So today is my first day back to work after being off for two weeks to move. I could have totally loved a longer time away but not because of anything negative about work. I'm fortunate to HAVE a job and, bonus, it's one I like and, another bonus, for the most part the people are good and, yet another bonus, it's the holiday season which historically means things will be fairly quiet, barring emergencies.
So why am I feeling bummed? Am I sad to be back at work? If so, where did I find the cojones to feel that when there are people, including quite a few people I know, who are trying to find work? Am I picking up on some negative vibe around here that may or may not have anything to do with me? Maybe -- it's happened before.
Or -- and I'm leaning this direction -- am I just mentally kicking cans because I'm back at work without having finished unpacking and setting up the house? I mean, not at all, not by a long shot, not even close.
This glum mood is not helped at all by the fact that the weather today is drek. Foggy and drizzly -- or froggy and dizzly, if you prefer.
BUT! I saw this and it made me laugh out loud, and that felt good -- the Muppets doing "Bohemian Rhapsody". As I started it up, I wondered if they'd do the part about, "Mama, just killed a man" etc., and they managed that nicely. It would've been funny to see that but I'm sure they knew kids would find this video too, so they worked around it.
Enjoy! If you're having a less-than-stellar day, maybe this will help you -- it did me!
There's a saying that goes, "If it ain't ticks, it's chiggers." For those not familiar with the south, think, "If it's not one thing, it's another." That's how this first week in the new place has gone.
I took off this week because I planned to get alllll unpacked. Great plan! Totally didn't happen, but... great plan! It's turned out it's just as well I took the time off anyway to take care of the various things that have cropped up, but the down side is that there are still way way WAY too many unpacked boxes in here.
Knowing myself, I have a legitimate fear of getting used to these boxes and finding myself more or less living out of them instead of unpacking them. ACK!
Anyway, the issue du jour seems to be plumbing. Nothing apparently major so far, but inconvenient and a matter of serious concern. First, the toilet in the master bathroom, which worked fine for the month between closing and moving in, suddenly because sluggish and then got to the point where it wouldn't quit running. Had to do the old handle-jiggle thing. Finally, even that wouldn't stop it, so I took the tank lid off and reached in to adjust the flapper, thinking to myself, "Gotta get this fixed" but with no timetable in mind.
I ended up calling a plumber after I got drenched when the line that feeds fresh water into the tank slipped off its mounting (or whatever that's called) and SOAKED me from neck to knees, and I couldn't get the water shutoff to work. Luckily I was able to get that feeder line back into place, and the plumber replaced the whole fluidmaster. Since I suddenly didn't trust any toilet anywhere anymore, I had him check the one in the guest bathroom too but it was much newer and seems fine.
Then, the first time I got ready to shower, the master bathroom tub backed up. It did drain eventually but not quickly enough for me to finish showering and shampooing, so I ended up doing that at my sister's place since I was going up there anyway. I bought some Roto Rooter drain cleaner stuff but am leery of using it. What if all it does is boil up a bunch of drek into the tub and still doesn't clear whatever's clogging it and I end up with a tub full of caustic poisonous sludge? So I'm calling the plumber back on Monday.
As for the challenge of getting a cable TV jack installed in the living room, that turned out to be just a question of finding the right man for the job. He fished the wire down the wall, not one bit fazed by the insulation, and the jack now looks like it's been there forever, with no outside wiring. The cable company is supposed to deliver the on-demand box for that TV tomorrow morning.
I've found some flaws in the paint job inside. Three of the doors were closed before the paint was fully dry which meant that, when I opened them the first time the night of move-in day a week ago, paint pulled away from the door and frame in each place. There had also been curtain mounting hardware on some of the windows, and they were supposed to remove/discard that, but I've found two windows where they just painted over them. NOT COOL. I've called the job foreman and he's apologized and assures me they'll fix it. This being a holiday week, I haven't bugged him about it but will call him again next week.
Happy things that are happening here:
- The cats are really settling in, acting like themselves, starting to eat more normally again, and beginning to play more. Although I'm wanting to get the boxes unpacked, they're enjoying the whole maze effect.
- I managed to find what I needed to make our family recipe stuffing for Thanksgiving, and that made the whole place smell soooo good.
- People in the neighborhood have started putting up holiday decorations.
- AT&T finally fixed the screw-ups on the service transfer for my landline.
- I've been invited to a neighborhood poker game!
That's how I'm going to recap my experience of moving this weekend. I shall try to avoid wallowing in lurid self-indulgence, speaking unnecessarily harshly of others, and outright weeping in frustration. Because... it's over, it's done, it's through, it's finished!!
