I know I haven’t actually secured a new place yet, but I can dream, can’t I? In the mean time, I’ve decided to start packing. I became quite the packing expert over the past couple of decades, and I know that there’s no point in putting it off. It’s gotten to the point where my friends always ask for my help with packing and moving. I am the packing virtuoso. Unlike a “professional” company, I give a shit whether my friends’ things break. I don’t load trucks anymore. I can no longer lift ridiculously heavy boxes, but I am a GOD at packing boxes and trucks to maximize space and increase loading/unloading efficiency. I thank all those years of playing Tetris. Sometimes I think, hey, if this chemistry thing doesn’t work out, there’s always a career in the service industry waiting for me.
Yep. I couldn’t have said it better myself. So unprofessional.
Have you ever noticed the strange shit that turns up in your house when it comes time to move? Oh, no, that stuff wasn’t there before, you and I both know that. If it was, you would have gotten rid of it by now. I’m going through all my possessions wondering if it’s time to have a craigslist.org yard sale. I know it’s time to have a craigslist yard sale. Let’s face it; houses aren’t getting any bigger, and I have way too much stuff. Whenever I look around this old shack, I get the feeling that I should have started throwing stuff out ages ago. I mean, take a look at this:
Where the hell did this come from? A Polynesian whore house? Seriously, who was drunk when they bought this shit?
That’s okay; I’ll just leave that in the house. After all the shit I’ve had to deal with in this place including a half-assed kitchen, no ventilation, a dead front lawn, a toxic waste dump and mushrooms growing from the baseboards, I think my landlord deserves this. Of course, there are always some things I wouldn’t dream of leaving behind. For one thing, there’s my wine cellar.
Who’s the damn alcoholic in this place? Because, well, they have some fucking good taste, that’s all I can say.
I’m not moving it. I’m not joking about this. The week before I move, you can all come to my house for the biggest fucking party EVER, and we’re drinking all of it. I will not move this again. The movers hate it, and I just can’t stand the thought of letting it all go to waste.
When I move, there’s always the question of what food to keep and what to toss. I think the refrigerator becomes some sort of vast wasteland or ubliet where everyone secretly hopes somebody else will take care of it. The frozen chicken nuggets and French fries can stay. So can the condiments. Everything else, well, there’s no time like the present to get a culinary fresh start.
This is what my refrigerator looks like on the average day, as does yours.
What? What is that I see in there? Is that some Pabst Blue Ribbon? Shit. Somebody better get that shit out of here before I go nuts. I don’t know who bought that, but they are totally fired. It’s micro brew or nothing in this house, and I don’t touch anything in a metal can. Whoever put that in there is going to be paying a significantly higher portion of the rent once we get to the new place. They say you can’t put a value on taste. I just did, so there.
Now, I mentioned before that I am a packing virtuoso. No, I am the Grand High Mistress of All Packing. I am a packing demi-god, and if you have to move in the near future, I think you should probably make an offering to me. Offer me enough money, booze, or other objects of value, and I might even help you. In the mean time, I’m on my own over here. Sometimes I have the occasional friend offer to help me pack. It’s not that they feel charitable, it’s just that they’re curious about what exactly I’m hiding in all those drawers. I’m not saying. However, I need to point out that I never ask my family to help me pack.
I think I'll just pack that in the box marked: Do NOT open under ANY circumstance.
You know that box/drawer/bag/shelf in the closet that you don’t want just anyone to look at, let alone pack? Yeah, well, I have a few of those. I don’t judge and neither should you. Let’s just say that I can’t sell it at a yard sale, and I want it disposed of in the unlikely event of my untimely demise. It’s the box you don’t want your parents to find, and your friends will probably look at you in an entirely different light if they just happen to stumble upon it in their efforts to help.
Just…leave that there. We’ll pack it as a 'bulk' item.
I have some mundane things that I just can’t leave behind or part with. I mean, for one thing, this economy sucks, and nobody has the money to pay for what it’s worth. I won’t even think of parting with these:
The lighting sucks, it was an awkward time of day. This is what I like to call, “Why my friends never help me move.”
They have to go. However, there are many, many things that are not welcome. They either end up in the trash, or at Goodwill, or on craigslist. You can’t take everything with you, particularly when there’s no room for it on the receiving end. (There is always room for long boxes; I can shed a roommate or two.)
Sorry, bro, but you’re just going to have to stay behind. It’s not like you pay rent, after all.
Some things are better left behind. The landlord can keep the faulty smoke detectors and the cat puke stains on the carpet. I have everything else covered. Now, if I could only remember where I hid those bongs. After all, the movers won’t touch some things at all. The other “unique” items in my house are fair game, and I have much work to be fun keeping the day laborers from licking the merchandise.