In the excitement of moving, I forgot to mention the giant pain in the ass that was the movers.
Do NOT use Bekins. Ever. They fucked us so hard my ass STILL hurts. Nothing was put where it was supposed to be put (I discover now as I look for things in my office and find only boxes labeled "upstairs bedroom" or "living room," they took TWELVE hours to load and unload, drawing out their time until the maximum amount they could charge was reached.
They actually said, "The total came to 1200 dollars and 65 cents, but since we are not to exceed 1200 dollars, we'll go ahead and wave the 65 cents." Gee. Thanks. Can you remove your dick from my ass now?
They scratched up half our shit and had the audacity to offer suggestions for as to how we could repair things they fucked up -- luckily, we're not too stressed about that because we're getting new shit anyway, but still.
They crawled through the hallways, I found them sitting in the elevator, holding cigarettes and smoking while carrying pieces of furniture, balancing the cigs somewhere in the mix.
I HATE them. We were promised all kinds of things from the guy on the phone and when not one of those things came to be, we were told, oh well.
Once things are settled, I will be writing an elaborate letter to the Better Business Bureau, to join the others we have seen there against Bekins.
Hey, I'm sure there are some people who work for Bekins who are a joy. But my experience has left my ass RAW. Fuck, I should have hired some kids off the streets, it would have been done faster and more efficiently.
If we ever move again, which is doubtful at least in the next ten years, that's just what I'll do.
In other news, I have begun to read Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides (the author of the Virgin Suicides). Good so far! The wall guys are here, completing the Great Wall of Egypt, the painter comes this afternoon to get started on the bathrooms (ooh, la la!), M.s. is out running errands, and I can't find where the fuck I put my collection of business cards and contact information, stuff I need desperately to get my work done right now. I guess I'll go check the upstairs master closet. Chances are, that's where everything labeled "Barb's Office" is going to be hiding.