Breathing Space

I promise I will write about the reception. I swear. I will do it. Just not yet…

A week after we were married, we moved. Stupidly, we decided to take our honeymoon in November when I am sure we won’t think it a stupid idea. So, three short days after saying “I do” in the honey pot, I walked back into my office. DO NOT MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE!!!! It was foolish. Stupid, and completely took away my wedding bliss buzz. Ride the bliss wave as long as you possibly can!!! Maybe the fall will be harder when you get back, the wedding hangover more severe, but dammit, just go for it.

On the bright side of being home (no bright side to work) instead of say Hawaii, which was getting blown around by Hurricane Floyd or the Caribbean, which was getting slammed by Hurricane Dean, or even parts of Mexico that Dean was aiming for, we were safely in Venice Beach. Boo! Hiss!! It’s home! But, a neighbor nicely pointed out that while we were getting hitched, a bigger, larger, greater apartment was being painted down the hall from ours, and it was available to rent.

We quickly called the landlord, and before I could say “Pack my stuff again?” my husband was moving boxes down the hall. It was as painless as a move can be. No packing involved since you can just walk your stuff down the hall. We didn’t empty drawers; we carried them twenty feet to the north full of stuff. Pad plates? Please. I stacked them in empty wedding gift boxes and walked slowly down the hall.

The best parts about the new apartment? Let’s see… where do I start…. There is a door on the bedroom! Shocking, I know, but we had a loft bedroom before which might be great for a bachelor, but two people with completely different schedules? Let’s say hell might be similar. And a bathroom right next door to the bedroom! We had to walk down the loft stairs to get to the bathroom before, and when you have puke coming up, stairs are the last thing you want to navigate. The kitchen actually has counter space and room to store things. We had to supplement with shelves, but they work in the room and even look kind of nice. The only thing that makes up for the piece of shit electric stove (I still dream of a gas one) is the view of the ocean from the kitchen window. It makes the day better to start by seeing the sand and the sea while drinking juice.

With the broiling heat of summer, the fact we have windows on two sides of the apartment creates a wonderful breeze. We actually sleep with a down comforter! In AUGUST!! Best of all, we have a loft that is an office, which means all the other parts of the house are used for what they were designed. Kitchen table nook? Filled with table and chairs for eating. Living room? Couch and TV for lounging. Bedroom? Bed and dressers for dressing, sleeping and getting busy. The bathroom? Well, there’s even a linen closet in there!

Needless to say, I love our new apartment. We even have two parking spaces which, in Venice in the summer, is almost like having a pot of gold. I feel like I can finally breathe in the new space. We can both fit, and best of all, we can both grow.

It’s so much better than this.
My husband and brother working side-by-side in the old place. Note the dining table next to the couch, next to the desks, next to the kitchen plus the bookshelf OUTSIDE of the kitchen with kitchen stuff. Thankfully, all part of the past.

Austin

I meant to post this right after our trip to Austin, but never got around to it since I was deathly ill (and no one in Austin got sick!!). After rooting for the Longhorns in the NCAA championships, I feel it only fitting that I comment on their fair city.

Shock. Yes, I am in shock. I like a part of Texas. As a former Coloradoan, this is akin to saying I am in love with my brother. It's just wrong.

Austin is everything that people hype it to be. Great people, fun places, easy to get around. I’d been before but in the whirlwind of a wedding. I didn't remember the river running though it, which I loved. It was hot and humid, and people were all over the water like little bugs skimming on top. I felt like crap, or else I would have joined them.

We scarfed down greasy, Tex-Mex, which tasted delicious, but I still prefer Cal-Mex (don’t forget my health watch). I sampled queso. I like cheese in most forms, and queso fit the bill. Cheese and chips? I’m sold! Thank god that isn’t part of Cal-Mex or I’d be the size of a house. And there were a lot of people of the large variety there, but they didn’t stop me from ordering the deep-dish apple pie for dessert at dinner.

It was awesome to see my friend, meet her son and spend time with her husband, who I swear I’ve only hung out with at weddings. I loved their parenting style and their adorable son. They took us to a barbeque at their friend’s house, and guess what?! Their friends were nice, too!

I could almost see myself living there. I started to picture it. But the fiancé still loves the ocean so it looks like we’ll stay within walking distance of it for awhile. But believe the hype about Austin. It’s in Texas, but it isn’t really Texas. It’s Austin.

The River in the middle of the city!!! Picture paddling a boat on it... Ahhh.... summer.... Clearly, someone has a sense of humor.

And don't forget. Austin is the state capital.

On the move with Crazy: Part 2

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED….
The movers showed up as planned at 8am on Saturday. On time. I took this to be a good omen for the day, but then again, I had been up since 5:30 obsessing over what boxes went to the apartment, what went to storage and what piles of crap went to charity. I wouldn’t have known an omen if it crawled out of a box and introduced itself.

Things went smoothly. After two hours, we were finally MOVING. It took about five minutes to drive the whole mile down the street to my fiancé’s place. Amazingly, he had his storage things stacked by the front door, too. I was impressed. Of course, he is German. After two more hours, things were in place for the final stop: storage. By in place, I mean the hallway was lined with boxes of my stuff, chairs for the table and the table in pieces. It looked like the before pictures on Extreme Makeover.

