More Interesting Moving Dilemmas
Life plus grad school plus this never-ending move (stillllll happening, bee tee dubs, and I'm pretty much about to off myself just to get away from it) plus social obligations plus some needy gentleman caller who I plan to axe in 4.2 seconds is exhausting, and I haven't even added in the full time work yet (which I begin tomorrow). Eight o'clock tomorrow morning in the city, which means me time plus public transportation means a six-thirty (six-fifteen-to-be-safe) wake up time. Woe is me.
So homeboy who was to help me move called me exactly nineteen minutes before we were slated to leave in order to tell me he wasn't going to make it. He called the night before - after confirming the time and his presence nearly five hours earlier - saying that he couldn't make it because he had just returned from the ER. Turns out some female hit him in the face? To be completely honest, I'm sketchy on the details because all I heard was that he had a swollen eye, not that his legs quit working or that his arms could no longer lift. This is the same dude I've spoken about previously, the one who got quasi-pissy because I told him there would be no more sleepovers between us (which haven't happened since last summer, by the way, so it's not like he was getting some and then I took it away), so due to recent events, I actually figured this would happen, which is why I'm not flipping out. We had a back-and-forth about him helping me because he changed his "I'm bailing" to a "But I made a promise to you so I'm not going to bail on you" by saying it in a mad pathetic voice. I agreed to "let him help me", but got shot down when I called him this morning. All in all, a douche-tastic thing to do on his part, especially since he was well aware that he was my only option and that today is the last day I could go back to Never Never Land to pick up my bed and desk (both actually pretty easy to move). So yeah, fuck him.
I called G Dub (my father) to see if maybe there was some sort of super secret information that father's have access to regarding issues with moving and, surprise, there's not. G Dub told me to cancel my van reservation and just straight up call my landlord and tell him what's up and that I would incur all costs included in getting my bed, et al moved out of the place. Made the call and - cha ching! - I'm the luckiest bitch on the planet. Seems my landlord continues to be a god among men and is allowing me to keep my belongings in the apartment until next Monday when the new couple is moving in, no additional cost. (I'd like to make a note to Jandro that I was gonna lift your Will smith picture for this, but it seemed too obvious.)
I popped over to the old spot today, despite not being able to move the bed or desk, just to clean up and to grab the remainder of things that I had just left behind (hangers, laundry detergent, Ranch dressing ...) After a quick assessment of the situation and a little lifty lifty, I found that it would have been possible - barring a little spinach consumption and a kick of fight in my heart - to move that damn bed but, for some reason, not the desk. At all.
Whatevs, quick summary is that next Saturday my girl E and I are headed up to finish the job. Badda bing, badda boom, I'm out.
