I am a bit forgetful. Just a little bit. For example, I remember to go to work and I remember to make post-its for the really important things like Doctor appointments.
But, sometimes I forget things like going to bed at a decent hour, and lunch dates, and birthdays, and names, and getting out of bed before noon, and other assorted details.
So, on Sunday morning, I received a text that read, "What are you doing today?" and I automatically sat bolt upright in bed because the time was 11:43am and I was lazing around, reading and snoozing. Such is the life of a rockstar who goes to sleep at 5am on weekends.
I thought I was missing lunch, or a party or something. My friends probably would say something a little snotty like that as a reminder, rather than just ask why I wasn't where I was supposed to be.
Then a flurry of other texts started arriving, culminating with the plan of moving my friend out of her apartment.
Whew. I wasn't being a delinquent friend. In fact, I was off to be a good friend.
My friend was in a pickle. Her current living situation was less than ideal. Among multiple other issues, the person she was renting from insisted on entering her apartment (something he repeatedly told both of us he was doing, so this isn't hearsay!) so he could turn off the lights she was (allegedly) leaving on when she left her apartment.
Hmmm. In the words of Jim Carrey, "Alrighty, then!"
We started packing.
We were in such a state of 'let's get this done & get out of here now' that we decided to use garbage bags as suitcases.We weren't being pretty. We weren't being nice. We were being efficient. We were getting it done.
It didn't take us long. We packed her apartment in less than an hour. During that time, we took multiple phone calls and a visit. We were all business.
One of those phone calls was from the Apartment Enterer. I answered the phone because my friend was in the corner, being dramatic with her arms over her eyes, all hysterical, stressed out, and we didn't want him to be harassing her anymore.
He started harassing me! What a bugger.
He yelled, "Put Jennifer on the phone!"
I said, "I'm sorry but Jenny isn't available right now. Would you like to leave a message?"
"I know she is in my basement right now. Put Jennifer on the phone."
"She isn't available. Would you like to leave a message?"
"The police were at my door at 11:00 this morning and I want to know why. Put her on the phone right now."
I don't like to be told what to do. In fact, I am quite defiant. If you tell me what to do, there is a good chance I'm not going to do it. So I said, "Sir, if the police were at your door this morning, they should have dealt with that matter at 11:00 this morning. Jenny isn't well right now, so if you would like to leave a message, I will make sure she gets it."
She could hear him yelling at me, so I didn't need to write anything down. I'm sure I forgot some of the stuff he yelled at me, because I am who I am, but she would remember. In fact, she reported it all to the police.
She was in panic mode.
We continued packing...
"Do you want the stuff in the fridge?"
"No."
Into the garbage it went.
"Do you want the stuff in the cupboard?"
"No."
Into the garbage.
"Do you want the stuff in the bathroom?"
"No."
Garbage.
Pack, pack, pack. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
"Do you own the dishes?"
"Yes."
Into a bag.
"Do you own the crock pot?"
"Yes."
Into a bag.
"Do you own the toaster?"
"No."
Left on the cupboard to rot.
We called my cousin, who is the boss of everything and pretty much knows everything (not kidding, she always knows the answer to my questions or can find them). She came over with her truck and we started moving Jenny's gear out of the house.
After the first bags into the truck, the 'Harasser' told Jenny to 'come into the house right now to talk' to him. It felt like we were in the Twilight Zone. She said "No." That conversation was repeated a few times.
On one of her trips to the truck, she almost broke her arse by sliding under the truck on the ice. Ridiculous. We are a travesty.
When packing the truck, we were slinging things over the tailgate. As fat girls, we would have to lie on the tailgate and roll into the back in order to make our way into it. In fact, Jenny needed a 'spotter' to make sure she didn't hurt herself on the way down from the tailgate.
My cousin is like a wood nymph. She nimbly hops up onto the tailgate as if she has been taking gymnastics all her life (she hasn't) and practices for 20 hours a day (she doesn't).
She springs down off the tailgate the same way. I thought she was going to do a double handspring for a minute. If we had known, we could have made placards with the number 10 on them so we could have given her an appropriate score on her landing.
We had to stuff some things into Jenny's car in addition to the truck. These things included this odd assortment: a TV, a wire bookshelf, a Swiffer, packages of clothes, a nightstand, a full length mirror, a toaster oven, and an ice chopper.
Honest to God... an ice chopper - for your driveway. She doesn't even own a driveway.
Who in the name of God owns an ice chopper thingy when you don't own a driveway? Jenny.
Ah well. We stuffed it all in there.
Oh, wait a second. We also had to stuff in a garbage can with a disassembled coat rack inside it. Do you know where that lovely piece of gear went? It hung out in the front seat, where there isn't a whole lot of room to begin with, especially since I was there. Jenny drives a little car. A TINY car. I discussed Jenny's car in an earlier blog called Blueberry Jam, where we were nearly squished by a truck. The Blueberry is not much bigger than an aquarium; it isn't exactly as roomy as a U-Haul.
Mirrors, choppers, coat racks and bookshelves. And us. In that little car. It was like a clown car, with only two of us clowns.
But we didn't forget anything.
