It is done.
I moved. I spent the better part of last week frantically doing last minute packing. I had reached that point where I really didn’t care where things wound up, just as long as they were in a box, garbage bag, or down the front of my pants.
This necessitated me saying (more than once) ‘why yes, that is a mace in my pants.’
Of course, this is why I keep finding things like underwear in my microwave and live ammunition in a box marked ‘impale with spear.’
NOTE: I marked boxes like that so the ninjas would not hide in them. I then impaled (or sometimes bludgeoned, as per the mace comment above) any box not marked. Any box that screamed or bled was thrown away. Once the boxes were safely in the truck, I tear-gassed the whole load anyway, just to be safe.
Anyway, after a frantic day of moving things into the truck, me, my brother Rick and my best bud Sean all piled into said truck the next morning and drove five hours to my new domicile, where we then unloaded all the boxes we just put in.
And then we went to Red Robin and ate burgers. We also apologized to the waitress for the constant giggling. We were up at 5 am, drove for 5 hours, and then unloaded a 22-foot truck. We were allowed to giggle.
So, here I am, typing my very first blog in my new apartment, which still doesn’t smell or have blood stains on the ceiling. Both of these conditions will be fixed soon enough. I have also started a new job (Octopus Strangler), but more on that later.
I’ve managed to unpack about 80% of the boxes, which are now piled neatly in the middle of my kitchen. The rest of the boxes are strewn about, as I haven’t quite figured out what to do with the contents. I mean, you don’t just toss a 23-piece collection of Yeti tibias on a counter and call it good. You have to think about these sorts of things. And by consider, I mean stare at a wall with your head slightly tilted until you get a headache and decide to watch TV instead.
And now, for a serious note: a big thanks goes out to Laura aka Longhair, who helped pack the truck. Thanks also goes to my big bro Rick aka Rick and my best bud Sean aka Sir Blue Pants, who made the drive and helped pack and unpack as well.
And another thanks goes out to the crew from Redmond: Leigh, Laura, Sean, Devon, James, Leah, Ugdo, Stan, Eric, Beth, and Doug, who sent me off in style. Fair warning: I will be back.
Cheers,
-Jason
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Scourge of Man: Part 3
It is done.
I moved. I spent the better part of last week frantically doing last minute packing. I had reached that point where I really didn’t care where things wound up, just as long as they were in a box, garbage bag, or down the front of my pants.
This necessitated me saying (more than once) ‘why yes, that is a mace in my pants.’
Of course, this is why I keep finding things like underwear in my microwave and live ammunition in a box marked ‘impale with spear.’
NOTE: I marked boxes like that so the ninjas would not hide in them. I then impaled (or sometimes bludgeoned, as per the mace comment above) any box not marked. Any box that screamed or bled was thrown away. Once the boxes were safely in the truck, I tear-gassed the whole load anyway, just to be safe.
Anyway, after a frantic day of moving things into the truck, me, my brother Rick and my best bud Sean all piled into said truck the next morning and drove five hours to my new domicile, where we then unloaded all the boxes we just put in.
And then we went to Red Robin and ate burgers. We also apologized to the waitress for the constant giggling. We were up at 5 am, drove for 5 hours, and then unloaded a 22-foot truck. We were allowed to giggle.
So, here I am, typing my very first blog in my new apartment, which still doesn’t smell or have blood stains on the ceiling. Both of these conditions will be fixed soon enough. I have also started a new job (Octopus Strangler), but more on that later.
I’ve managed to unpack about 80% of the boxes, which are now piled neatly in the middle of my kitchen. The rest of the boxes are strewn about, as I haven’t quite figured out what to do with the contents. I mean, you don’t just toss a 23-piece collection of Yeti tibias on a counter and call it good. You have to think about these sorts of things. And by consider, I mean stare at a wall with your head slightly tilted until you get a headache and decide to watch TV instead.
And now, for a serious note: a big thanks goes out to Laura aka Longhair, who helped pack the truck. Thanks also goes to my big bro Rick aka Rick and my best bud Sean aka Sir Blue Pants, who made the drive and helped pack and unpack as well.
And more thanks goes out to the crew from Redmond: Leigh, Laura, Sean, Devon, James, Leah, Ugdo, Stan, Eric, Beth, and Doug, who sent me off in style. Fair warning: I will be back.
Cheers,
-Jason
I moved. I spent the better part of last week frantically doing last minute packing. I had reached that point where I really didn’t care where things wound up, just as long as they were in a box, garbage bag, or down the front of my pants.
This necessitated me saying (more than once) ‘why yes, that is a mace in my pants.’
Of course, this is why I keep finding things like underwear in my microwave and live ammunition in a box marked ‘impale with spear.’
NOTE: I marked boxes like that so the ninjas would not hide in them. I then impaled (or sometimes bludgeoned, as per the mace comment above) any box not marked. Any box that screamed or bled was thrown away. Once the boxes were safely in the truck, I tear-gassed the whole load anyway, just to be safe.
