Moving is like exercising with a point

So what have y'all missed?

Moving.

Be glad you missed that. Moving sucks. Especially when you own the heaviest furniture in the known universe and need to get it up 3 long and angular flights of stairs. Poor BGF and company. I've never heard such groaning and suffering. It was like I had opened up the gates of hell and pushed them all in. I'm sure my neighbors hate me.* It took approximately three days to get all of my furniture up those stairs with approximately 4 different guys. And they made A LOT of noise. A LOT. Because carrying 300 pounds isn't easy kids.

Because let's get real. Although my lovely new apartment complex touts its offerings as "luxurious," they really aren't THAT great. Clean? Yes. Respectable? Yes. Cute as a button? Yes. But luxurious? That's pushing it. Maybe if there was a hot tub or a massage therapist or an elevator.

Emphasis on the elevator. A big cargo one for moving purposes. Because then I wouldn't feel obligated to live here for two years because nobody will help me move before then. Seriously, I hope this place rocks because I'll have to shell out the money for professional movers if I want to leave in one year's time.

Good thing the lovely people at HH Gregg pays someone to deliver their appliances to you. Otherwise, I'd be banished to the laundromat for another two year's time. And let me tell you, you have no idea what it feels like to be an adult until you own your own washer and dryer. Then...THEN...you know you've made it. Because you can provide yourself with clean underwear simply by walking a few feet. It's an AMAZING feeling.

Coming up next time: Celebrity sightings at CompUSA!

*If I didn't incur their ire while moving in, I am sure my neighbors hate me now due to "the Incident" which I will recount in all its glory and splendor in a few days time. If you were my neighbor, you'd hate me too. Trust me.