Musings From a Move

Moving out of state seemed like new adventure. Plus my new company was paying for the move. It all seemed like a pretty sweet deal. One that I welcomed and was sure as an almost married, almost 30 year old woman, I could easily handle. Then reality hit. I decided to blog some musings from the move.

1)  Moving is expensive, even when your company pays for it. Literally everything costs money. A lot of which you have to put up yourself and then get reimbursed for later. To have the moving company pack up your stuff, extra. Providing boxes to pack said stuff, extra. Sending a “shuttle” because the semi won’t fit on your street, extra. Crating delicate things such as washer, dryer, TV’s, you guessed it, extra.

Plus when you pack up your kitchen, you’ll pretty much be eating out every meal, because even though you left a pot out to make mac and cheese, you’re tired from packing all day. So tired, you cannot fathom stirring a pot of noodles for 7-10 minutes or having the mental fortitude to ration out your remaining butter and milk supply to ensure you can eat for the remaining days in your home. And washing the pot afterward? That is just an additional torture that is just not going to happen. So you eat out every day and even when doing so cheaply, you’re easily spending at least 20 dollars a day. Moving is expensive. 

2) We have too much stuff. I am about two tote bins away from qualifying to be on Hoarders a bit off a pack rat. I have every card given to me from age 16 on, some dating back even further. I have a tote filled entirely with stuffed animals that ended up making the move. Why did it make the move? Because I did have two totes of stuffed animals. Pairing it down to one seemed like some sort of victory. And my reward for getting it down to one tote of stuffed animals?  Not having to go through what feels like a heartless process of giving away more stuffed animals. Thus, the cycle of hoarding continues.

I did a pretty good job of throwing things away, especially for a borderline hoarder. This was motivated but also nullified by the fact that I am marrying a fellow borderline hoarder. He has his original Nintendo and all its games and the cases to every CD he’s ever owned. When we moved in together, I unpacked a box to find a bag full of napkins from Canes. He packed a plastic bag full of napkins from a fast food restaurant into a box and moved it.

In my defense, I think my hoarding comes from the poor college kid mentality A mentality I maintain though having graduated 5 years ago. If the pants still fit and look relatively decent (if you don’t pay attention to the cuffs of said pants that look like I trapped a rabid raccoon in them and he had to shred his way through the cuffs of my pants to freedom) who I am to throw them away? If I do throw them away, I get the same feeling that I get when the triple-ply toilet paper is on sale at Target. I want to buy it for a fleeting moment until I realize I am not the Queen of England and do not need three layers of toilet paper under any circumstances. I simply do not have the means to throw away money or a perfectly wearable, albeit unprofessional looking, pair of pants like that. And let’s face it; is there anything worse than buying a pair of plain black dress slacks? I know you need them but they’re boring to buy. If I have to spend money on clothes, I would like glitter to be involved somehow.

There is also that overwhelming feeling of dread that I am throwing something out that I may need at some point; even if that need is for the sole purpose of a outfitting a Halloween costume. I am so mad when I have to rebuy (yes, I know this is not a real word) something I owned before I resigned myself to go on a masochist purge to declutter my life. In 2012, I had to borrow Dan’s sneakers for my minion costume bc I had recently thrown out my shoes from my high school serving days at the Pancho Villa when we moved in together. Trust me, they were the most perfect minion shoes. When I see photos of our costumes from that year, I am still consumed with regret when I think of how perfect my shoes that I so callously threw away would have looked with that costume. I rue the day I threw them away. RUE. THE. DAY.

Feel free to use these last two paragraphs as my application to be on Hoarders.        

3) Moving is humbling. Without the kindness of our dear friends, truth be told, we would not have gotten packed. We decided to pack ourselves (see point 1) and had so much to pack (see point 2) the task seemed truly insurmountable. I give myself credit for having the best of intentions to pack. I would start the day by not showering, intending to work up a hearty sweat with all the packing I would get done during the day. I would then put on bummy clothes aka pants with an elastic waistband, no sense in dirtying my raccoon shredded good clothes. Then I would carefully sort and pack one box. Feeling accomplished, I would look up to see I packed 1/16^th of the knickknacks in our guest bedroom, taking 3 hours to do so and now the place is a mess.

