THE RELOCATION CHRONICLES, CHAPTER ONE: PACKING HEAT

So here's the short version of what's been going on with me for the past six months and why I've been more of a turbo-bitch than usual:

For about a year I worked for this company that recently went totally under, and my job search proved to be an epic disaster. Because the lease for my apartment is up at the end of this month, my dad is making me stay with him in Los Angeles because the freelance stuff I've been doing, while I love it with a passion, isn't getting my bills paid.

There are so many reasons why this is a gargantuan level of suck. First of all, besides my dad, everyone I love is back East. This includes 95% of my family, all my friends, and every single shred of sanity that I can still stake a claim to. Not to mention I'll be living with my dad, which in my twenties is an astronomical cockblock. Of course, he also chooses the Summer to force me to do this. Thanks, Dad.

Second- I'm a New Yorker. I was born there, raised there, have the accent, root for the sports teams (except the Yankees- can't stand 'em), downloaded all the songs, own all the movies, know all the subway lines by heart, etc. The food is amazing, the public transportation can't be beat and the culture puts every other city in the world to shame. Where else can you travel to six countries in two blocks- on foot? Yeah, the cost of living will bleed you dry and leave you in a dumpster in a dirty alley in Brownsville, but ask anyone that rents there and they'll still tell you that it's the best city on the planet.

Third- LA sucks. Everyone there is only concerned with how famous they're going to become, and it never pans out and they just wind up doing porn. Yeah, the dry heat is definitely conducive to my Jew-fro, but I own a flatiron so I don't care. The pizza is awful, the only public transportation they have are buses that come every nine hours and cabs that fuck you up the ass, and the lack of culture is appalling. Plus I don't get any of my Jets games. Everybody in LA is full of shit- it's probably the reason their roots are all brown.



For some reason my dad loves it there and is totally convinced that if I "gave it a chance," I would, too. I've given it tons of chances- I even lived there for a few months- and every time I go there I hate it even more. Moving is stressful enough when you're actually relocating to a place you want to go to- now I have to deal with this shit on top of it. I'd rather be getting on a spaceship to Jupiter. I'll pretty much be on a different planet, anyway.



Luckily this move is only supposed to be temporary- I'm planning on just going for a few months, working a few part-time gigs and saving up enough to get my ass back home sometime in the Fall. This is probably good for you guys, because I can only imagine that my blog posts will get exponentially more bitter, and thus more hilarious.

The actual "moving" part is pretty aggravating in itself. There's all the little shit I have to remember to do such as forwarding my mail, canceling utilities, dealing with my cheap-ass landlord who was of no help the entire year that I lived here, and then there's the bigger, annoying stuff like packing.

I HATE packing. Besides the actual "going to LA" part, packing is probably what I detest the most about this whole moving deal. The only good thing about it is that I finally have rug burn on my knees that I actually don't have to lie to my mom about. Also, I'm probably burning some calories by rummaging through my shit and making and lifting the boxes. I guess.

My family has been coming and going, helping me get my shit together and store it in my brothers' basement, and also making sure that I don't go completely crazy and purposely break a bunch of crap. They're taking most of my furniture, which is great because that means I'll get it back later. I've also been going through my clothes, shoes and bags, giving away what I don't want anymore to homeless shelters and Goodwill. After the shitty attitude I've been hauling around since I got the news, it felt good to do something nice.

Anyway, I'm cataloging my entire moving experience as a way to get my head in perspective and my ass in gear. Hopefully it'll only be until sometime in October, and then I'll be back, ready to find a new place to live, a better East Coast job and to reconnect with everybody I left behind. I've got New York on my iPod, in my DVR and in my heart, and no matter what Los Angeles tries to do to me, that will never change.



Here's something to leave you (and me) with.