FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT (and other things).

The Big Move 07 is in phase II, you know, the one where I'm writing this from Norman, Oklahoma. But let's back it up a minute:

1) Awesome. I ended up leaving a shit ton of stuff on the sidewalk outside of my apartment. Most of it was picked up within an hour. Northampton is a weird, weird place. Who knew someone needed bamboo place mats, a hairdryer and a old National Geographics? (Which, honestly, I wanted to take with me, but couldn't justify the expense of shipping them. There's something oddly pleasing about a pile of smallish yellow magazines filled with the potential of boobs and baboon asses.) Last night, I realized that I HAD A BASEMENT. WHICH I LEFT STUFF IN. DAMNIT TO HELL!

2) Awesomer. Several dinners, nights out, hanging out with various groups of kids has been occurring for the past two weeks, but Monday was the last hurrah. Which wasn't much of one, because I was fucking exhausted. The ex even showed up and finally relented about the best dog ever. He agreed to drop him off at my apartment for my last night. After a complete breakdown outside of the bar where I buried my face into Margreat's coat, sobbing on the sidewalk for all to see, I went home and suffered another complete breakdown at the site of my bare apartment and dog. I pretty much fell on the floor, ugly crying till my eyes felt like they were bleeding (not unlike Beyonce's video for "Listen" or that stupid video where Mariah Carey's riding a horse in a field in a nightgown screaming about butterflies). I haven't cried like that in a long, long time. Blah.

3) Awesomost. I still needed to ship three boxes of my shit home before I headed to the airport. My car is being used by Alabra, so I had to use Margreat's. I load it up with the boxes, bags and the dog (I was tempted to go buy a crate, take him to the airport and never speak to [redacted] again, but somehow worked through that). I get to the UPS store, haul two boxes out of the backseat and take them in. I come back to the car to open the trunk. WHICH DOESN'T OPEN. I then plead with the UPS store employees to see if I'm just being an idiot (never). No one can open the trunk. I call Margreat in a panic asking if there are any tricks. No. I pick her up. She can't open it either. There's no time to fuck with it because I have to get to the airport. I ship the two boxes I can, drive to [redacted's] house to drop the dog off (his roommate lets me in. I peek around the house for a second. He's already got pictures of my 21 year old, lazy eyed, lame-college attending replacement on his fucking walls. It's been a few months and she gets wall status? Fucking shit.) I arrive at the airport in a huff, cry some more, and then check my one bag. Which is full of shoes. And make-up. I was going to take a picture to explain the gravity of my clothesless, underwearless situation (which was remedied with one of the handy Wal-Mart gift cards that are in abundance at my house, but, of course, my cord thingy is in my bag with my clothes.)

4) FUCKING BALLS.

5) PE(*%HJKFD)(U. The parents took me out to dinner (henceforth, they will be referred to as "the roommates"), but I couldn't really eat or talk because I was flipping the fuck out. I was so confident in this decision, but I also permed my hair once, so, you know. Is this my biggest mistake yet (aside from a seven year "relationship" with [redacted] and that perm)? I spent the rest of the evening drinking wine with an old friend, expounding on my fear that I will never have sex again.

6) They say flattery is, blah blah, cliche. Check this out. Oh how I will miss you all. My heart hurts.