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Casey/Male/31-35. Lives in United States/California/San Francisco/The Mission, speaks English and  . Spends 80% of daytime online. Uses a Faster (1M+) connection.
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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Thursday, September 9, 2004

Seek Professional Help!

Getting professionals to come in for the move was one of the best things I've ever done. I would have liked to have supported the Delancey Street Foundation, but their movers were booked. (Maybe I'll buy a Christmas wreath from them this year instead. Or even more my style, dine in their restaurant...) Instead I used "One Big Man & One Big Truck & One Tall, Skinny Russian Guy." Admittedly, that whole thing is pretty hard to fit on the side of a truck, no matter how big it is, so they go by the shorter version of the name.

It was pretty clear that The Former Roommate and I had done a better job purging than we'd expected. The pile of trash was enormous, and the dumpster that didn't get emptied the week prior wasn't helping. I'd found Junkaway though Craigslist, and he and his partner did a pretty good job. It wasn't until much later that I realized I had read about the psychologist who analyzed people's junk. I should find out if he charges extra to provide an ex post facto psychological profile. I'm a little afraid of what it might say...and what it might cost.

Thankfully there was no extra charge to admire his perky nipples through his a-frame undershirt.

Hmm. Speaking of professionals, perhaps we need to find some good carpentry and housepainting services...

05:34 PM PST (link)

Wednesday, September 8, 2004

The First Post-Move Post.

OK, so maybe I am a big ol' drama queen. What are you going to do about it?

On the 31st, I surrendered my keys to the old place. I'd left them in a drawer in the kitchen, as the building manager had asked. I'd made a final check for anything we might have forgotten, though to be honest, I wasn't really looking very hard. I tried not to tear up as I left with my vacuum cleaner, but I couldn't help saying "goodbye" out loud to my former apartment as I shut the door—Goodbye, bachelor pad, I'm off to go be a married man now. I could feel tears preparing to stream down my face as I walked to the new place for the last—or if you prefer, the first—time.

However, it was sweat that actually streamed down my face during the ensuing seven-block-walk through the Mission...with a vacuum cleaner. That's one way to change your attitude fast.

We're slowly getting rooms set up and settled in. I've metaphorically peed in all the corners of the new place to mark it as my own, which is probably a welcome change from what may literally have happened with The Boyfriend's former roommate—frankly, just pass me the Lysol; I don't want to know. We've been trying to dig out the Boyfriend's stuff (like the TiVo) from under all my moving boxes and whatnot (like the Playstation). I find myself alternating between wanting to help him find a space that is just his and finishing carving out a space that is just mine. On the other hand, I am beginning to suspect that this is a process couples can do for entire lifetimes, so I don't know that we exactly need to hurry.

The dining room is still the dumping grounds for everything we don't know where to put yet, but that's probably par for the course. The kitchen, while a bit crowded, can actually be used for cooking now. Which is good, because eating out all week and not unpacking the Dance Dance Revolution dance pad has been a poor combination for my waistline. The pantry is mostly cleaned and organized, but eventually we're going to want to paint in there. So finishing unpacking all my dishes and cookware is a Pyrrhic victory at best. At least I've kept up with the "break it before you move it, not after" credo so far. Even my fragile martini glasses made it. Even through the heavy use they're getting now whenever we realize how much of the house still needs work.

It's still sinking in that I live there. and that this is not some extended summer vacation. I came back from the dentist yesterday wondering when (and if) The Boyfriend was going to see my "new" teeth. Duh, I thought, he'll see you tonight...when you go home.

Speaking of which, since it's after six seven, I should probably head towards there. I think there's a cocktail waiting there with my name on it.

07:23 PM PST (link)


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