Anyway, after a frantic day of moving things into the truck, me, my brother Rick and my best bud Sean all piled into said truck the next morning and drove five hours to my new domicile, where we then unloaded all the boxes we just put in.
And then we went to Red Robin and ate burgers. We also apologized to the waitress for the constant giggling. We were up at 5 am, drove for 5 hours, and then unloaded a 22-foot truck. We were allowed to giggle.
So, here I am, typing my very first blog in my new apartment, which still doesn’t smell or have blood stains on the ceiling. Both of these conditions will be fixed soon enough. I have also started a new job (Octopus Strangler), but more on that later.
I’ve managed to unpack about 80% of the boxes, which are now piled neatly in the middle of my kitchen. The rest of the boxes are strewn about, as I haven’t quite figured out what to do with the contents. I mean, you don’t just toss a 23-piece collection of Yeti tibias on a counter and call it good. You have to think about these sorts of things. And by consider, I mean stare at a wall with your head slightly tilted until you get a headache and decide to watch TV instead.
And now, for a serious note: a big thanks goes out to Laura aka Longhair, who helped pack the truck. Thanks also goes to my big bro Rick aka Rick and my best bud Sean aka Sir Blue Pants, who made the drive and helped pack and unpack as well.
And more thanks goes out to the crew from Redmond: Leigh, Laura, Sean, Devon, James, Leah, Ugdo, Stan, Eric, Beth, and Doug, who sent me off in style. Fair warning: I will be back.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
The Scourge of Man: Part 2
I did it.
Despite the warnings, the prophecies, and the dire words of the pizza delivery man, I unsealed that which should not be opened. I’m speaking, of course, of my spare room.
It was kind of a let-down. There was no tidal wave of blood or the manic chanting of one hundred and ninety-nine inhuman mouths. Admittedly, the inside-out goat was pretty cool, but otherwise, nada.
Mostly, it was just a lot of boxes. Stacks and stacks of boxes. Think of the scene from the end of Raiders of the Lost Arc where the Arc gets put away in the massive warehouse. My spare room looks like that only much smaller, the boxes are cardboard, and there are old computer parts strewn haphazardly around.
So, I started going through the boxes and discovered that most of the ones on top were empty, which is nice because now I can put other things in them. The rest of the boxes contained either books, comic books, video games, or some of my old toys that I refuse to throw away because I insist that they may be valuable, when in fact, I just want to keep them.
NOTE: While many of my old toys may very well be junk, I do have some cool things like the Enterprise bridge set for the Star Trek Meigo (sp?) doll set from the ‘70s, a really old GI Joe (with uniforms and footlocker box), and the pride of my youth, my Great Mazinga, still in the original box with all of his swords, darts, and spaceship head intact. I also have a blue plastic bat which I once used to ambush my older brothers. In all fairness, they tried to ambush me first.
I spent the better part of a day going through my spare room, checking boxes, emptying ones I could use and restacking the remainder for better structural support. Actually, that’s pretty much a lie. I did spend a day going through my spare room, but that’s because I got distracted reading and/or playing with the various things I found in there.
This, unfortunately, has been a continuous theme in my current moving attempt. I keep finding neat stuff that I haven’t seen in years. This necessitates that I then immediately amuse myself with what I’ve just found, occasionally to the tune of an hour or so per item. At this rate, I calculate that it will take me at least three months to go through my spare room, which is problematic as I have to move in two weeks.
I have also found a few things that I didn’t know I had. I also don’t know why I have them. For example, I found a mannequin arm and what I think is a baboon skull. I don’t recall acquiring either of those at any point in my life. Also, the baboon skull screams when I pick it up.
I’m pretty sure I would recall that particular purchase.
Cheers,
-Jason
Despite the warnings, the prophecies, and the dire words of the pizza delivery man, I unsealed that which should not be opened. I’m speaking, of course, of my spare room.
It was kind of a let-down. There was no tidal wave of blood or the manic chanting of one hundred and ninety-nine inhuman mouths. Admittedly, the inside-out goat was pretty cool, but otherwise, nada.
Mostly, it was just a lot of boxes. Stacks and stacks of boxes. Think of the scene from the end of Raiders of the Lost Arc where the Arc gets put away in the massive warehouse. My spare room looks like that only much smaller, the boxes are cardboard, and there are old computer parts strewn haphazardly around.
So, I started going through the boxes and discovered that most of the ones on top were empty, which is nice because now I can put other things in them. The rest of the boxes contained either books, comic books, video games, or some of my old toys that I refuse to throw away because I insist that they may be valuable, when in fact, I just want to keep them.
NOTE: While many of my old toys may very well be junk, I do have some cool things like the Enterprise bridge set for the Star Trek Meigo (sp?) doll set from the ‘70s, a really old GI Joe (with uniforms and footlocker box), and the pride of my youth, my Great Mazinga, still in the original box with all of his swords, darts, and spaceship head intact. I also have a blue plastic bat which I once used to ambush my older brothers. In all fairness, they tried to ambush me first.
