The Great Moving Depression: Day Two

A few days after my adventure with movers extraordinaires, I rented a car to pick up my child (hamster) and the last few items from the old apartment.  My buddy agreed to help me move some furniture I was donating to the neighborhood scavengers and take stuff to the new apartment.  He is such a doll! Well, I leave my massive bedroom in the new apartment and travel about 45 minutes via public transportation (car rental didn't start for a few hours).  The plan was to get there 2 hours early and have everything ready to go when my buddy arrived. Yeah... Okay so here's where things go slightly awry.

First off, it was hot and humid.  I was sweating like a hoe in patent leather, crotchless panties, sitting in a Southern Baptist Church with her lesbian lover.  Of course, I thought the best way to dress for a move in terrible heat was to wear jeans... JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE!

So I arrive at the apartment at 1145am.  I started patting myself on the back from getting there in a timely manner.  And then I realized I did not have my keys.
Not just the old apartment keys are lost, but EVERY SINGLE KEY I own!  Frantically, I call my new roommate. He can't find my keys, but he is a nice guy. He has a friend of his bring him over to give me his key. WOOHOO!! At this point, I have been sweating for about 90 minutes straight. Sexy! Then I begin the 45 minute treck to search for my keys.  I call my buddy and tell him to meet me later.  Upon arrival, I find the keys sitting on top of a backpack buried under clothes.  45 minutes and 10 pounds of sweat to find my keys within 5mins of arriving home. AWESOME! SO, another 45 minutes trip back to the old apartment, and I arrive 10 minutes before my buddy.  My jeans are falling off and my feet are burning up! Hello, pink, flower flip flops! 

After frantically cleaning and organizing things as my buddy sat in front of the fan force feeding me bread pudding and cookies, we are ready to begin donating to a great cause. We quickly realize the sofa does not fit through the living room door. The sofa was purchased from the previous tenant, so I had no clue it was a big, biatch of a couch.  I have to get this sofa through four doors in order to get it on the curb.  Flipping, rotating, pushing, cursing, or begging the sofa to shrink does not work.  I was three seconds from buying Crisco when through some funky geometry we get it through doorway.  WOOOHOOO!! Then we realize we don't remember how we did that.  Let the crazy ideas begin again.  This time we stepped up our game.  We decided we would break the sofa.  Jumping up and down on the sofa does not break it. SMART WE IS! By the way, I am still sporting my Old Navy flip flops.  I think my brain cells slowly died from dehydration.  Anyway, after wrestling with the sofa, almost falling down the stairs, and sacrificing some skin from foot, we get it to the curb! This rest of the furniture should be easy, right?  Well it is, and the vultures descend upon the items with glee and joy.  We take a break to get the car.  This is Boston. Parking is horrific. SO I parked that damn car on the sidewalk because I am a bad bitch, and I can't parallel park. HAHAHA!!  We load the car; I cram my hamster into the backseat; and we are off! Should be smooth sailing from this point. 

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

We arrive at the apartment, but we can't find parking. Are you noticing a theme here with the parking? In order to unload the car, I park illegally in front of a dumpster.  No, we are not close to the apartment, but there is nowhere else to go.  My first instincts were to grab a box and my hamster.  I accidentally bang her OVO Dwarf hamster cage against the car. "OH MY GOD! MY HAMSTER IS GOING TO DIE! SHE IS GOING TO DIE!" Yes, this what I am screaming in the middle of the street. The bottom of the cage falls into the street, the connecting tubes start to separate, and my poor baby is clinging to the sides of the tubes because her life literally depends on it. I have to kneel in this dirty street, next to a giant dumpster in a feeble attempt to save her and fix the cage.  I think I have it fixed so we start walking towards the apartment.  I quickly realize the cage is coming apart.  When I enter the foyer, the cage completely falls apart.  Pieces scatters across the floor. Fortunately, the one piece that remains intact contains my now traumatized hamster. Once I am inside the actual apartment, I reassemble the cage.  My hamster is safe, and a better parking spot becomes available.  We unload the rest of the items, and I take mercy on my buddy and give him an air conditioned ride home.
So the drama is over! HA! I WISH!

The car must be returned to a parking lot close to the old apartment.  After picking up groceries, I park the car and prepare to catch a bus and a train home.  I reach into my purse to find my cellphone.  It is not there. WHERE THE HELL IS MY CELLPHONE? I race back to the car.  The phone is not there.  I still have about half an hour left on the car, so I take the care and drive to the old apartment.  It is not there. So... yeah, I am tired, dirty, sweaty, STILL in my flip flops (don't ask why!), and missing my cellphone.  Defeated and resigned to my fate, I go home to bask in the glory that is the Waldorf 2.0.  As I shuffle down the sidewalk, head hanging, and spirit broken, I see MY BUDDY (<3) waiting for me.  He has my cellphone! Apparently, I gave him my phone when first got in the car.

I am so lucky to have a friend like that! He hung in there with me and never once threatened to leave or give up. Can't put a price on that. That day was long and the problems came one after another, but I did not cry or throw a tantrum.  The move is done for now. Three months. If I can survive a day like this, then I can survive three months in this apartment.