This would be followed by throwing myself on the floor like a toddler and crying. To soothe my tears, I would put on Enchanted or Tangled and watch it while eating comfort food. In my case, one of the ultimate comfort foods are gummy bears. Luckily for me (and unluckily for my health and nutrition) I had bought 4 bags of Christmas gummy bears in early November because the lady at World Market said they sell out quickly and I intended to give them as gifts. Unfortunately, I am saddened and ashamed to report none of the bears survived the move so no one will be receiving them for Christmas. Note to Stef: In typing this last sentence, an idea for a book strikes me. The Grinch Who Ate Christmas: The Stef Seger Story, begin penning draft.

I digress. After movie/eating time which devoured another 2 hours of time, I would feel gross and need to shower. Showering and getting dressed took another hour to hour and a half. By now it was time to figure out dinner, which required going out (again see point 1), which required putting on real pants. Once the real pants were on, there was no packing to be done. So effectively, I would pack 1/16^th of one section of one room of our apartment each day. At that rate, we would still be in Columbus right now. Packing.

In come my wonderful friends, who just came in and started doing. In a good 2-3 days of work, boxes were procured and packed, furniture was disassembled, and the chaos of all this was organized into two corners of our place so I could function without being totally overwhelmed and driven back into my cocoon of Disney movies and gelatinous red and green bears. To those of you that helped us packed, came out to eat with us, brought us food so we wouldn’t starve, or sat with me, in real life or on the phone while I cried, THANK YOU is not nor will ever be enough. But please know that each and every time I unpack a box and/or use the any of the things I own in my daily life, I am staunchly aware of that I would have none of it, or my sanity had it not been for your help.

There are certainly more life lessons I could carry on about in regards the moving process. Maybe I will turn this into a series…Part 2: The Actual Move. 1) When driving across country, don’t eat two cupcakes, a bag of Cheetos, and the last half bag of gummy bears you own in the course of 7 hours to stay awake on the drive. For by doing this, you will be sealing your imminent fate. You will puke. Guaranteed. Part 3: Unpacking: The Final Frontier 1) This is yet to be written as it is not yet complete :/ However, this is all I can put in to words for now.  

We survived the move. We hopefully learned some life lessons in the process. We certainly learned that we have an abundance of dear friends, we are two very lucky people, and have a lot for which to be grateful. 

Taylor Swift and Turning 30

I realize I am on the latter side of my 20's. 30 is nigh and a lot of maturity and wisdom has come with that. Enough maturity and wisdom to know that there is much maturity and wisdom to be gained. 30 yr old, 35 yr old, 40 yr old and so on versions of myself will look back on what I think I know at 27 and laugh. That said, I can say that in recent years, I have learned to chill out more and judge less. We have all taken different paths to get where we are today. We have earned the right to make life choices that make us happy and be given the benefit of the doubt that these choices are the right ones for us. Be it the choice to start wearing Crocs, vocalize whom we chose to vote for in the upcoming Election, anything having to do with relationships; making up, breaking up, living together be it in sin or wedlock (that sounds judgmental but I can say that bc I'm in the sinners club;), or listening to pop music, it's your choice to indulge as you will. 

Anyone who has had the privilege/curse of listening to my iPod knows, while I have what I would consider an eclectic taste in music, pop is my main choice of jam. Since my first listen of Top 40 hits, this music genre has just made me happy. Upon enjoying the new Taylow Swift CD as my musical snack this morning, I am also aware of why I am a fan of hers. She makes me happy. She makes me love love. Her songs have guided me through crushes and breakups and when rocking out this morning I realized this was my first Taylor CD to be released when I am in love. I have trouble embracing and expressing how I feel when it comes to my relationship. I'm working on figuring out if it's fear that it'll end or just years of not having these feelings that make it hard for me to share. However, the words I feel and don't say being sung to an uptempo beat by someone other than myself, I feel safer in my feelings. Safe enough to text my boyfriend by track 6 that Taylor Swift makes me love begin in love even more than I already do. 

Do I realize that Ms. Taylor Swift does not have the strongest voice out there? Of course! When her songs are followed by vocal powerhouses like Etta James, Celine, Whitney and the like on my playlists, I am never more aware of that. Are there deeper lyricist? More age appropriate artists for me to spend $12.99 on? YES. I know this to be true. But if her music gives me chance to reflect on my life, in love, and otherwise in a carefree way and smile, then I think that's great thing to be able to get for $12.99. While it might not be your cup of tea, I won't judge your crocs and presidential bumper sticker if you don't judge me skipping down the street, grinning ear to ear, and listening to words that I am so grateful to relate to these days: 


"You took the time to memorize me:
my fears, my hopes, and dreams.I just like hangin' out with you, all the time.All those times that you didn't leave;It's been occurring to me I'd like to hang out with you, for my whole life." 

