swear that the next time I move, I'll have enough money put aside to hire someone to do it all for me. I hate packing and moving (and after 12+ lifetime moves, I feel justfied in making such a strong statement about packing).
Saturday morning I went out to the apartment (hereafter referred to as 1031--the number) to meet the cable guy. Packing is important, but a girl's gotta have her priorities. The customer service lady said he'd be there between 8 and 10 a.m. I was skeptical, but figured I could use the time to clean the bathroom (icky from non-use) and contemplate furniture arrangement. I drove up at 8 precisely and the cable guy was right behind me! Sacre bleu! It was an amazing experience, and I was blessed with cable t.v. and modem service by 8:40 a.m. Love those guys at Charter!
When I got back, not much had been done. Poor Steve, who was exhausted from the crazy packing/working schedule we've been keeping (not to mention Thursday night's Adventures in Air Conditioner Repair), had slept much later than he intended. No matter--the U-Haul had to be collected and enough packing had been done to allow for the few bits that remained while the truck was loaded.
We got to the UHaul place, which had been a promised land for movers the day before, trucks spreading out as far as the eye could see. At 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, it was a wasteland. A few tiny trucks and the 24' one that I had reserved remained. When we got the keys (and a few more kitchen packing supplies), the man said the words I'd been dreading. The truck had a manual transmission.
You should know that the primary rule for drivers license acquisition in my family is that one must be able to drive a stick shift competently. When I was young, I didn't much understand the rationale. Now, I do completely. I can drive most anything now. But I'm not really fond of big 24' moving trucks. Steve, who is still trying out his mad shifting skills on my Honda, was slated to play truck driver, but the drive from the rental place to my house was a wee bit trying, what with the shifting a very large vehicle on a very high hill business, so we traded driving duties.
My friends Matthew and Katie came over around noon to help and the van was loaded and ready to go by 5 p.m. I drove that bad boy to 1031, chugging and huffing along the way, only killing the engine once or twice. The unload went, of course, extremely quickly. It's amazing to me. And, as of this typing, it appears that nothing has broken. I have not yet, however, located my coffee pot.
The one complaint in this whole enterprise is this. My new landlord's receptionist told me quite decisively that the hot water heater in the unit was electric. This was not the case, a discovery made at 8 p.m. last night when I tried to take a nice hot shower that was nice and icy cold. Steve managed (after 2 trips to the Wal-Mart for supplies--we were very tired and unable to think rationally or remember anything) to get the pilot lit, but the mere fact that she hadn't known that is irksome. I thought the only thing operated by the gas line was the furnace and had the gas guy come out Saturday to turn on the line only as a formality. If I had waited until fall, things would have been really bad.
Today begins the unpacking, and I'm looking forward to typing at my desk and not cross-legged on the floor. Happy Sunday to you all!
Now for a hot shower!
