Uncomplicated Stuff Made Complicated, Part II

We'd read somewhere that the average military family loses around $700 at each PCS move, between setting up a new household and normal travel/not having a place to live expenses. Before we started, we decided we'd try to minimize that as much as possible, which is why we didn't want to just ditch stuff that the movers left behind. After we cleared out the apartment, we took our time. We had been promised delivery on Wednesday, December 1st, so we figured there was no need to get there before then. We stayed at a hotel in Alexandria on Monday night, since we had gotten a good rate. On Tuesday, I called the moving company; they weren't going to deliver on Wednesday after all. They were aiming for Thursday. So we decided to drive until it got dark on Tuesday, stop and spend the night somewhere, then continue.  Detail-- we had the kitty with us, so we had to either find a place where we could sneak her in, or a place that accepts pets. Luckily, we found a slightly shady Jameson Inn and were able to pay $10 to have her in the room with us. The next morning, Wednesday, I called the moving company to confirm delivery for Thursday. Oh that? It's now coming on Friday. And technically, they kept telling me, they had until Monday to deliver. Um, really? It's not like we're moving cross-country! It's 383 miles!

At any rate, we got to our new house, and decided we'd just camp out at the house rather than pay for another hotel. We did have some supplies-- a couple of towels, two pillows, a set of sheets, and a quilt that I had grabbed when the movers accidentally started packing my emergency bedding. Detail-- upon examination, I saved a twin-sized quilt. So the hubby and I ended up spending 2 nights on the floor, sharing a twin-sized quilt!

Finally, on Friday, our delivery showed up! Once again, I was surprised. And not pleasantly. First of all, they told me to expect them at 8 am, and they didn't show up until 10. Then, I noticed they'd sent us two guys with all of our stuff-- including an older guy, who looked (and turns out, he was) weaker than I am! I ended up helping them carry the couch into the living room, for example. Around noon, they were done unloading the truck, and I asked the guy who looked like he was in charge if they wanted to take a break before we started unpacking and organizing everything. After all, we'd opted for the full-service move, rather than taking money and doing it ourselves. At that point, the guy told me that they didn't unpack, that they were just "authorized" to unload the truck! I tried calling my hubby, but he was busy with his check in process and wasn't allowed to keep his phone on him. I freaked out. I told the movers that they at the very least needed to make sure the boxes were in the right rooms, since they had put boxes wherever they felt like. They begrugingly agreed to move boxes, but wanted me to point to every single box I wanted moved!

I tried my best, but they just kept calling me over to the different rooms and asking questions (hello? the boxes were labeled! Is it really that hard to figure out that the boxes that say Master Bedroom go in the master bedroom?!) Finally, they moved most of the boxes. I thought we'd gotten all of them, but as hubby and I unpacked over the weekend, we realized the boxes were still all over the place. Our desktop computer was in the living room, for example. I then asked him if he could please place our TV on our TV stand. He said-- surprise, surprise-- that he wasn't authorized to place the TV on a TV stand! Just put it in the general area where I wanted stuff. Are you kidding?

After much complaining, we ended up having the company send 2 women to help me, a week and a half later, of course. At first, I got the same treatment-- "Oh, no, ma'am, we just unpack, we can't actually put books on a shelf. Just tell us where you want them to generally go." Um, they're books-- I want them on the bookshelf! They were somewhat more reasonable though, and we did get somewhere. At least now we don't have any boxes left in the house, even though it's still a mess.

My husband's office told him that the movers were notorious for trying to take advantage of the wives in moves. And the two ladies who were sent to help me unpack after my husband freaked out on the moving company (they actually took HIS calls, though they ignored me) told me that, because the military pays the company by weight and not by the hour, we had to be really specific when booking. As in, ask for 2 days to pack (we discovered that the packers had just thrown a bunch of random stuff in boxes, and mixed up things like my husband's suits with a toolbox, resulting in damage); ask for the unpack and debris removal in writing; etc. Lesson learned! Hopefully the next PCS goes more smoothly!

Southern Hospitality

As I'm slowly getting settled in Virginia, (almost all the boxes are gone now! left are only the things I can't find a place for and need help with) I have started actually leaving the apartment and exploring my new area. We've had a series of absolutely gorgeous spring/early summer days lately, which has really helped! I was walking around the other day, and I noticed a few things that struck me as very strange. People--strangers off the street-- talk to you here, and not to yell at you to get out of the way. I have been in New York so long, that I'd forgotten that people did that!