Stay, Stay, Stay, T. Swift. 

I am a student of the wisdom of our forefathers and Abe Lincoln once said, "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." Today as I turned in my stats exam, last as usual, the prof said, "You really did struggle with this material." in her condescending annoying tone that she has taken with me all quarter. Normally I'd take Abe's advice, politely agree, leaving the grumbling and comments for me and the interior of my Kia Spectra and that would be it. Tonight, be it lack of sleep or elevated levels of sugar and caffeine, or the false sense of confidence I get when I wear my Carnivore t-shirt, I squared my eyes and replied "That and I found you to be an intimidating and often unclear professor." Not what you want to say when your final exam and final project have yet to be graded. Sorry Abe, today I failed you and possibly my stats class.

I haven't written in years and I can barely keep a personal journal, so I'm not surprised I can't keep up with this. My sis is in Kenya though and has an amazingly vivid and profound blog. I can't get into the whole blog thing, because I kinda think who cares. I mean in my sisters I see the value of sharing, but mine at least from years ago as crazy antics and not much substance. I guess I'm weary of putting anything of value out on the interweb. Oh well. Guess I'm back in the blogosphere. Currently as an auditor, "an actor too perhaps, if I see cause" <-- Name what play that's from and you win a prize :)

*Written After Watching the Cincy Game*

It's like waking up on a holiday when you were a kid. Sure, you open your eyes and when you look out your window at the world, it looks like any other ordinary day. But then much like the smell of Christmas cookies in the air, or the front yard being littered with eggs, you hear the faint sound of the marching band, which grows louder as game time approaches, telling you this is no ordinary day, this is Game Day at The Ohio State University.
A campus of friends and strangers transforms. As long as you are dawning scarlet and gray you are fellow countrymen, one Buckeye Nation, under Brutus, Tressel, The Shoe. The scarlet and gray we wear is part of the Game Day holiday like the attire selection of any other holiday, you dress for the occasion. As the Best Damn Band in the Land plays "Across the Field" from your personal playlist or blares from the house party across the street, everyone in Buckeye Country chooses from an assortment of scarlet and gray face paint, beads, football shirts, Block O shirts, wigs, capes, hats. Truth is, uniform of choice to go into the gridiron battle, nuts (buckeye necklaces) and a jersey. You'll never go wrong.
Then in line with holiday tradition, there is a parade. The Game Day Parade consists "Hang On Sloopy" playing from every shop and restaurant on High, Lane, or whatever personal parade route that gets you to the Shoe. Buckeyes of all ages walk with pride, representing their Buckeye spirit. You wave, smile, high five, and "O-H" your way in line with your fellow Bucks whom you may not know by name but you know by the shared anticipation as friends.
At the end of the parade route stands the sparkling tree, the brand new bike, The Shoe is that perfect piece of the Game Day holiday and no matter how many times you see it you, when you first lay your eyes on it on Game Day stop, sigh, and take a deep breath before you head towards the gate. It being my last year as an Undergrad at Ohio State, I stood and stared for a little longer than I ever had before.
Everyone's a little friendlier. A smiling ticket taker with Good Afternoon, Enjoy the Game, and giddy thank you from me as I enter a place where there are Buckeye Spirits in the air. Woody's watching from somewhere and the presence of past greats, Archie, Eddie, Krenzel in the very stadium we are entering electrifies all who enter. I have a feeling that even those visiting Buckeye Country feel it too.
Like waiting in line for a thrill ride you race up stairs, sometimes flights and flights. That climb not only to C deck, but then to row 38 of C deck is long, but you are thrilled by every minute of it, it's after all part ride. You find your seat and look down at the Buckeye Nation's battle field, no matter where you sit, you are on the front lines, and the Bucks can't do it with you screaming the words to the Buckeye Battle Cry, Stadium Ohio, and the "OOOOOOOOO-H-I-O" at kick off. Your head is always in the game being played, but you can't help thinking about when this field will become the Buckeye Family Thanksgiving Table, main course, Wolverine. When you call BS on an unsportsmanlike conduct call, the old couple next to you agrees. "First Down Ohio State!" are four of my favorite words. Touchdowns, long drives, field goals, means hugs and screaming in the arms of anyone around you. Screaming so loud and hoping so hard, 105,000 strong, it’s dizzying.
In the end, we thank the players and the Man in the sweater vest running the show and just like in the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, arms on the shoulders of the Buckeye next to you. Bells toll and you sing the words that again, going into 4th year have never meant so much. So many memories of the singing that song, from when I learn the words at convocation, and every Game Day since. We walk out bells still ringing and everyone calls their family, because when you go to Ohio State, your family not only cares about the score, they were watching along with you, together, like family should be on holidays.
You take the victory lap home with your Buckeye family, discussing every minute of the action over and over again and how eager we all are for next game day the next Game Day. Back home there will be brauts and beer and other football games to watch, but no matter the outcome the other games you are happy, knowing no one else in the country has a Game Day that can compare to those known by an Ohio State Buckeye. Go Bucks!

