Sometimes, when life hands you lemons – you just have to make lemonade. BUT SOMETIMES, you find out that WAIT. Those weren’t lemons. They were poop. And you just made poop-ade.
And thus, the first part of our move/trip begins.
Our move from Nashville to Los Angeles has been a little stressful from the beginning. First of all, because I started a new job sooner than expected, almost all of the planning/moving details have fallen on the head of poor beleaguered Blake. Every day for the past month, Blake has spent hours arranging movers, packing up our house, running errands, and generally making sure that we actually left Nashville at all. Sometimes, thing go wrong. Sometimes, a bunch of things go wrong.
It all centers around the movers. Ahhh, the movers. Blake was super excited to have found an AMAZING moving company, who would handle all the moving details (actual loading, driving, and storing our stuff until we move to Santa Monica, and then unloading once arrived) for a reasonable price. So, the two of us operated under this COMPLETE ILLUSION that we had taken care of this particular detail.
Blake graduates on Friday morning. Friday night, we receive a phone call from the moving company assuring us that our movers were set to arrive on Saturday between 9-12. We celebrate our obvious AMAZING luck at things just constantly working out.
Saturday, our movers inform us that they will actually be arriving SUNDAY between 9 -12. We are bummed, but hey! No big deal! It gives us more time to get everything EVEN MORE READY than it was before.
Sunday (I should note that this was the very latest time in our “moving window” agreed upon by the movers – and our personal “moving window” since we were set to leave for a FIVE WEEK TRIP TO EUROPE Tuesday morning at 6:00 am), we sit around – Blake, me, my parents, and Blake’s parents – waiting for the movers. As 12 approaches, the anxiety in the room was palpable. Luckily for everyone involved, the presence of so many people who would totally judge me for the rest of my life helped contain the COMPLETE LOSING OF MY SHIT that was bubbling right to the surface. After 1:00 I say, “Well, it’s not like it can be too bad. They have to show up! Nowadays with internet reviews, people can’t just survive if they get terrible reviews by just NOT SHOWING UP? Right? Right!” Blake, my dear husband, sheepishly admits, “I think I forgot to look up this particular moving company.”
I’ll give you a second, dear reader, click on this link
So yeah. THOSE were our movers.
Collective panic ensued. Thankfully, we have amazing parents who actually FOUGHT for the privilege to wait around in our home for new movers (who hadn’t actually been arranged yet) so we could drive to Dallas in order to catch our flight Tuesday (Today!) at 6:00 am (well, minus my mom – she is not crazy.)
We begin driving to Dallas. As we pass the 100 mile mark – Blake suddenly swerves off the road, cursing. Apparently, when you are a type one diabetic, it is a really bad thing for your insulin to remain in your rental home in Nashville, TN while you are gallivanting around Europe. SO. We turned around. Drove back. Retrieved insulin. Turned BACK around. Drove to Dallas Arrived at 5:00 am.
I will say, the poop-ade was quickly remedied. We were able to arrange a MUCH BETTER MOVING COMPANY, hired independent movers (WITH GOOD REVIEWS ALWAYS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE REVIEWS), get our ENORMOUS deposit back from our invisible movers, and Patty and Greg (thank you thank you thank you thank you) managed the entire process while Blake and I sat hostage in the Boston airport terminal B (Seriously, what’s up with that Boston – I WANT TO GO TO DIFFERENT TERMINALS! WHY DO I HAVE TO LEAVE SECURITY?? Ahem. Sorry).
Hopefully that’s the last of our poop-ade. I don’t know if I quite expressed the proper amount of anxiety, but imagine a lot. A WHOLE LOT.