Moving is a Bi-yotch*

*Or: Why U-Haul can bite me and corkscrew

I never want to move again. Ever. Seriously. I hate this game, and I suck at it like nobody's business. What should happen but the good people at U-Haul overbooked for Wisconsin by 40 people. So, while I went into Milwaukee for the last time to see Ellen, Mother drove in to Iowa City to pick up a U-Haul. This was soon followed by cramming as much of my crap into the truck as possible. In my usual irresponsible way, I decided to enjoy my last night by seeing my friends in their awesome production of "Little Shop of Horrors" followed by drinks at T.G.I. Friday's. So I didn't get home until around midnight, with lots of packing left to do. I still don't regret it. A great memory of a night out with friends is worth even little sleep and putting up with my pissed-off sister who was so kind and willing to help. Bridges have been burned.

On Sunday, we finally left around 11:30. To sum up: the trip ended in tears. Namely, my mother's. And not entirely from losing her baby to law school, but because I couldn't take it any more when she started talking to the police officer on the street in a baby voice. "Hi! This is our first time in Boston!" as she moves the man's earflap so he can hear her. Wow. My words: "You are a 55 year old doctor. Start [expletive deleted] acting like one." Granted, this is after I've been driving around Boston and Cambridge with a 14' U-Haul, dealing with the construction workers who are blocking our reserved parking spot (that cost me 25 friggin bucks for the day!), and attempting to parallel park a U-Haul. However, all went well after that. The rain from the morning finally stopped, we got our parking spot, we unloaded everything, and some people who were moving in to the adjoining unit volunteered to help.

Now everything is pretty much set up. All the furniture is put together with a little blood, sweat, and tears. Quite literally. I dropped the heaviest item (my desk) on my foot. So much for wearing sandals again this year! Damn. There goes my foot modelling career. Once I get rid of the trash and boxes, this place is gonna look damn fine. Just remember: If my bachelor pad is a rockin', feel free to come a-knockin'. Wink!