I'm pretty mad at the candy world right now. Remember when there was just king size, regular size, and fun size candy bars? Well recently, I went to eat what I believed to be a fun size Twix bar and noticed that the whole thing was gone in just two bites. A fun size is at least four bites, even with a mouth as large as mine. I was outraged! How dare they shrink the fun size bar down?! Two bites is no fun at all and most definitely not fun enough to be called fun sized! I picked up the wrapper to look for the number to the comment line so I could call and let them know how unhappy I was when I saw I had been deceived. Though the package looked to like it was my beloved fun size, it was a Twix mini. Since when did they make a size smaller than fun size? It's not even worth putting in an individual wrapper if I have to eat 12 to feel like I've eaten even one fun size. It's more trash and less candy and that is a shame. Presently I am not sure whether or not they still make fun sized bars, but I intend to find out and warn you all about these smaller, disappointing apportionments of the candy world, the Twix bar mini.
I love a lot of things. Holidays are one of them. Downtown is decked out and ready for the holidays and I get so excited everyday day coming to and from work. There are wreathes and twinkle lights and ornaments! Though I think it is slightly unpatrioctic to replace the American flags outside the Supreme Court with Cartoon Frosty the Snowman flags, the Christmas lover in me says fly on you banners of yuletide joy!
I hope to sleep a lot during Thanksgiving break. I haven't been sleeping very much. I don't know if it was the tired delierium or that I underestimated the show, but I find myself getting easily caught up in the Hallmark channels 3 am showing of Walker Texas Ranger. Monica left my TV on that channel before we went out one weekend and when I went to settle in for the night around 3 am I flicked on the TV to find Chuck Norris lighting up the screen with his enchanting Karate moves. I kept telling myself this is a bad show and I will change at the first commercial. Apparently though, the Hallmark channel was bringing the show to me commercial free. I got totally caught up in the karate montages and early 90's inspriational saxaphone blaring in the background to help Walker up when the bad guys knocked him down, and the sweet face of the chubby asian boy who was kidnapped who he was trying to save whose face they flashed acrossed the screen when Walker needed motivation to keep fighting. Next thing you know its 4 am and not only am I wide awake, I want more Norris. I will let you know if the problem becomes more serve.

I am dying of embarrassment at this very second. I got dressed in the dark this morning and not fully conscious and a bright blue bra with a yellow polo seemed fitting. On the bus people were staring and I thought it was because I have my collar popped today. I was like yes people on the COTA bus I did pop my collar, for shame on you for judging me. But after being in the office for an hour I went to use the restroom looked in the mirror and there she was, electric blue blazing through my polo, shocking everyone, screaming I am a slutty intern. With this I have declared, sure 50+ year old men who stare at me inappropriately most days, today I have given you reason to keep on leering at me creepily, your persistence has paid off and here is your blue Victoria Secret trophy. I didn't wear any type of jacket today because it is supposed to be 70, so I can't cover up ole blue in anyway. I then thought turn your office lights off because then the light won't shine through the polo, making an x-ray for my goodies. But then I thought Floozy Mcblue Bra has already been seen around the office and perhaps having the lights off make my personal office seem like a den of seduction. So I'm combating the stares by staring back, watching everyone stare and judge over and over again as they walk by. CURSES!
Paige is coming today. I couldn't be more excited. She is my mini me. Scary isn't it, to think there is another one like me. I've bred her this way through diligent years of teaching her my ways like teaching her to eat cake frosting right out of jars as a toddler and making her make and wear bunny hats on Easter, even when she tells me we're too old to wear them now. Her dad went to the University of Illinois, but she wears the Buckeye uniform and will say right in front of her father Let's Go Bucks. Could she be anymore perfect?
I'm batting around the idea of living aboard again. If I could get a paid internship while being abroad, I would do it in a heartbeat. I wanna go somewhere with less monkies and craziness this time. I guess only time will tell.