Let's start on this past Tuesday when I called the moving company to express concern that I would not be anywhere close to having finished packing by Friday when they were due to arrive. I actually had some leeway in time, and asked about pushing the date forward into Thanksgiving week. Mr. Mover said they could do that BUT they could also DO THE PACKING FOR ME for the same hourly rate. We left the date as it was.
Thursday I called again to tell them I definitely would need their packing assistance because stuff was accumulating in my home, apparently seeping in through the walls and floorboards when I turned my head, faster than I could pack it. I stayed up almost all night Thursday in a yeoman-like attempt to get ahead of it but when Friday broke, I knew I was defeated, trounced, pwnd.
I was teetering on the verge of a full-on meltdown when the movers arrived, armed with the information that I was "not finished packing". I warned them on the porch that it was worse than that. They came in, surveyed the scene, and said, "We've got this." I asked what I should do to help -- hand them the packing tape? fetch boxes? mop their brows? Their answer was, "Just sit down, relax. We've got it from here." I came sooo close to bursting into tears of relief.
Now picture the face of a clock with the hands spinning (or numbers flashing, if you're a digital kind of person). By about noon, I had retreated to the car as the only reliable place to sit where I could be out of their way, because these guys were doing some very serious packing of boxes and putting of boxes and furniture into their megatruck. I felt mildly guilty as I watched them truly hustle while I basked in the autumn sun and posted tweets about the goings-on and occasionally actually dozed, but then I remembered that hourly charge and the guilt would recede.
By about 4:00 they acknowledged that holy crap, lady, you have more junk than Fred Sanford! OK, they didn't say that. They said something like, "We underestimated how much time it would take to pack the contents of your home." THEY were apologizing to ME. Me, who was feeling mortified and frustrated and grateful all at once.
They assured me that unloading wouldn't take nearly as long. Well, duh, since they weren't going to UNpack the boxes for me... were they? No, they were not. So after they left me and all my shit contents in my new house, pretty much all I did was find the critical few boxes to get started (at the outset I had still had presence of mind to use boxes of particular colors for that), and make up the bed, and CRASH.
Saturday, the Comcast guy showed up at 8:30 to set up the TV and internet stuff. As you can tell, the internet set-up went swimmingly. The TV part, not quite so. It seems that I am asking for rather a lot in that I wish to have cable in my living room. The way the place is built, three of the living room's four walls are exterior walls and Comcast doesn't install cable on exterior walls. No, seriously, they don't, nor do they provide names of contractors who will, but when I find one and pay HIM to do it, THEN they'll come out and hook it up.
On the other hand, they'd be happy to install the cable on the room's one interior wall, because THAT they'll do. (It has to do with them not wanting to have to deal with insulation in the walls or something.) The problem with that solution is that the one interior wall is at the end of the room which is the de facto dining room and -- someone call Jeff Foxworthy because I've got one for him -- "If your biggest TV is on your glass dining room table under a chandelier, you might be a redneck."
So that has to be dealt with. But at least I do now have TV in the bedroom and the den (which is right now Box Central). I'm told I also have it in the office/guest bedroom but I haven't yet unearthed the small TV that goes in here. It's the only thing that's MIA from the move so far. I've called the movers and one of them remembers putting it in a box (I did say it was small - 9" screen, perfect size for this desk), so I just have to keep digging. Or I could go to a thrift store and buy another one for about $20.
Also on Saturday, I discovered that AT&T had screwed up my very simple and straightforward service transfer. I only moved about 5 miles so would keep my phone numbers. I said it as plainly as I could when I called it in: "I don't want any changes to my service. Got that? Even if you think I'd like it. Even if you're giving away free service for a year. NO CHANGES. Right?" And the lady sweetly said she understood.
So naturally they added AT&T voicemail to my account AND killed one of my phone numbers which may or may not be retrievable -- we won't know till Tuesday. Never mind that the automated repair update line assures me my service transfer is completed. Sadly, as I recount this story to others, I'm hearing similar AT&T horror tales from them too. Someone needs to tell AT&T the story of how Ma Bell became all those Baby Bells years ago, and why.
Sunday I had a guy lined up to go to the old place to clean out all the debris and detritus resulting from the move. He'd done the same thing for someone I know and came recommended. We'd spoken several times and had agreed on the appointment and he had the address. When I'd offered directions, he'd said he'd get them from me closer to the date. Well, I started trying to call him Saturday morning and kept getting his voicemail. I left no fewer than 6 messages all the way up to 10 minutes before he was due. I went to the old house, waited in the driveway awhile in case he showed up, scrawled a note and taped it to the door, and left.
