A Moving Story, Part 1

Editor’s Note: Sadly this post was funnier with pictures, but they’ve since been lost to the fickleness of the internet and bad harddrives (because I was a chump and not using Flickr back then). I’m still trying to find old copies to put back in.

Part 2 of the story is here.
Part 3 of the story is here.

I’ve talked about my neighbors before; we have a semi-classic love hate relationship: I love to hate them. I probably shouldn’t make such a broad statement as some of them have been pretty good, but the really bad ones are really, really bad. Midtown began sliding down the slippery slope of ghetto-ness in the three years since I’ve moved here so it’s finally time to move on. I’ve ignored it as long as possible as I hate moving with a passion. It always tends to end up becoming a deep spring (fall) cleaning because I’m too lazy to take everything with me. I say fall cleaning because without fail I always seem to move then. It’s also come to be associated with massive upheaval in my life with what I can only assume is something similar to Army brat syndrome.

Since I’ve lived here, I’ve seen:

  • 1 fight in the parking lot over food stamps (With real police action.)
  • 1 bounty hunter taking a guy away while his four year old daughter stood there and cried.
  • Countless screaming matches (Now with and without police!)
  • One wreck in the parking lot. The girl’s brakes failed and she managed to clip my old convertible before slamming into the front brick wall and collapsing half. (Once again guest starring the police!)
  • One hurricane (I was at the office most of the time so no problems there. Unsure if the police came, but there were a lot of people sitting on their porches)
  • One guy arrested for various things, some real some not. (Yes police came, and yes it was me)
  • One guy arrested for murder of a gay man at another apartment complex.
  • One guy arrested for failing to register as a sex offender. (This was not me)
  • One family of raccoons run out and shot for setting off a burglar alarm constantly.
  • One tree falling into the building as three idiots tried to cut it down and managed to pull it INTO the building instead of away.
  • One lesbian couple making up after one of the screaming matches mentioned above.
  • I got a roommate.

It’s been an unforgettable three years to say the least, though not in a Nat King Cole kind of way mind you, more of a post-9/11 sort of unforgettable. I think the word “traumatic” sums it up nicely. I’ve said I always try to live my life with no regrets and I definitely do not regret living here. Had the neighborhood not steadily declined I might have stayed longer.

So the packing has begun. It seems like Jeff was just moving in. I can’t believe it was six short months ago. We were originally planning to move it all ourselves (with help from friends to unpack) but after realized that the new place was on the third floor, and that it’s going to rain on the moving day it became increasingly clear fate was pushing us toward hiring movers so who am I to fight destiny?

1 comment / Add your comment below

Leave a Reply