I spent the better part of a day going through my spare room, checking boxes, emptying ones I could use and restacking the remainder for better structural support. Actually, that’s pretty much a lie. I did spend a day going through my spare room, but that’s because I got distracted reading and/or playing with the various things I found in there.
This, unfortunately, has been a continuous theme in my current moving attempt. I keep finding neat stuff that I haven’t seen in years. This necessitates that I then immediately amuse myself with what I’ve just found, occasionally to the tune of an hour or so per item. At this rate, I calculate that it will take me at least three months to go through my spare room, which is problematic as I have to move in two weeks.
I have also found a few things that I didn’t know I had. I also don’t know why I have them. For example, I found a mannequin arm and what I think is a baboon skull. I don’t recall acquiring either of those at any point in my life. Also, the baboon skull screams when I pick it up.
I’m pretty sure I would recall that particular purchase.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The Scourge of Man: Part 1
So, not to be a downer or anything, but something has happened in my life that has affected me on a personal, political, and above all, palatable (I really wanted three ‘p’ words) scale. I am not unique. This has happened to millions of people and will certainly happen to me again at some point. I speak, of course, of the scourge of moving.
Yes, I will be moving in a couple weeks time and I’ve begun the arduous process of looking at my apartment and saying ‘damn, I gotta lotta stuff’ and thinking about putting it into boxes. No, I haven’t actually packed anything yet, this is still the preliminary stage where I just stare at the piles of crap in my apartment and wonder how many moving vans I’ll need to get it all where it needs to go.
And frankly, my apartment isn’t pretty. In fact, it looks like a warzone. There’re piles of books, broken exercise equipment, bloodstains on the walls, an operating table (now covered in comics) from when I tried to reanimate dead bugs, a sort of shapeless mound in the corner that might be clothes, but may in fact be a ninja just disguised as a pile of clothes (I’ll stab it to make sure), and the thing in the fireplace that screams when I get too near. And that’s just in the living room.
I won’t bother describing the rest of the apartment, as I do try to keep this a PG-13 blog. Let’s just say that the Marine from Doom, an individual who fought his way into Hell so he could shoot a gigantic demon in the kneecaps with a rocket launcher, would probably faint three steps into my bathroom.
And honestly, right now it’s fairly clean (for me).
Now, the actual packing and moving isn’t bad. It’s the other, seven hundred things you have to do that irritate me.
You have to:
Find another apartment
Inform your current apartment you’re leaving
Find a safe place to dump the bodies
Turn off your utilities
Have a combination farewell/bludgeoning party for the ninjas
Turn on your utilities
Get cable
Have your mail forwarded
Figure out why you have a pie plate filled with human teeth on top of your bookshelf
The hardest part is getting your friends to help. Strangely enough, all of mine leapt at the chance to come over and carry stuff. This may because I asked them individually at 4:30 am when they were asleep. I should note that I was wearing a hockey mask and carrying a weed whacker and a plastic dinosaur. Needless to say, they were very enthusiastic.
My next big task will be getting boxes and opening the door to the spare room, a realm no man has seen since 1937. I’ll let you know how that turns out.
Cheers,
-Jason
Yes, I will be moving in a couple weeks time and I’ve begun the arduous process of looking at my apartment and saying ‘damn, I gotta lotta stuff’ and thinking about putting it into boxes. No, I haven’t actually packed anything yet, this is still the preliminary stage where I just stare at the piles of crap in my apartment and wonder how many moving vans I’ll need to get it all where it needs to go.
And frankly, my apartment isn’t pretty. In fact, it looks like a warzone. There’re piles of books, broken exercise equipment, bloodstains on the walls, an operating table (now covered in comics) from when I tried to reanimate dead bugs, a sort of shapeless mound in the corner that might be clothes, but may in fact be a ninja just disguised as a pile of clothes (I’ll stab it to make sure), and the thing in the fireplace that screams when I get too near. And that’s just in the living room.
I won’t bother describing the rest of the apartment, as I do try to keep this a PG-13 blog. Let’s just say that the Marine from Doom, an individual who fought his way into Hell so he could shoot a gigantic demon in the kneecaps with a rocket launcher, would probably faint three steps into my bathroom.
And honestly, right now it’s fairly clean (for me).
Now, the actual packing and moving isn’t bad. It’s the other, seven hundred things you have to do that irritate me.
You have to:
Find another apartment
Inform your current apartment you’re leaving
Find a safe place to dump the bodies
Turn off your utilities
Have a combination farewell/bludgeoning party for the ninjas
Turn on your utilities
Get cable
Have your mail forwarded
Figure out why you have a pie plate filled with human teeth on top of your bookshelf
The hardest part is getting your friends to help. Strangely enough, all of mine leapt at the chance to come over and carry stuff. This may because I asked them individually at 4:30 am when they were asleep. I should note that I was wearing a hockey mask and carrying a weed whacker and a plastic dinosaur. Needless to say, they were very enthusiastic.
My next big task will be getting boxes and opening the door to the spare room, a realm no man has seen since 1937. I’ll let you know how that turns out.
Cheers,
-Jason
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