Hearing nothing from him, I hit Craigslist at about 3:00 and found a guy whose ad said he works weekends and is frequently available the same day. Sounds good to me, right? I call him, we set it up, and people, I am here to tell you that LESS THAN TWO HOURS after my phone call, he had taken care of business and left. He charged me considerably more than the first guy quoted, but then again, to be fair, he offered one thing the first guy didn't -- he SHOWED UP.
Tomorrow the cleaning people are supposed to come to make the place deposit-return-ready. I've confirmed with them that we're on and they have the address AND directions. When they're done, that'll be it for the old place, except for notifying the utilities to turn everything off and getting with the landlord to return the keys.
I would like to say that, in the midst of all this, I have unpacked all the boxes, put everything away, and taken the deconstructed cardboard to a compactor for recycling, but that would be three lies. Whoppers. It'll all happen, though. It may take eons, but it'll happen. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Surprisingly, as I was locking up at the old place Sunday evening, I felt a little wistful. It has good vibes and I lived there through some significant times, happy and sad, in my life. Hopefully the next occupants will enjoy it as much as I did.
I guess this story wasn't "quick like taking off a bandaid" after all. Sorry. It really is a streamlined version of the events, though. Honest.
Just think: This time next week, I'll be in the new place. Moving day is this coming Friday, the day after the day after tomorrow and I suddenly wish I hadn't said it like that.
Saturday is my day to return to the old place and make sure nothing got left behind or, more realistically, get whatever got left behind. Sunday is the day the haul-away guy comes to take away whatever's left. Monday is the day the lady comes for the move-out cleaning. Technically I still have possession of the old place till the following Monday, November 30, but after all that, I doubt I'll be back for anything. There shouldn't be anything left!
Sure, I have to pay all these movers and haulers and cleaners, but I don't have time to do it all. My ethos is shrieking at me about spending the money but it's gotta get done.
Of course, in the meantime there's the matter of packing and can I just say how much I hate it? I hate it SO MUCH you can't imagine. This is why now, with two days left till the movers get here, my house doesn't so much resemble a warehouse full of different sized boxes packed and labeled and organized, as it does something halfway through an episode of "Hoarders", if the hoarding person lived in a cardboard factory. It's highly likely that the movers will have to help me finish packing Friday morning, and I've budgeted accordingly.
The painters have started, and I can already see enough to like it. They just started this afternoon and so far all they've gotten done is the prep work and some of the ceilings, but I'm liking the color and even more the finish. I went with lighter colors for walls and ceiling, and an eggshell finish to bounce the light around a little bit (all the paint there when I bought the place was flat, which seemed to absorb light and which will also come off if you try to clean a smudge), except for the trim which will be semi-gloss. There was a surface crack in the hallway ceiling and they fixed that beautifully - you would never guess it had ever been there! They're totally confident they'll finish on time Thursday, having been reminded by me every thirty minutes that Friday is moving day.
In other news, I must report that the fudge-covered Ritz crackers are good, dammit.
Okay, back to the linen closet clean-out. How the hell did such a tiny closet hold so much stuff??
You know what's cheesy? Cheesy is when you email your legislator in support of a particular bill and you get a canned response that is a wordy way of saying, "I got your letter and I think you're stupid enough not to read between the lines of this reply and see that I have no intention of voting for that legislation."
I fully expected any response I might get to be automated, and I understand that. I'm disappointed but not surprised by the message of the reply itself. But neither of those is the really cheesy part.
The cheesy part is that the Reply address is a brick wall. Click Reply, type a response, click Send, and BAM - "Delivery to the following recipients was aborted after 1 second(s)." followed by the address programmed into the Reply function.
I'm willing to bet that, if my initial email had been in support of something he's already on board with, the Reply function would work.
I'm looking at you, Bob Corker. Pretty cheesy.
You know how you have personal anniversaries or milestones you observe just for you? The kind of thing where gifts aren't appropriate but it still means something to you? That's today for me.
Twenty years ago today I quit smoking. Granted, it was for the second time, but it's the time when it seems to have "taken". I'd quit once before for a couple of years and then, with a group of friends one day, many of whom were smoking, I bummed one. "Just this one." HAH. I should have known better. I am not a "just this one" kind of person. All in. All or nothing, baby, that's me. Go big or go home. If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. Wait, what was I talking about... Oh yeah. My smoking.
So that "just this one" turned into "one more" and then I bought a pack on the way home, and then who was I kidding, I bought a carton, and I was in for a couple more years. I know there are a lot of people out there who can take them or leave them on a situation-by-situation basis, and I envy them. I can't do that.
