The Big Move - 2

We're trying to get the house ready. Jesus! 20 years of crap is a pain. What the heck were we (and by we, I pretty much mean me) thinking?! No joke, I packed up 20 pairs of jeans to send to Goodwill. Now I know that's not all that bad just as is, but not a single pair of these jeans has fit in maybe 10 years. That means I kept them, washed them, put them away, all thinking what? That if they fit again they'd actually be in style and/or look like something I should be wearing? Ugh! So I'm doing that.

I'm also trying to figure out how to dispose of all the furniture we're not taking with us - basically everything except two mattresses and a couple of bookcases. I got the name of an estate sale lady, but she wants what I call the kibble - books, toys, collectible stuff, and not the furniture as it's either cheap of slightly more than "gently used." Oh, we're taking a single couch because it belongs to dog. It's gross as hell and she loves it. It's not fit for human butts. It's that bad. But no one else will take it, so...

I sold the SUV and bought a minivan so we could drive west in comfort. Dog hates it and is deathly afraid of it. I'm pretty convinced she thinks it's made of poison and lava. I have seven weeks to get her used to it before we're trapped in it for a week with her.

And I got the quote from the mover. $10K. We're not even taking anything big. Mostly just a bunch of boxes. $10K.

Oh, and I still need to sell the house for a decent amount (this means fixing all sorts of stuff), finding a new job, finding a house, and getting rid of 20 years of crap. So, if anyone wants some house crap, I'm your girl. Name it. I have at least six of anything. Seriously, I'll pay you to come take it away.

I'll update once I get a second estimate and have the plumber and handyman lined up.

Did I mention that I found a new-in box, never opened flat screen TV in one of the cabinets in the den? WTF!?

The Big Move

I've always promised my daughter that when she graduated from college, we'd move back to California. We'd get a house, and I'd provide a nice, secure place for her to start her career and life.

Late last year, my employer announced that they were sponsoring an early retirement buyout for people that had been here a certain number of years. I'd be foolish not to take it as it's basically a free year's salary to leave. As I was planning to do that anyway, it was a no brainer.

So, we're packing up 15 years of house crap, trying to get the house in order to sell, get our lives in order, and get ready for a six-day drive to a place where we have no jobs or place to live. Oh, and we're bringing our 110-pound Newfoundland.

I'll be posting here as the journey unfolds. Someday I'll look back on this, and hopefully see it as the best adventure ever : )

Just another day...

So I wore a pair of older black jeans today. I didn't get to take much from the house after the fire, but I did grab my trusty old black jeans. Yeah, they'd seen better days, but they were a comfort item. They fit me really well and actually made me look like a girl (a rarity being a female in IT at my company). Anyway, coming back from lunch, I was walking up the stairs in front of our graphic artist, and he says, "Um, I think the seam is coming apart on your pants," and indeed, it was. I was wearing a long shirt, so I was covered, except for the coming up the stairs part (I'm lucky he didn't give me a dorsal Wet Willy).

I didn't have time to go home and change as I was due to sit in on an interview in about 10 minutes. Being the consummate IT professional, I kept a roll of black Gorilla tape in my office. Black jeans, black tape. I could just tape them up and get on with the rest of my day. I didn't want to tape my pants to my butt, so I put the tape on the inside facing out. Black on both sides, no problem.

And I proceed to the interview. My supervisor and I interviewed a quite charming young woman for maybe 45 minutes. At the end of the interview, we discovered that she might have some visa issues that she needed to discuss with the supervisor, but without me. No problem. It happens more often than not.

So I excuse myself and go to stand up, only to realize that my pants are firmly affixed to the leather chair I'd been parked in for the last 45 minutes. I know at that point that I'm going to have to either sit there unwanted or really tug to get loose. I opted for the latter. And with a great strained look on my face, I heave myself out of the chair, the tape coming away from the leather with a loud ffffrrrrraaaapptt. It sounded like the worst strained fart ever, and coupled with my strained look and heaving motion, I was pretty sure how it would be perceived.

In that split second, my mind wrestled with which would be worse, admitting I'd taped my butt to the chair or admitting I'd farted uncontrollably in an interview. Unable to decide, I looked them both square in the eyes and just said, "Well, then," and left.

Sunday evening

First Monday after DST coming up. Woke up crabby as heck. I'm worried about the insurance settlement. It's been four months that we've been out of our house. The house is looking good, but we have no furniture and nothing to buy furniture with. The insurance company is dragging its feet and at the same time, telling us we need to move back into the house. I'm really tired of all this. But, tomorrow's another day. I still have an off-brand notebook to try to reconstruct, yet another web section to create for our site, and countless stupid meetings that may or may not have anything to do with reality.

Also, this is my first post in the new venue. For those of you who missed the whole previous drama, I hate to repost what's already been posted, so leave me a comment asking for details and I'll happily do my best to fill you in.

In the meantime, the cats are apparently feeling cramped in our temporary quarters.