Moved

Long one. Get comfy.

Well, I moved. I moved from my crooked house to my new crooked trailer mobile home. And it started out so well. SO WELL. I was so happy I almost crapped my pants.

The movers showed up at 8 am sharp, and by 10:15 had loaded everything up and dropped it all off. Done.

My ma showed up scrubbed and scrubbed my kitchen, my floors and anything else she could get her hands on while I started putting things away. My telephone was already set up when we arrived, and by noon the cable guy was there to set up my TV and internet. Done.

I was anxiously awaiting my NEW BED and NEW WASHER AND DRYER to be delivered. And then the guys got there and can I just go on a large tangent for a minute? In the middle of winter with your big dirty boots, if you are delivering furniture wouldn’t you bring like, a runner or something? My ma just mopped the floor!

Anyhow, there was no washer and dryer in the truck. Just the bed…which is AMAZING. ALL CAPS AMAZING. So I thought to myself “Self, don’t you worry about that washer and dryer. They’ll arrive and they’ll be wonderful!”

Well they arrived. And they looked wonderful. I was going to call them Ethel and Merman, because they made me so happy that I started singing every time I looked at them. Then they started installing them and I decided that their names would be Brussel and Sprouts (aka spawn of the devil) because by the end of it my sanity was hanging by a thread. In case you don’t know what that looks like, here is a visual:

They were too big for my bathroom. Too. Big. For. My. Bathroom. I had measured the hallway, I had measured my entrance doorway. I did not measure my bathroom doorway because, uh, well, I’m an idiot. That and because THERE WERE FULL SIZE MACHINES IN THERE BEFORE.

Off comes the door. Off comes all the trim. By now my ma’s beautiful floors look like something after a Guns N’ Roses concert. It took three people, two tool boxes and a lot of swearing, but we finally got those bastards in there.

My brother, may saint of a brother, happened to be up last weekend and said he would take care of the install while my sister-in-law and I tag-teamed wrestling my youngest niece (aka The Terminator), who in the first 10 minutes she was there managed to shove a glass Christmas ornament into her mouth, climb up on my dining table not once but twice, jam ornaments into my furnace and tried to climb the shelves in my pantry.

It was all going so well….until my brother realized that with the washer and dryer installed, we now couldn’t close the f*cking bathroom door.

To make a long story even longer, if you want to close the bathroom door at my place you have to open the dryer door, close the bathroom door, and close the dryer door again. And then do the same thing when you're done. Oh, and when the spin cycle is on, my plates shake in my kitchen.

Come on over!