Moving, Mom, and more…

Man, I’m achy from moving stuff. Maybe you saw my comment on Facebook saying I am not in the shape I was when I moved all this crap in here seven years ago and I’m not kidding. Back then I was teaching eight yoga classes a week and hiking every weekend; since I’ve been in Vegas, my writing kicked in big time, which translates to thousands of hours sitting on my ass. I have to get back into shape; moving a few boxes shouldn’t feel like this.

So Tuesday night Hurricane Mikey came over to drop off my hand truck and my BFF Kri was here to help me move stuff and I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I bolted out of a closet and asked, “Hey, are these jumper cables?” Kri thought it was hysterical and snapped this photo on her phone.


Don’t I look super happy, like I found a thousand dollar bill or something? I didn’t even know I had jumper cables! If I’d known, I could have saved a trip to Walmart last year when my little Wonder Saturn had to rescue Mikey’s dead-batteried truck at the M.

Obviously I didn’t look in that closet very often. It was mainly filled with boxes of high school journals and junk that I hadn’t opened since I moved here, and I probably didn’t look at them when I moved to Utah in 2002 or Wyoming in 2001. They’re just boxes that I’m going to move with me everywhere I go until I die. Then my kids will have the chore of going through them and they’ll be all like, “Jesus H, why didn’t she get rid of this shit during Purgefest 2010?” and then they’ll have to throw them out. Finally. But in the meantime, they’re now in my storage bin.

I started tearing my apartment down Monday after work. Mike was over Sunday night and it still looked perfect. I told him I was having second thoughts about giving this awesome place up and he was like, “Jesus H, Linda.” He actually doesn’t say “Jesus H” but that was the gist of it. Anyway, once I started boxing stuff up, I started to get psyched and now I’m really, really psyched.

So I had a fun trip to Boise last weekend. I dragged Mom and Jim to Flicks, my favorite movie theater that sells microbrew beer in their concession stand. This nice guy at right took our picture. Actually, I’m standing next to him, but I cut myself out because you know me, I post only flattering or at least semi-flattering pictures of myself because I’m so freakin’ vain and I didn't like the way I looked in that one.


I have my hair a little lighter these days. It still looks shitty, you know me.

Anyway, Mom and I were watching TV and an ad came on for the new Sex and the City movie. I said I can’t stand those girls—they all seem fake as hell and I wouldn’t want to be friends with any of them except for maybe Miranda—and Mom said she saw the first movie and she’ll go see the second one, too. My mother likes Sex and the City and I don’t? Who knew?

How about you? Would you be surprised to find jumper cables in your closet? Do you have boxes of crap that will be nothing but a bothersome chore for your kids upon your demise? Is your mother into Sex and the City? Do you say, “Jesus H”? Do you know what the “H” even stands for? Now, there’s something to Google.