Category Archives: Moving

You’re Invited to a Pity Party!

You are most cordially invited to a Pity Party!

For: Sassy Sundry

When: Now, Before, Always

Why: Her Leg STILL Hurts a WEEK after Pulling a Muscle

I swear, I want to cut my leg off. I still can’t walk right. I can’t clean. I can’t do laundry. I can’t get all the effing empty boxes down the stairs and into the recycling bin. I can’t dance. People stare at me like I’m going to turn into Kaiser Soeze when I cross the street. People stare at me all the time. I want to beat them with sticks.

This sucks. Waaaaaaa. Pity me.

***Just In***

I’ll be serving this at my Pity Party. You can wash it down with rum and Moxie. I’ll have pork rinds too. I stole this from Found.

Post-Move Post

Here I am. I’m not entirely certain what my name is. My bruises make me look like a junkie who has been beaten with sticks. There’s a sea of boxes waiting to be unpacked and a volcano of empty boxes spewing forth wadded-up newspaper. But I’ve escaped the Neighbors from Hell and am happily in the new place. My kitchen’s clean enough to cook in. I didn’t kill anyone (though had anyone been around while I was setting up my bed, I might have). I found my copy of Slaughterhouse Five and am rereading it. Today’s my first day back at work. I almost wrote that I was trying to do something productive, but that’s not true. I’m just trying to wait the hours out.

I did a little skiving off when I should have been unpacking and have discovered some gems around the neighborhood. The first is Taco Loco. I knew I was in for a little bit of Mexican food heaven when I listened to people ordering at this little taqueria—I was the only English-speaker there. While I need to branch out and try some new things, I have been hankering for a decent burrito for three years and ordered one up. Oh, yummy. Yummy, yummy, yummy. My mind is mush, so I can’t come up with anything other to say than yummy right now.

The second gem is Vinny’s Superette. Vinny’s is famous for a little the Italian restaurant hidden in the back of the store/sub shop. I showed up in the afternoon, so the restaurant wasn’t open, but I did take a peek. Having to make do with a veggie sub (not on the menu, but delicious), I took it to a table next to a couple of WWII vets (I know this because of their hats and jackets). One of them was a fat man with his pants belted just beneath his armpits. He winked at me, and said in a gravely voice, “Well, how are you deeah?” (have to love the true Massachusetts accent). I smiled, replied, “Just fine, thanks,” and ate a pickle.

Yesterday I took the T to Harvard Square (I would have been more creative, but it was raining, and I wanted to be somewhere where I could duck into a store if it started pouring). After wandering through the fabulous old perfume shop and picking up some divine nibbles at Cardullos, I got a glass of wine at Finale and read more Slaughterhouse Five. These Abercrombie-wearing chicks seated across from me were drinking glasses of milk, and I thought about A Clockwork Orange. I looked away and went back to my book. On my ride back, I laughed out loud while reading my book. Embarrassed, I glanced up, only to find three people seated across from me nodding in approval. Vonnegut is gone. He is missed. So it goes.

The war goes on, a mentally disturbed student got his hands on a couple of guns (rather easy to do in Virginia, apparently) and murdered thirty-two people, and the Bush-packed Supreme Court just handed down quite the blow to women’s rights. I can’t think about any of that now, but I will.

That’s all for now.

Shakin’ the Dust

See you soon! I’m shakin’ off the dust of this one-horse town and moving to the city.

Welcome to New Hampshire: A Moving Story

My first roommate in graduate school, I’ll call him McRoomie, had the most harrowing moving experience of all time. McRoomie was one of the sweetest, most mild-mannered people I’ve ever met. He had served in the Peace Corps. He liked children. I actually saw him help a little old lady across the street. I never saw him get mad, even when perhaps he should have. So the fact that this happened to him makes it all the more incredible to me.

McRoomie moved from Georgia to start his graduate studies in New Hampshire. He packed up all his stuff into one of those yellow moving vans and headed to the Granite State with joy in his heart. He smiled as he crossed the New Hampshire border. He paid the toll at the toll booth and thanked the toll taker for taking his money. He drove under an underpass on the highway. On the bridge were a dozen state troopers, with guns. Pointed at McRoomie. This freaked McRoomie out, but perhaps this is the New Hampshire way, he thought.

Not two seconds later, his yellow moving van was surrounded by even more state troopers. Confused, he pulled over, even using his turn signal to do so. A trooper ripped open the door, pulled him out of the car, while a number of other cops trained their guns on him. Slammed up against the moving van, with a gun against his head, the troopers screamed at him. A couple of others ripped open the moving van door and started searching. McRoomie nearly pissed himself with fear. He was so scared that he didn’t even think to question why this was happening to him.

Less than a minute later, the cops searching the van hopped down and said, “It’s not him.”

Down went the guns, away went the cops. The trooper who had frisked him threw his wallet back at him, saying, “Welcome to New Hampshire.”

Quaking in his boots, McRoomie drove very slowly to his new home. It wasn’t until a week or so later that he learned that someone using a yellow moving van had robbed an armored car, killing the driver and his companion (a crime that was never solved).

Let the Week of Lame-o Posts Continue: Another iPod Shuffle

OK, so I should have planned ahead and written a kickass post and just left it up for a week or so while I packed up my worldly goods. I didn’t. So this is a week of lame-o posts. First the “personal DNA” and then some one-word answers to questions. Now it’s another iPod shuffle, because I know you are all dying to know what I fill my ears with. In an effort to make this stupid post a little bit more interesting, I’ve done a little write-up on each song.

