so I found this in the Notes archive about an unusually inconvenient, incredibly pain-in-the-assy move that I had to do. (it was worth a chuckle NOW from a detached place, devoid of the pain.):P
Dec. 27, 2010
Someday I'll write a country song, about the shiteous day I've had (make that a series of conjoined shiteous daze), which will include my shoulders and back screaming, "HOLY F*N MURDEROUS HELL!! My shoulders are like ROCK! a massage therapist NOW and I'm going to need the once-over!!"
This *country song* would also include a musical sampling of a Benny Hill sequence (that becomes funny if played very quickly and, even better backwards). That bit would represent how due to pathetically poor communication (PPC) I wound up packing and hoisting heavy, awkwardly packed stuff, dragging it along a dolly with a broken leg, effectively a 3 legged dolly (country song material, I tell you..), holding doors open with my chin, elbows, t*ts and ass, crouching to lift the dolly's broken leg side, as I simultaneously attempted to roll loaded dolly over uneven door frames and lumpy floors...only to have the contents (precariously perched) slide off and tumble to the ground. Numerous Times. ("count to 10...one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand...I shall not kill another human being today...three-one thousand..."). I would include these elements in the song. Yessir, I believe I would.
Well, due to ensuing PPC I can no longer get into garage of old apt without remote control thingy..to get in old apt, pick up stuff..and finish cleaning. Worse, since there is no phone at old (& mostly empty) apt, I cannot call or "buzz" the other person to come and let me into said garage. WELL!
I finally manage to get INTO garage, and INTO building, only to discover I have a wrong set of keys which do not open apt door (locked changed after break-ins. Ahh..how could I forget). Well, reader I will spare you the dirty curses I shared with no one in particular. (Note: I ultimately entered apt..but it cost me a couple of new gray hairs!).
After loading up and transporting a new load of shite from old to new apt (note: new apt= only 1/2 size of old one!). At the new place, it gets terribly fun when I have to roll the fully loaded, hobbling dolly up a whole parking lot level because there is no elevator at HELL LEVEL (2 down from the street level...way, way, downtown...this is what Tom Waits sang about). So I have to push hobbling dolly up unreasonably steep hill to next floor where there IS elevator (using t*ts and elbows again to hold doors open & roll ole Hobbly Legs). I have to enter into a concrete mini-maze (I am not exaggerating) to FIND elevator. If mini=maze was a pain in the ass, the elevator is the boil developing ON that ass! Neither I nor Hobbling Legs care for these elevators too much with their narrow doors and uneven floors, which jiggle and jolt everything to where shit falls off dolly again. ("five-one-thousand...peace and love...thou shalt not kill whoever constructed faulty elevators and constricted entries and walls..oh Happy Place, Happy Place..")
Onto other things! So I bring stuff down to new storage area. I get to storage (also at Hell Level) and realize I do not have new storage room keys (yet another key??). I"m going to need a grid soon of all the keys and trinkets I need to keep track of for both apts!
Keys are not at new apt as agreed upon (yep, PPC again). *Oh happy day*. So I go on hunt for grounds-keeper and upon semi-pleading and offering to buy him a Coke, he nicely lets me into storage. I shove my shit into a nearby empty locker in the interim (since I do not have a LOCK and KEY with which to lock our LOCKER. (..."six one-thousand, seven one-thousand...All you need is love...la laa laaa".)
Fast-fwd: slap peanut butter on orphaned piece of bread, chug two glasses of water, dribble on shirt, then off on another long drive to get 'nuther load. (Note: we DID use a van for moving, but there was SO much shit left over - none of it mine- that several car trips were subsequent!)
