Epic epicness

So I moved this week. After a tense and harried six weeks, I'm finally in my new apartment and somewhat settled in. There are still many unopened boxes and we can't find the silverware, but at least everything is (mostly) here.

First, the packing, which I got through by sheer force of will, smoking, and the fact that my friends took pity on me and came over to keep me company. That was a slog, but completely uninteresting compared to what came later.

Next we had to pack up my dad's apartment. I think smart moving companies know that moving is largely a psychological game, and that the movee is usually more stressed out than the guys who are running the boxes and furniture into the truck. I hired a decent company in NYC, but boy the foreman was one surly motherfucker. He was good at what he did, but grumpy and uncommunicative.

Anyway after we packed up on the UES I dashed to my Brooklyn apartment, at oh say 415. They showed up at 6, just as the train i wanted to take was leaving Penn station. There were two more, so I figured i was fine. Long story short, no matter how many times I told him I was going to miss my train, I ended up having to RUN to the subway, and once I got off I had to RUN to the ticket machine and then RUN to the train. I made it onto the 739 train at 738. With my traveling companions:



Yes, those are piggy banks and a plant.

Cut to the next day, the guys are loading the things in, and we encounter a hitch in the form of a tight corner and a low ceiling in the entryway. The problem: anything over a certain height... didn't fit.

The upshot: by the end of the day, both couches, the credenza, and the king bed were in storage, and I was stressed out, not to mention sad because I was still sleeping on an airbed. I emailed around and found a company that handled these situations. Two days later they met me at the storage space with this:



They loaded up my stuff:



The drove it to my place, and started hoisting it up:



They had to go REALLY high because a tree and some power lines cross right in front of my balcony:



After this point I couldn't look. But anyway they managed to position it:


They had to take off the balcony door, but finally they got everything into the apartment. It's all here and I'm happy to say that I'm composing this blog on my dad's big leather mancouch, which he is very attached to.

Stay tuned.... pics when we unpack.