Except to turn off the lights, maybe?
I can't remember.
But, sometimes I forget things like going to bed at a decent hour, and lunch dates, and birthdays, and names, and getting out of bed before noon, and other assorted details.
So, on Sunday morning, I received a text that read, "What are you doing today?" and I automatically sat bolt upright in bed because the time was 11:43am and I was lazing around, reading and snoozing. Such is the life of a rockstar who goes to sleep at 5am on weekends.
I thought I was missing lunch, or a party or something. My friends probably would say something a little snotty like that as a reminder, rather than just ask why I wasn't where I was supposed to be.
Then a flurry of other texts started arriving, culminating with the plan of moving my friend out of her apartment.
Whew. I wasn't being a delinquent friend. In fact, I was off to be a good friend.
My friend was in a pickle. Her current living situation was less than ideal. Among multiple other issues, the person she was renting from insisted on entering her apartment (something he repeatedly told both of us he was doing, so this isn't hearsay!) so he could turn off the lights she was (allegedly) leaving on when she left her apartment.
Hmmm. In the words of Jim Carrey, "Alrighty, then!"
We started packing.
We were in such a state of 'let's get this done & get out of here now' that we decided to use garbage bags as suitcases.We weren't being pretty. We weren't being nice. We were being efficient. We were getting it done.
 |
| Jenny's package of suitcases (on the table) |
It didn't take us long. We packed her apartment in less than an hour. During that time, we took multiple phone calls and a visit. We were all business.
One of those phone calls was from the Apartment Enterer. I answered the phone because my friend was in the corner, being dramatic with her arms over her eyes, all hysterical, stressed out, and we didn't want him to be harassing her anymore.
He started harassing me! What a bugger.
He yelled, "Put Jennifer on the phone!"
I said, "I'm sorry but Jenny isn't available right now. Would you like to leave a message?"
"I know she is in my basement right now. Put Jennifer on the phone."
"She isn't available. Would you like to leave a message?"
"The police were at my door at 11:00 this morning and I want to know why. Put her on the phone right now."
I don't like to be told what to do. In fact, I am quite defiant. If you tell me what to do, there is a good chance I'm not going to do it. So I said, "Sir, if the police were at your door this morning, they should have dealt with that matter at 11:00 this morning. Jenny isn't well right now, so if you would like to leave a message, I will make sure she gets it."
She could hear him yelling at me, so I didn't need to write anything down. I'm sure I forgot some of the stuff he yelled at me, because I am who I am, but she would remember. In fact, she reported it all to the police.
She was in panic mode.
We continued packing...
"Do you want the stuff in the fridge?"
"No."
Into the garbage it went.
"Do you want the stuff in the cupboard?"
"No."
Into the garbage.
"Do you want the stuff in the bathroom?"
"No."
Garbage.
Pack, pack, pack. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
"Do you own the dishes?"
"Yes."
Into a bag.
"Do you own the crock pot?"
"Yes."
Into a bag.
"Do you own the toaster?"
"No."
Left on the cupboard to rot.
We called my cousin, who is the boss of everything and pretty much knows everything (not kidding, she always knows the answer to my questions or can find them). She came over with her truck and we started moving Jenny's gear out of the house.
After the first bags into the truck, the 'Harasser' told Jenny to 'come into the house right now to talk' to him. It felt like we were in the Twilight Zone. She said "No." That conversation was repeated a few times.
On one of her trips to the truck, she almost broke her arse by sliding under the truck on the ice. Ridiculous. We are a travesty.
When packing the truck, we were slinging things over the tailgate. As fat girls, we would have to lie on the tailgate and roll into the back in order to make our way into it. In fact, Jenny needed a 'spotter' to make sure she didn't hurt herself on the way down from the tailgate.
My cousin is like a wood nymph. She nimbly hops up onto the tailgate as if she has been taking gymnastics all her life (she hasn't) and practices for 20 hours a day (she doesn't).
She springs down off the tailgate the same way. I thought she was going to do a double handspring for a minute. If we had known, we could have made placards with the number 10 on them so we could have given her an appropriate score on her landing.
We had to stuff some things into Jenny's car in addition to the truck. These things included this odd assortment: a TV, a wire bookshelf, a Swiffer, packages of clothes, a nightstand, a full length mirror, a toaster oven, and an ice chopper.
Honest to God... an ice chopper - for your driveway. She doesn't even own a driveway.
Who in the name of God owns an ice chopper thingy when you don't own a driveway? Jenny.
Ah well. We stuffed it all in there.
Oh, wait a second. We also had to stuff in a garbage can with a disassembled coat rack inside it. Do you know where that lovely piece of gear went? It hung out in the front seat, where there isn't a whole lot of room to begin with, especially since I was there. Jenny drives a little car. A TINY car. I discussed Jenny's car in an earlier blog called Blueberry Jam, where we were nearly squished by a truck. The Blueberry is not much bigger than an aquarium; it isn't exactly as roomy as a U-Haul.
Mirrors, choppers, coat racks and bookshelves. And us. In that little car. It was like a clown car, with only two of us clowns.
But we didn't forget anything.
Except to turn off the lights, maybe?
I can't remember.
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