So now I'm driving back to my Vancouver, hell, I'm even productively singing songs (Note: car radio suddenly incapable of FM reception or of playing CD's - excellent country song elements too)! I get to old apt garage, then by the luck of the gods, someone is going into the garage, so without a remote control for garage door, I 'piggy back' and sneak in. I go upstairs, with now *correct set* of apt keys...but...ok, where is the other person now? left the bldg? No note..very mysterious. Said person so hell bent on "finishing up today!" is nowhere to be found, and was apparently not counting on my return to continue loading. My phone which sat so charmingly on a chair being charged, has also been taken. So how can I CALL to see wtf is going on? Alone. Again. Naturally. That could be the title of my country song perhaps. or maybe "The Cheese Stands Alone".
In the end, I would up packing the rest of the *stuff* (ladylike expression for "shit that's not mine") alone, unscrewing the last of the annoying shelves, dragging 3 legged dolly down halls - and as before, holding doors open with limbs, t*ts and ass, contortioning body into unnatural positions to leverage ole Hobbly Legs over lumpy frames, uneven elevator entrances, all that good shit! Things tumble, and fall. And fall. And fall. Deja-friggity-vu.
Two more trips like this: ENDLESS doors and entrances. nooks and crannies, twisty, narrow hallways, KEY SETS for everything!, pushing hobbling dollies uphill, swipe-y cards to enter, missing elevators, pinching my fingers, making new bruises in strange places. The drive-through Timmie's effect is wearing off, I'm getting tired. Some help? Anybody? ("Bueller...? Bueller..?").
Then it gets dark. Starts to rain (yes, just like in the movies to heighten the Drama). And it IS getting dramatic. I can no longer see what I have in the car, so have to load dolly in the dark, mumbling various dark thoughts under my breath. The lack of sleep now wearing my patience transparent, so tired, bloody achy, and in a general state of grumpiness at the major inconvenience of...fuckity EVERYTHING for days on end! "Gaaahh!!" I curse the skies in dramatic Charlton Heston manner.
Now my country song is nearly at an end. Don't worry, reader. I know the world is already polluted from mass musical mediocrity so I shant contribute to this murky pool. If I wrote a country song, it would be too depressing to be played on the country stations anyway.
But good to rant about. haha well, keeps me from causing injury to others. (I guess that is a good thing.)
Dec. 27, 2010
Someday I'll write a country song, about the shiteous day I've had (make that a series of conjoined shiteous daze), which will include my shoulders and back screaming, "HOLY F*N MURDEROUS HELL!! My shoulders are like ROCK! a massage therapist NOW and I'm going to need the once-over!!"
This *country song* would also include a musical sampling of a Benny Hill sequence (that becomes funny if played very quickly and, even better backwards). That bit would represent how due to pathetically poor communication (PPC) I wound up packing and hoisting heavy, awkwardly packed stuff, dragging it along a dolly with a broken leg, effectively a 3 legged dolly (country song material, I tell you..), holding doors open with my chin, elbows, t*ts and ass, crouching to lift the dolly's broken leg side, as I simultaneously attempted to roll loaded dolly over uneven door frames and lumpy floors...only to have the contents (precariously perched) slide off and tumble to the ground. Numerous Times. ("count to 10...one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand...I shall not kill another human being today...three-one thousand..."). I would include these elements in the song. Yessir, I believe I would.
Well, due to ensuing PPC I can no longer get into garage of old apt without remote control thingy..to get in old apt, pick up stuff..and finish cleaning. Worse, since there is no phone at old (& mostly empty) apt, I cannot call or "buzz" the other person to come and let me into said garage. WELL!
I finally manage to get INTO garage, and INTO building, only to discover I have a wrong set of keys which do not open apt door (locked changed after break-ins. Ahh..how could I forget). Well, reader I will spare you the dirty curses I shared with no one in particular. (Note: I ultimately entered apt..but it cost me a couple of new gray hairs!).