I tried tapering off, but that didn't work for me. I tried nicotine gum. YECH. Maybe it's better now, but it was its own repellent. Patches weren't readily available yet but probably wouldn't have worked for me either. Nope, cold turkey was The One True Way.
I intentionally didn't tell anyone I was quitting, in case it didn't work. How mature, I know. I ultimately did have to tell my boss when, on about Day Three, he asked me an innocent question about a report I was working on and, in responding, I took on the form of some snarling malevolent entity with fire where my eyes should be and a pit viper for a tongue and a voice that sounded like the love child of a rabid jackal and Mercedes McCambridge in "The Exorcist". He just replied, "...OK..." and left. Moments later, I returned to my body and sought him out to apologize and explain that I had just quit smoking. A smoker himself, he was completely understanding. I got lucky on that one because, if memory serves, there was also some rather foul language in my response.
It's weird to remember having ashtrays on our desks and smoking in the office and in restaurants, etc. It was very "Mad Men". I had this really beautiful ashtray that was on my desk in every job until then. If you've never smoked, you probably can't see ashtrays as "beautiful" but back then they were decor accessories. I remember forcing myself to throw it away, as pretty as it was.
Would I like a cigarette now? Sure, I would love a cigarette now. Will I accept one if offered? No thanks since I know there's no "one" for me. What motivates me more than anything else is that I know I'd want to stop again and I definitely do not want another ride on that particular crazy train.
OK, this is bordering of sounding evangelical and that is so totally not my intent. It's just that I remember wondering on November 14, 1989, what I'd be doing twenty years later and now I know...: blogging about it!
In all the moving frenzy, I was pleased to see that there is a way to do a change of address online. Way to be on the information superhighway, USPS - right?
So I fill the form out, just a few fields really, all very reasonable, and click to go to the next page. That is where I discover it's going to cost me a dollar on a credit card to use this service. ::grumble:: But alright, fine. It's worth a dollar to have this part behind me. I enter all the credit card information and click to go to the next page.
The next page is an "opportunity" for me select merchants I would like to receive offers from. In other words, I'm asked to opt in for junk mail. Having fought the unwinnable fight to stop junk mail at every address I've ever had, I snort derisively and mutter something like, "Yeah, right." and click on the "No, thanks" button and go to the next page.
The next is another collection of "opportunities" for me to select merchants from whom I would like to receive coupons and "special offers". How strange -- they're the same merchants as before. I scroll down for the "No, thanks" button but... there isn't one.
My only two choices are "Get all" or "Get selected". There is no way to opt out if I want to continue the process. I try clicking "Get selected" although I haven't checked any, and I get blocked with a message that I must select at least one. So... basically the USPS has hijacked its own process and I can't finish changing my address unless I agree to accept junk mail for specified merchants. And of course they already have my dollar. It's just a dollar but it's starting to have some significance in principle.
Then I get home and, in cleaning out my mailbox, I find even more stuff in there than usual. Going through it, I find NINE pieces of mail clearly addressed to four different homes on my street, none of them mine, everything from junk mail (!) to bills. And then -- and THEN -- I find the day's junk mail which includes four, count 'em, four copies of the same glossy magazine, none of which have anyone's address on them. Apparently my mailman just had a stack of them and crammed a handful of them into my mailbox.
It was very satisfying.
I just called AT&T to move my home phone service to the new place next week. After confirming I can keep my existing number (had been pretty sure I could -- only moving about 5 miles within the same zip code), I was very specific: "I don't want to make any changes at this time. NO CHANGES AT THIS TIME. Move it JUST LIKE IT IS."
After answering the requisite questions to prove I'm me and will still be me at the new address, I was asked to hold, after which the lady came back and said everything's all set, and that she had given me a different bundle and...
ANNOYED! ANNOYED! Was I not clear enough that I wanted NOTHING CHANGED AT THIS TIME? Which part of that failed to get through?
See, someone I know well just moved a couple of months ago and decided to make changes to her AT&T service at the time of the move, and it turned out to be a huuuuuge clusteryouknowtherestofthatword, with AT&T unable and/or unwilling to do what they'd said they'd do, calls to them requiring 45 minute hold times, financial incentives that mysteriously vanished after she signed up, etc. Well. That was more than enough for me to decide to move my AT&T stuff exactly as is, which is why I was annoyed with the proclamation of having been put into a different bundle.
But wait a minute. As I was gearing up for a snippy-fit, the lady proceeded to enumerate the features of the bundle, and it sounds like my monthly bill will drop by 25% or so. And I'll keep all my existing services including Ringmaster which I really like, plus get free unlimited long distance (which I have to admit would be nice in order to keep from running down my cell phone battery in gabfests with friends in other states).