“Radio Delhi #2”—Radio India: The Eternal Dream of Sound
Radio India is one of my favorite albums. At some point in the mid-nineties, the Eternal Dream of Sound project recorded radio stations from around the globe. This track has a lot of Bollywood and some very eerie folk music. Then it switches to some sitar and back to pop. Highly recommended.

“If Looks Could Kill”—Camera Obscura: Let’s Get Out of This Country
While one could hardly say that the lyrics make sense, the 60s girl-group vibe of this song is contagious. I find myself bouncing up and down in my seat.

“Browning”—Edith Piaf: Voice of the Sparrow
OK, I know a movie is coming out about Edith Piaf, but I’ve had this album forever. I love listening to Piaf for dinner music or on a relaxing Sunday morning. The gun-pop in this song always kills me.

“Words You Used to Say”—Dean and Britta: Back Numbers
Sigh… It’s not Luna, but I am so happy to hear his voice again. I snoozed and lost with getting tickets to see the husband and wife act perform at the MFA. I’m still kicking myself.

“Black Wave/ Bad Vibration”—Arcade Fire: Neon Bible
I’m a bit of a whore for Canadian music. I don’t love Neon Bible as much as Funeral, but that said, it’s still an amazing album. It’s funny, Win Butler sounds like an incarnation of Ian McCullough, but Arcade Fire still manages to sound completely original at the same time.

“This Charming Man”—Stars: Nightsongs
I love this little ditty. But that’s probably because of my obsession with Canada these days.

“Dinner Bells”—Wolf Parade: (Demo)
Wolf Parade—one of the best acts of the zeros if you ask me. This song, like everything else they’ve recorded, is amazing. Plus, see above statement about Canadian music.

“Don’t Dream It’s Over”—Crowded House: (Compilation)
OK, I know it’s played in supermarkets, but I get misty whenever I hear it.

“Murder Me Rachel”—The National: Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers
In a word, Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers rocks. If you don’t have it, get it. Now. Swoon… Matt Berninger has a sexy voice.

“Breakfast in Bed”—Dusty Springfield: Dusty in Memphis
Yeah. Great song. Enough said.

Saved by a Meme

Thanks, Dive and Vic. Packing’s sapped all my creative energy, and so here’s another meme. You can only type one word in response to the following prompts. Your turn.

1. Yourself: Adventurous

2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: Intriguing

3. Your hair: Wavy

4. Your mother/stepmother: Intense

5. Your dog: Spastic

6. Your favorite item: Unknown

7. Your dream last night: Wandering

8. Your favorite drink: Wine

9. Your dream car: Bike

10. The room you are in: Office

12. Your fear: Stasis

13. What you want to be in 10 years: Happy

14. Who you hung out with last night: Therapist

15. What you’re not: Dull

16. Muffin: Meadow

17: One of your wish list items: Travel

18: Time: Irrelevant

19. The last thing you did: Typed

20. What you are wearing: Sweater

21. Your favorite weather: Spring

22. Your favorite book: Unknown

23. The last thing you ate: Piave

24. Your life: Interesting

25. Your mood: Sleepy

26. Your best friend/s: Ebullient

27. What are you thinking about right now? Coffee

28. Your car: Old

29. What are you doing at the moment?: Listening

30. Your summer: Blast

31. Your relationship status: Interesting

32. What is on your TV?: Nothing

33. What is the weather like?: Cloudy

34. When is the last time you laughed?: Now


Last night I crawled up into my loft and started packing up my books. I always start a move by packing up my books. In part I do this because books are easy, but since they also mean home to me, packing them convinces me that I really am leaving a place.

Right before I took the first book off the shelf, I sat on one of the red Indian print floor pillows and looked around the loft. The light was warm, and the floors were dark and a bit dusty. Chock full of books, the low shelves framed the window. My jade plant was perched on its plant stand, surrounded by two aloe plants, one of them spilling over the pot and tumbling onto the floor. I need to repot that poor plant, but I like the way it winds around the stand.

I took a deep breath and for one last moment was in my home. Then I picked up a book and put it in the box.

Sassy Sundry on the Move!

Look out, Bitchin’ Somerville*, here comes Sassy Sundry. Sometimes the Universe decides that you really deserve a change and hands one to you. I was at a party last week (the one where a number of people insisted that I was younger than my twenty-nine-year-old sister), and someone I used to know asked me how I was liking my Cape Ann digs. I gave my usual reply, “Oh, I love my apartment, but it’s really, really quiet, and I’m looking for a change.”

“Interested in moving to Somerville?”

“Yeah, actually,” I said, a little surprised.

He said, “Well, I own a building in Somerville, and I have an apartment free. Do you want to take a look at it?”

Turns out the place is perfect for me. Wood floors, bay windows, a gorgeous glass door separating the living area from the dining area—charm up the whazoo. I’ll need to get a roommate for now, but that’s not the end of the world. The commute won’t be bad, especially since it’s in reverse and the place isn’t far from the highway.

I had wanted to move to Boston/Cambridge/Somerville for ages now, and I couldn’t have come up with a better deal for myself if I’d tried. So… I guess the moral of the story is that I should keep going to parties.

Off to pack!

*In the mid-nineties, there was a futon company that used to advertise their location as such. It always stuck in my head.