Gum in My Hair

An embarrassingly honest blog

Moving on Up June 29, 2010

Filed under: No Common Sense — dulcedementia @ 1:31 pm
Tags: , ,

Yes. I’m back. It’s been quite the 3-month hiatus. In this short period of time, I got dumped, moved to a new place and got fired from my job.

It’s been an eventful few months to say the least and I want to fill you all in, but we’ll just take it one story at a time, mkay?

I’m going to start by taking about my move, because I am very, very excited about it. My new place is in the heart of Denver in Capitol Hill and it feels like this is the place that I have been working to get to for nearly five years and now that I am here, I have no plans to leave.

The move was a grueling two day process, since that was all the overlap I had and, I will admit, I did not clean my old place as well as I had hoped to, simply because I ran out of time.

As with most events involving me, this was a comedy of errors and I will tell you some of the highlights.

Saturday morning, I woke up really early to go pick up the Uhaul truck with plenty of time to spare before my friends came over to help me load the truck up. I took the bus down to the less trendy area of Colfax and walked over to the 7-10 Mart (way to avoid trademark infringement boys!) and placed my email confirmation on the counter, saying I had reserved a truck there a few weeks ago.

He looks through his records only to tell me that Uhaul had changed the location of where I was to pick up my truck and asks if I had received a text or call from Uhaul about the change. Literally as I open my mouth to say I have not, my phone rings. Naturally, I ignored it since it would be rude to answer it. Checking my voicemail later, it was Uhaul calling to tell me there was a problem with my truck. Mind you, I was scheduled to pick up the truck at 8; it was now 8:30. You rock, Uhaul.

The guy at the Uhaul place was a great sport though and let me rent one of his trucks on the lot anyway and a crisis was averted.

I drive the truck back to my place and park it on the side street until I am ready to use it, then I headed upstairs and proceeded to wash all the linens I planned on using that night and the following morning.  I folded them up and placed them in my empty hamper to be moved over to the new place with all my other stuff.

Loading the truck went quickly with the exception of the effing bedsprings, which had to be removed by taking the door off the hinges and then having two gentlemen pivot the box springs until it hit a wall. Then, I kicked the shit out of the box springs until they made it around the corner. The lesson learned was that sometimes brute force is the best method for getting things done.

The unloading was not quite as fun since my place is on the third floor of an unair-conditioned building that only has stairs. I neglected to mention this to my friends. Oops.

Bag of Sugar

Leaked. Everywhere.

When we were nearly done and had a few heavy boxes left, I had the bright idea to load one box at a time onto the dolly and bring it up the stairs like that. So, we popped the box with all my dry goods onto the dolly, and started up the stairs. It was a bad idea. A really bad, slow idea. The worst part of the idea was that in jostling the box around, the sack of sugar I had closed up with a clip, came open and started leaking sugar up the staircase.

Yeah. The entire weekend, I had to stare at my shameful piles of sugar on each stair as I went up and down the stairs. When I finally opened the box, it was a quarter of the way full of sugar. Sugar covered every spice container, every bottle of oil and filled the pages of my three cookbooks.

I now have ants in my kitchen.

Dog Shampoo

Who wants a pine-scented dog?

After returning the truck Saturday evening, I got home and just wanted to pass out, so I grabbed my nice clean sheets from the hamper. Except they weren’t so clean anymore. Someone had placed the container of my pup’s items on top of the hamper and the dog shampoo bottle had come open during the move. Now all my dog’s toys were covered in pine-scented shampoo plus, my fitted sheets were coated in it.

I spent the first night in my new place sleeping on the feather bed.

Sunday, I went back to my old place to grab some odds and ends (which turned out to be an entire truck full of items) and clean it up.

My old place has two elevators. It was one of its saving graces. During one of the last trips hauling stuff down from my apartment, I bent down to pick up an item, and keys (to both my old and new place) slipped out of where I was keeping them (I was wearing a skirt, so I had them tucked into the waist) and fell down the elevator shaft.

Elevator Shaft

Oh bloody hell.

I heard them ting-ting their way down to the floor below the basement level of the elevator shaft.

I had spent two years living in fear of that very thing happening and it happened on my very last day there.

I stood up wide-eyed and said, “Oh no.” to my dad, who was helping me with the last little bit of stuff.

Luckily, I had not locked my apartment, so I was still able to get into it. Also quite fortuitous was the fact that the live-in maintenance man happened to come into the building at the same time I was having my freak-out.

After about 10 minutes, I decided I was going to rig up some coat hangers and string and go fishing for my keys at the basement level of the apartment.

However, at that very moment, the maintenance man appeared carrying a long plank with a small hook attached in one hand and my keys in the other. I rarely hug strangers (when I’m sober), but I pretty much gave this man the biggest, sweatiest bear hug I could.

Keys in hand, I left for my new place, to move all this miscellanea up three flights of stairs by myself. The seventh trip started to get to me, and by the time I realized I was going to have to carry my nightstand up the stairs all by myself, I was feeling a little defeated.

The entry door to the third floor is possibly one of the most maddening doors ever made. It is heavy, will not stay propped open and has a very snappy spring that makes it close incredibly fast. Also, from the alley entrance, there is no landing before the door to the third floor, so you have to open the door while on the third step from the top, continue to hold it open and drag whatever you are carrying up the steps and through the door.


Pretty much this. And it landed square on my legs.

This is especially hard to do when carrying a nightstand and sweating more than you ever have in your life.

I had the bright idea of dragging the nightstand behind me up the stairs.

That lasted all of two steps before I dropped the entire nightstand on my legs just above my ankles.

The bruises have come in nicely.

Finally I just ended up rolling the stand up the stairs.

It’s been a little over a week since this whole ordeal and I am happy to say I am nearly all the way settled in and love this place quite a bit.

Except for those fucking doors.


2 Responses to “Moving on Up”

  1. Sport Says:

    Happy new home, Dulce!

  2. enyabiznass Says:

    After my last two weeks up and down the east coast, I have to say it. I apologize. “At least it wasn’t humid.”

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