Or: Why I Should Really Stop Moving so Much
Back in January, at the very fresh start of the new Year, I ceased to be the last single girl in my pride of ladyfriends. Two friends of mine conspired to bring me relationshipical bliss by introducing me to the man now known as Boyfriend.
This is an accurate illustration of how we met. Except possibly pizza and bowling were involved. Possibly.
He’s the bee’s knees, folks.
They’re the best knees, the bee’s knees that he is.
There are many stories about my adventures with Boyfriend, but today, I am only telling one. Today’s tale, sweet readers of the Internet, is about the time Boyfriend asked me to move in with him. It wouldn’t be much of a story if I said no. Not to ruin the ending or anything, but I said yes.
Cats and dogs, living together y’all.
Those who know me know that I have moved frequently in my life for reasons ranging from “my parents are moving and I am a minor and their legal responsibility” to “I am bored and would like to try having adventures in a new city/state/geographic location.” So I’d like to say I’ve gotten good at moving by this point in my life.
Look at those labels! Look at that expert taping technique!
Nope.
This is an accurate depiction of how my living space looks while I am moving.
What I have become skilled at is enlisting everyone I know in the moving process. My excellent friends are completely aware of my semi-routine nomadicism, but still come to my aid, lured by the promise of pizza and adult beverages*,
*Like extra large chocolate milkshakes and banana smoothies.
The important thing is to keep the pizza out of reach until the moving is complete.
This last move, however, happened without much planning**. Boyfriend and I had decided to live together, so obviously, that should begin immediately, right*?
No planning at all.
***Not when you own 8 million pounds of stuff.
So, with barely two weeks’ warning, I declared that my apartment’s contents would be emptied and relocated into the house-to-be-shared. This should not be a huge problem for a girl moving out of a one bedroom apartment.
Except that I am a 29 year old female American.
Which means I have so. Many. Things.
The “ALL THE THINGS” meme is the brainchild of Allie Brosh over at Hyperbole and a Half. Click to discover and applaud her awesomeness.
And with only two weeks’ notice, I could only gather**** three friends to tackle the movement of all my worldly possessions.
****Bribe, blackmail, and beg.
So Boyfriend’s family also came to help.
You heard me, Doodle.
I had not yet done much packing.
PANIC!
Including his dad. On Father’s Day.
Seriously.
Which is what happens when you move too often and don’t plan. So a general consensus has now been reached.
❤
I’m never moving again.*****
*****Seriously. I have too many things.
Perpetual Plot Hole 
I love the way you are brandishing your cat 😀
Packing and unpacking are awful! What you need is some form of transporter!
I brandish her regularly, generally when I feel the need to point out how cute and essential she is to Boyfriend. I do this regularly, because the cat now owns more of the house than the dogs do… 🙂
I’m totally going to get on that transporter invention. We’ll share the patent.
Cats are cute and essential..although mine is against brandishing, he invokes wriggling to get out of it!
woohoo shared transporter patent!
I’ll work on it too then we can pool our resources 🙂
I am sure the place my now-wife lived in when we moved here was a TARDIS. The stuff wouldn’t stop… on the flip side, aside from the mattresses, all of my stuff fit into one load in the Jeep.
Women: We’re totally really good at hiding things in a very semi-organized way in very small places, which is awesome and makes moving next to impossible.
I love this entire thing, but particularly the alliteration of Bribe, Blackmail & Beg. Sounds like the title of my next novel! Great blog you have and I am grateful I had the good sense to click Follow!
Stephanie
Why thank you! I’m glad you followed…and bribing, blackmailing and begging are totally useful tactics. And I would read that novel!
I moved every year for about 5 or 6 years straight. I feel your pain, I too am a “29 year old female American”. It’s sad to see all the stuff I have accumulated. I tell my now husband, “WE ARE NEVER MOVING”. Besides, I burned all my moving friends bridges from over use! Glad your all moved. Can’t believe his parents came over to help, I think I would die…
I considered it…thankfully, his family is super awesome and swore not to judge me based on the explosion of stuff in my living space. Hopefully, any future moving involves “selling the house and everything in it that doesn’t fit in a car, and just starting over again” or something equally simple.
I’m burning those bridges too! They’re tragic!
That is super awesome of them! I can’t blame you for your notion to just sell what doesn’t fit.
At times my husband talks about moving and I just want to cry thinking about how much work that entails!
25 times in 27 years. I don’t recommend this. 😉 (Although, I can pack a kitchen in a 1/2 hour flat.)
Holy mackerel. You should give lessons!
I could make a fortune, huh? lol
Very sweet and very accurate!
Why thank you 🙂 It was sweet of everyone who helped me move!
Yeah… my hubby and I will be moving at least 5 more times in the next two years… 😛 Something about needing to finish a last semester of college, and move where his new job wants. He has several training circuits in different locations. Hopefully, we will be done moving after that. I hate moving too. It is quickly turning me into a minimalist.
That sounds like an unreasonable amount of moving. If I move again, I’m just going to sell all my things and live with cardboard box furniture. Possibly inflatable chairs.
I have considered it. The good news for us is that we will be able to settle down permanently after that. In the mean time, we have college to finish, and job training with the company he got hired on at (huge international company that wants him to have some experience in several locations before he settles in one place). The money they will be paying makes up for the headache… at least that is what I keep telling myself. LOL
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