I went for a long walk on Wednesday, down to the waterfront. I brought a book and my plan was to get coffee and read for awhile, maybe get some lunch, and walk back home. On the way, I remembered I was on my last pair of contacts, and decided to stop in at the optometrist on King Street. Ok, new thing I love about Virginia-- the optometrist actually took the time to listen to me! And together, we figured out what was wrong with my eyes during allergy season! She gave me some super cool, extra comfortable contacts that I'm very happy with so far. As I was walking home, this lady crossed the street, and said "Oh, it got cool today, didn't it?"

Not an earth-shattering conversation, mind you. But for someone who spends most of the day with a cat, it was nice. Then I started thinking-- when was the last time someone talked to me on the street, not to yell at me to get out of the way? It's been....awhile!

Yesterday, I decided to once again walk into Old Town and explore a bit. With a bit of a purpose-- there are 80,000 hair salons in Old Town, and I need a haircut, so I figured I'd walk around, pick up some coupons and menus and such and pick a place to cut my hair. I stopped at a coffee shop for a cappuccino on the way, and lo and behold, I sneezed. It is allergy season, after all. The attendants and patrons not only God blessed me, we also then all got into a conversation about how horrible allergy season has been this year, and how we're all glad it's almost over.

I'm about to go on another walk today. It's a gorgeous, warm, sunny day, and I'm going to walk straight across town to check out the CrossFit gym over here. Who knows-- by tomorrow this time, I'll probably have a new best friend.

Virginia is for...Boxes?

So, I am no longer a New Yorker. I now live in Alexandria, Virginia. And it's official-- I may not know my zip code yet, but I did change my Facebook profile.

Moving was...an experience. Don't get me wrong, I have moved a lot. Probably an unnatural amount, actually. And not just down the street, either-- I've been a part of at least two continental moves. My first move was when I was an infant, about five months old. My parents, who had moved from Brazil to Memphis, TN before I was born, were returning home, baby in tow. As a child, I moved three more times-- first, to my grandparents, then to our own apartment, then from our original apartment to a bigger apartment, and then from that big apartment to our house out in the country when I was six. We lived at the house for awhile, but when I was twelve came the second continental move-- back to Memphis, TN.

I remember my mom being stressed about the move, but to me, it seemed okay. Other than the fact that she made me give up all of my childhood toys (with the unassailable argument that no twelve year old needs 25 Barbie dolls plus the Barbie DreamHouse and Convertible), I didn't have much to do. I picked the one toy I got to take (I wanted my bike, was told that was impractical to take along, and ended up with a box of books. So boring. Nevermind that my little brother got to take his motorized motorcycle. I still miss my silver bike) and the rest was up to my mom. We actually got to live in a hotel for about a month, which was pretty cool. Then, my parents, sister and brother went on a trip together for a month, and my baby sister and I stayed with my grandmother in Brazil-- I, because I wanted to maximize my time with my friends, and she, because my father deemed it impractical to take a two-year-old to the World Cup in California. Julia and I always did get the shaft. Even with all that, we beat our furniture and boxes to Memphis by a good month, in any case. My father rented a furnished house for us to fill in the time, which was cool, except that the family in that house, while a family of 6, was a family of 2 adults, one 10 year old, and 3 toddlers/babies. So I spent about a week sharing a loft twin bed with my little brother before my mom had a breakdown and insisted we move to our new house. Where we had, I kid you not, mattresses on the floor; a TV hooked up to cable (it was the World Cup, after all, and no self-respecting Brazilian will do without TV during this crucial time, never mind the lack of furniture); and five lawn chairs. Julia got the shaft again.

We lived at the same house in Memphis for awhile, and then I went to college with a couple of suitcases. That was 2001. Since then, I have moved at least once a year. I'm not kidding. I moved every year in college. That's 4 times (conservative estimate; I'm not counting the summer I moved to New York or the summer I lived in Brazil, since those were intended to be temporary). Then I moved to New York, into a law dorm. I decided I hated that, and when one of my good high school friends decided to move to New York, I moved out of the dorm into an apartment with her. That's 6 moves. Then, I moved into my own, very tiny apartment (which I technically shared with my sister for a few months). Then, I moved in with my boyfriend. 8 moves. Then, we moved to our first Brooklyn apartment. Nine moves. Then, we moved to our second Brooklyn apartment. Ten moves. Now, we moved to Virginia. Eleven moves. ELEVEN. Since college.

You'd think I'd be good at this by now. So why am I staring at a ridiculous amount of boxes? I can't imagine anyone needing this stuff. I mean, I'm happy to chuck it out the window right now...except my new neighbors might frown upon coming home to a heap of cardboard boxes blocking the driveway.