So for my 23rd birthday, October 4, 2008, my mom and I moved. Well, my mom helped me move.
I woke in the wee hours of the morning to pack up, load the car all by my lonesome (no men needed, thank you very much), and inhale a granola bar before my mom took to the roads. With me as her wing man (or rather the place her anxiety driven comments bounced off of) we made it to the new abode in record time.
We made it, only to find the street was shut down by a parade. No worries, we found a choice parking spot around the corner and the plan was that I would lug the boxes in while my mom would survey , take measurements, and eventually come to the realization that this place was just fine and hence I would be just fine. This was the plan. And it was carried out...somewhat successfully. After lugging one box I went in search of the police in hopes that they might let us in past the barricade, after all, while the street was closed it wasn't actually on the route of the parade. The fresh-faced all of eighteen officer took one look at me (I'm sure sweat was dripping at this point, despite the cool October air), laughed, briskly said no, and returned to his partner to talk about nothing of importance. No, no? But I was moving in? Shouldn't I have been granted some pass? This blockade was the first of many we would face on this momentous day, but we were not to be deterred. I finally got all the boxes in, my mom got the measurements and off we Ikea we traipsed.
We had been the night before, after my three hour tour of Lincoln tunnel, but now we were ready to buy. Bookcase, check. Chest of drawers, check. Two separate mirrors, check. All in a very chic, very grown up, fitting for a 23 year-old, color of black-brown. We loaded the items, or rather the very heavy brown boxes housing the yet to be assembled items, onto our cart with the help of a very handsome Spaniard (this time manly assistance was a must) and I proceeded to the checkout while my mom went to pull the car around. I paid, with my own money, and went to meet her. No man around to help load boxes into car. What's a girl to do. Go in search. Detour first--hunger takes precedence. Dollar bag of animal crackers from vending machine? Yes, please. By then I realize the boxes are already in the car and my search ends before it really began. So I head of to arrange the boxes, only to be distracted by the scent of nail polish coming from my purse. It spilled, but no real damage. However, in setting my stuff down to check I sat on my animal crackers with a resounding crunch and then as I reached to salvage them I dumped them all over the floor.
With or without the crackers we headed back to the city. During the car ride the boxes kept hitting my mom and so I was assigned to fasten them into place. Pit stop at Fudruckers for burgers. Then into apartment. Lugging boxes. All by ourselves. Off to sleepy's. Swayed by salesman ( I always am) so I've got a full on hold. At this point, so tired, barely breathing. No coherent trains of thought. Back to Montclair. Buy supplies for bunny cake. Nap. Oh thank you nap, I've missed you, you brought me back to life.
The two of us, while we accomplished alot, were like chickens with our heads cut off. If something could go wrong, we not only enabled it, but seemed to encourage it. Lucy and Ethel, we just can't decide who's who. Last October we may have had the perfect visit, but yesterday...yesterday was the perfect day.
