Moving day

Moving sucks. There is just no sugar coating it. In five years, I have accumulated way beyond what a single woman should own. It took ages to go through all my stuff, get rid of a ton of it and pack the rest into about 439 boxes. One slight complication is that I have a piano. Not just any keyboard. This is a full-sized console piano that weighs about 700 pounds. The thought of selling it was just too painful. It's like my pet.

I think this is the prime reason I had to bribe people to help me move with beer and pizza.

A group of my friends/co-workers loaded up the truck Sunday, right after my going away party the night before.

We started with some boxes, then my couch. My piano sat in the corner like an elephant we were too afraid to confront with less that full mental preparation. We finally got it onto the dolly, wheeled it to the edge of the sidewalk, practically dragged it through the gravel to the connecting sidewalk, went down the long side of the apartment building, down a shallow set of stairs, across a parking lot and up a ramp into the truck. I think every one of us was sweating out all the beer we drank the night before.

I nearly had a panic attack at least three times.

The next day, I drove the truck to Napa Valley, with two of my friends following me. A few people from my new job met us the next morning to heist the piano up another set of stairs into my new apartment.

It sits against a wall, with a few more scratches, but in tact. So now, with the help of Sean, Vanessa and my mom, I am pretty much moved into a cute apartment on the second level of a house right downtown.

Lessons learned: I have really good friends.