So, if I later rant that AT&T has well and truly hosed my service in the process of moving it to the new address, I'll only have to look at this post to remind myself that I didn't stand my ground. Not standing my ground is something that's not like me. Let's find out whether I'll regret it.
There's another thing I want to do in the move, that I may have to just be annoyed about and then put on my big-girl panties and get over it: I want a glider. I have wanted a glider outside the front of my house for ages and ages. Now I'm going to have a perfect place for one. And thanks to CraigsList, I've found one that would be perfect at a price I'm comfortable with. It all sounds positively halcyon, no? Can't wait!
BUT! Not so fast there, Ms. New-Condo-Owner. It turns out that putting such things on the lawn is not routinely permitted in this development. Nope. It interferes with cutting the grass (which I am happy to report is THEIR responsibility). I'm perfectly welcome to put it on my back patio but, as nice as the patio is and as much as I look forward to enjoying it, part of its charm is its privacy. The view I want to view from the glider can only be viewed from the front yard.
It's annoying, but I knew it was a condo when I signed all those papers and that I wouldn't be totally unfettered in what I can do to the outside part. So I have to submit a variance, sort of a mother-may-I form, to the Board of Directors which will convene next week to review such requests. I'm not optimistic, but it's worth a shot. If they say no, then I'll have to decide whether I want to go ahead and put it in back on the patio.
But really, between these two views for serenely gliding back and forth, wouldn't you prefer the one from the front yard?
As of last night, the punchlist of things I needed/wanted to get done at the new place before I move in is significantly shorter!
The guys I used, C and B, were highly recommended to me by several people. Even though they turned out to charge maybe a little bit on the high side, their work was totally worth it. Nothing fazed them and they got everything done and cleaned up after themselves. I KNOW, right??
So here's what's been done:
- The tub in the master bathroom was draining slowly. All of us presumed it was an accumulation of ... well, you know, the stuff that accumulates in bathroom drains, but it turned out not to be that at all. You know the toggle switch you flip up to keep water in the tub and down to drain it? Even when the toggle was in the open position, the little flappy thing under the drain wasn't opening all the way. Fixed? Check.
- Replace front door weather stripping? Check.
- Install gooseneck showerhead in master bath? Check.
- Re-place outdoor outlet that was sort of hanging out of the brick wall? Check.
- Install ceiling fan in master bedroom? Check. This was even more of a hassle than it would normally be because there had never been a light in that ceiling. He had to do into the attic and wire that up.
- Re-wire the switch by the master bedroom door so it now controls the ceiling fan and not the wall outlets which are now always hot like the others? Check.
- Raise 6 bi-fold doors by about this much so they don't drag on the brand new carpet every time they're opened/closed? Check.
- Fix the overhead light in the garage that didn't work? Check.
- Fix a floor lamp switch that didn't work (a "while you're here" thing)? Check.
Seeing that thing start to open as I approach still makes me giggle like I'm getting away with something. The idea of not having to go into the rain and/or snow and/or [insert inclement weather of choice here] similarly fills me with a feeling that someday someone's going to realize what's going and put a stop to that luxury.
Since the garage door is original to the house from 1988, I was braced for the worst -- that I'd have to replace the whole thing. But wait!! Home Depot sold me an aftermarket thing that's just a new receiver/sensor and remote. That's all well and good but I had no clue how to install that. So I handed it to C and B and asked them if we could arrange for them to install it some other time. Their response: "Why not now?" Ten minutes later, I heard that lovely sound: Clunk, whirrrbumprrrrrbumprrrr, thunk. Back in business!
I did manage to resist the temptation to sit in the car in the driveway and then from different places up and down the street and click the new clicker, just to watch it work again.
Ah, but not EVERYthing got done. There's a hairline surface crack in the sheetrock in the hall ceiling that needs to be remudded and taped and painted. And the trim - things like door frames, windows, and baseboards - could use a new coat of paint. I had no freaking idea how expensive it is to get things painted!! Holy crap, I'm in the wrong line of work, seriously! It was all I could do not to openly guffaw at the two estimates I've gotten so far. I'll get one or two more, but have almost decided that the painting is something I can do without for quite some time.
BUT. We now have identifiable progress!! We have no boxes packed yet, though. Note to self: Must start packing. Moving day is two weeks from tomorrow.
My niece teaches 4th grade. Today, she reported, she gave them a spelling test. One of the words was "bankrupt". One kid spelled it wrong but it was all she could do to not give him points for grasping the concept so well, in light of what's happening to so many people in the economy lately: B-A-N-K-R-A-P-E-D