I ignored my nagging hunger, and we headed off to the storage place. Or what I like to refer to as the crack den. We pulled up in front of Al-American Storage, and I asked to be shown to my storage space which I reserved earlier that week. This is where my planning failed me. I didn’t go look at the space.

Up an elevator, around six corners, three small flights of stairs and finally we stood in front of the unit I could call mine. The worker opened the door, and inside I saw two large steps. LARGE, like where-the-fuck-is-my-stuff-going large. At this point, my very nice Russian mover said, “How much for this? $100? No, too expensive. Plus, your stuff won’t fit.” We walked away.

After hyperventilating while reminding myself I was paying for the two movers by the hour and all our stuff was inside their truck, I called my fiancé. I think the conversation went something like this:

“We’re at the storage place and it is a FUCKING JOKE. I NEED you to find another place. Now. I don’t care that you don’t have internet. MAKE IT HAPPEN! I’ve been up since 5:30. I AM LOSING IT!”

At this point, my very nice Russian mover prudently walked away from me with the premise of giving me some privacy. I think this man is very smart.

Finally, my fiancé called to tell me reserved us a space at a Public Storage unit nearby. I got into my car, half-crazed from hunger, fully crazed from moving, and inhaled a Cliff bar that my fiancé left in the car door two months earlier. Keep in mind, I hate Cliff bars, or I should say hated. That Cliff bar saved my life.

We arrived at Public Storage to find the manager gone. Seriously. I almost fell over laughing it before starting to cry. The sign said he’d be back in thirty minutes. At least someone was eating. And I was still paying my guys. Some god took pity on me, and the manager strolled up with his lunch bag. Finally, things fell into place.

The story ends sweetly with me finally getting a storage unit. Me bribing the Public Storage guy with DVDs to break early from his lunch and let my guys unload my stuff. Me completely over-tipping my awesome movers. Me collapsing on the floor of the new apartment begging for a burrito. Me eating a burrito and a half a pound of chips that my fiancé sweetly brought to me. God, I love this man.

Notes on Moving:
1. It will always take longer than you think.
2. It will take even longer than the longest you think.
3. Never use the cheaper storage company. Always go with a name you know like Public Storage.
4. Hire competent movers who speak up for you when exhaustion and hunger strike you unreasonable and irrational.
5. Marry someone who can handle your neurosis and freak-outs and stores food in your car.

On the move with Crazy: Part 1

I wrote this before we moved, but thought it should be posted. So from, May 10th:

I waste no time. I am a crazy planner who worries and obsesses about the littlest details. Sometimes I even scare myself. I really scare my fiancé. So when we decided to move, I started packing. I started sorting books and dvds of what comes with me, what goes to storage and can be sold/given away. Then, I kept going. My apartment is a mass of boxes. And I don’t have to be out until the end of the month. But at the end of the month we are going to Austin to see Jen and Chris and check out the city.

So, after about two minutes of discussion, we decided it would be much easier to use movers THIS weekend rather than spending it renting a truck and hauling stuff up the two flights of stairs to his place next weekend. I wasted no time calling people on Craig’s List, and quickly learned how incredibly CHEAP it is to hire local movers. Famous last words. But really, it is $65 an hour for 2 guys and a truck. My stuff will be all ready to go on the first floor, no stairs. We’ll take my stuff to his house, drop it off and pick-up some of his stuff that is going to storage. Then, they take us to the storage place and we drop off our stuff. Ta-da! Done! They do all the heavy lifting, we do the check writing. It’s a win-win situation.

In my perfect world, I will be in the new apartment by noon eating lunch and getting ready to unpack some stuff. Wait… in my perfect world I’ll be on the beach and come home later to my new, perfectly arranged, unpacked apartment. Where is that genie lantern when I need it?

On the Move

It’s official. I called my landlord this morning and gave my notice. I am packing up my little place on the beach and heading north. A whole mile north and about 40 feet closer to the beach.
We had a great weekend talking about communication. It appears that we are actually on the same page! What a shocker! We both agree we will need to help keep it clean and that my housekeeper is coming with me.

We’re are my house this week, and in my ever-present planning mode, I started putting books I can live without in a box to give away or sell. I’m ready to start taking pictures of the furniture I can live without and putting it up on Craig’s List. I have 2 stools I never use that I’m ready to let go of. My bed, TV and maybe a bookshelf or 2 are also heading to new homes, but not quite yet.

It’s so amazing. A month ago I could barely imagine moving and today, I’m ready to sell most of my stuff. It didn’t hurt that when I came home on Thursday night to pick-up some stuff, I found my door open. Not just unlocked but open. My building manager said he was in there fixing a smoke detector on WEDNESDAY, but he closed the door. Whatever. I never said you could be in there, and I sure as hell never said leave it wide open so the homeless of Venice could have a place to sleep and shower.

On a positive note, my belief that most people are inherently good paid off. Nothing was taken. Additionally, I’m ready to move up the road and live full-time with my sweetie and say good-bye to my dark, little apartment that I’ve called home for over four years.