So here's the part where I piss and moan about the physical act of moving all of my stuff.
Let's start with the obvious. I'm a girl. With a very large wardrobe. Not only that, but I also have a sizable book collection, and arguably, a larger DVD collection (my library is constantly being built, developed, and worked on). I also have furniture pieces that I'm in love with. For example, I have a beautiful dresser that I worked on myself. It was once an ugly hunk of wood with massive wood handles that was white and covered in stickers, courtesy of my little sister. I took it and sanded it down, primed it, and then painted it with a milk chocolate base and made the drawers a wonderful but not pastel light blue and green. And then bought new hardware that look like shells for it. I worked hard on it. It has some of my sweat, tears, and blood in it. It also has very deep drawers that store a good amount of my wardrobe. I also acquired a great side table from my dad. It's built out of hatch door from a ship. Not only is it aesthetically pleasing, but it has a story to it. I have wrought iron bedside tables with glass tops that are pretty but not really girly that would be great for my boyfriend and I to put into our new bedroom. I have a desk that has 4 drawers and is still not massive. It may not be the prettiest, but I'm sure with some love, it could be glorious. It's large enough to house a lot of my supplies without being large and clunky. I have yet to find a desk to replace it that has as many drawers, not massive, and not cost at least a thousand dollars.
I also have an extensive mug collection. I love mugs. There is just something so wonderful and pleasing about mugs. They're versatile. I can, of course, have my hot chocolate or tea in there. I can give a guest a cup of coffee. I have mugs that are specifically for soup (my tall Conan O'Brien mug). You can have a big mug of ice cream, or a small one that you won't feel too guilty about. A mug is a great place to put your cereal, especially if you don't like to have a lot of milk in your cereal like me. Pour yourself a mug of Cheez-Its, and it's the perfect serving of a snack. Fantastic.
I'm also a teacher. Although I've been riffed this year, and I'm still a new teacher, I still have teaching supplies. Paper trays, a laminated calendar to write due dates on, bulletin board materials, laminated posters for the way, binders, and other necessary teaching supplies.
I also have a 6'8 longboard. Although not the biggest longboard, it is certainly much taller than I am at 5'2 and certainly rides beautifully.
Needless to say, I have a lot of stuff.
I was originally supposed to inherit the couch I've been using in my apartment in Delaware. It was originally my uncle's, and then it was in my childhood house since his death. It may not be the prettiest couch, but I will gladly fight with anyone that says it's not the comfiest couch. The couch and I have shared MANY naps together. It's a great place to curl up with a book. When I moved to Delaware to teach, I took that couch with me. I had been telling my mom that the couch was going to be mine, and she agreed to it. This couch was also going to go with me to California....
...until yesterday when my mom informed me that, no, the couch is going to come back to New Jersey because, "What if your sister wants to have a sleepover? What if your stepfather's mother wants to visit? What if we have guests? Where will we put them? We need that couch back, and Lord knows I don't have the fucking money to get a new couch."
Hey Mom, remember that time I don't have a job because I was riffed and the decided to move across country and had to buy a new car because my lease expired so I'm totally strapped for cash? Oh, yeah, that time is now. My little sister is getting my double bed, as well as my beautiful room, so we're going to have a spare bedroom for guests to sleep in instead of in the living room on my beloved couch, but that is not what my mom wants to hear or remember. My mom has a perpetual state of assheimers, as my brother says.
I had planned on renting a large truck with a flatbed to put my new car on, stuffing the truck with all of the stuff, including the couch, and then heading across country. But without the couch, this excessively large truck seems....excessive. So now, with with 18 days left on our countdown, I have yet to decide if I should leave my wonderful furniture pieces behind and throw them on Craigslist, or give them to my sister with her anti-King Midas touch, stuff my new Corolla to the brim with clothes, books, and DVDs, and head west, or suck it up and rent a too-large truck but happily have all of my crap. To say a had a little hissy fit would be an understatement. Because I definitely cried and called my boyfriend and pissed and moaned about how my brother got the entire family room set when he moved to California, the fact that I got nothing but a "Happy birthday, Sunshine girl!" on my birthday just less than a month ago, and how helpful I've been and how hellish of a year I've had, as well as how piss-poor broke I'm going to be. The fact that he still wants to come home to the East Coast tomorrow and scoop me up and kiss me and then drive across country to live with me is beyond me. God love him, because Lord knows that even I'm over my bad attitude.
So, lovely readers, please expect to hear more about how I love my stupid material shit and can't bear to part with it even if it means spending more money than I should spend, or about how absolutely tiny my new car is and how nothing fits and how I will barely be clothed in LA with nothing else to my name.