After loading up and transporting a new load of shite from old to new apt (note: new apt= only 1/2 size of old one!). At the new place, it gets terribly fun when I have to roll the fully loaded, hobbling dolly up a whole parking lot level because there is no elevator at HELL LEVEL (2 down from the street level...way, way, downtown...this is what Tom Waits sang about). So I have to push hobbling dolly up unreasonably steep hill to next floor where there IS elevator (using t*ts and elbows again to hold doors open & roll ole Hobbly Legs). I have to enter into a concrete mini-maze (I am not exaggerating) to FIND elevator. If mini=maze was a pain in the ass, the elevator is the boil developing ON that ass! Neither I nor Hobbling Legs care for these elevators too much with their narrow doors and uneven floors, which jiggle and jolt everything to where shit falls off dolly again. ("five-one-thousand...peace and love...thou shalt not kill whoever constructed faulty elevators and constricted entries and walls..oh Happy Place, Happy Place..")
Onto other things! So I bring stuff down to new storage area. I get to storage (also at Hell Level) and realize I do not have new storage room keys (yet another key??). I"m going to need a grid soon of all the keys and trinkets I need to keep track of for both apts!
Keys are not at new apt as agreed upon (yep, PPC again). *Oh happy day*. So I go on hunt for grounds-keeper and upon semi-pleading and offering to buy him a Coke, he nicely lets me into storage. I shove my shit into a nearby empty locker in the interim (since I do not have a LOCK and KEY with which to lock our LOCKER. (..."six one-thousand, seven one-thousand...All you need is love...la laa laaa".)
Fast-fwd: slap peanut butter on orphaned piece of bread, chug two glasses of water, dribble on shirt, then off on another long drive to get 'nuther load. (Note: we DID use a van for moving, but there was SO much shit left over - none of it mine- that several car trips were subsequent!)
So now I'm driving back to my Vancouver, hell, I'm even productively singing songs (Note: car radio suddenly incapable of FM reception or of playing CD's - excellent country song elements too)! I get to old apt garage, then by the luck of the gods, someone is going into the garage, so without a remote control for garage door, I 'piggy back' and sneak in. I go upstairs, with now *correct set* of apt keys...but...ok, where is the other person now? left the bldg? No note..very mysterious. Said person so hell bent on "finishing up today!" is nowhere to be found, and was apparently not counting on my return to continue loading. My phone which sat so charmingly on a chair being charged, has also been taken. So how can I CALL to see wtf is going on? Alone. Again. Naturally. That could be the title of my country song perhaps. or maybe "The Cheese Stands Alone".
In the end, I would up packing the rest of the *stuff* (ladylike expression for "shit that's not mine") alone, unscrewing the last of the annoying shelves, dragging 3 legged dolly down halls - and as before, holding doors open with limbs, t*ts and ass, contortioning body into unnatural positions to leverage ole Hobbly Legs over lumpy frames, uneven elevator entrances, all that good shit! Things tumble, and fall. And fall. And fall. Deja-friggity-vu.
Two more trips like this: ENDLESS doors and entrances. nooks and crannies, twisty, narrow hallways, KEY SETS for everything!, pushing hobbling dollies uphill, swipe-y cards to enter, missing elevators, pinching my fingers, making new bruises in strange places. The drive-through Timmie's effect is wearing off, I'm getting tired. Some help? Anybody? ("Bueller...? Bueller..?").
Then it gets dark. Starts to rain (yes, just like in the movies to heighten the Drama). And it IS getting dramatic. I can no longer see what I have in the car, so have to load dolly in the dark, mumbling various dark thoughts under my breath. The lack of sleep now wearing my patience transparent, so tired, bloody achy, and in a general state of grumpiness at the major inconvenience of...fuckity EVERYTHING for days on end! "Gaaahh!!" I curse the skies in dramatic Charlton Heston manner.
Now my country song is nearly at an end. Don't worry, reader. I know the world is already polluted from mass musical mediocrity so I shant contribute to this murky pool. If I wrote a country song, it would be too depressing to be played on the country stations anyway.
But good to rant about. haha well, keeps me from causing injury to others. (I guess that is a good thing.)
No comments:
Post a Comment