5 Reasons Why Moving Sucks (And Some Handy Fixes!)
1. You have a lot of shit.
Go ahead, toss out five items of clothing for every one that you buy. Rip up your junk mail as soon as it comes in and diligently dispose any stray receipts you won’t need. You will still have a remarkable amount of utter shit.
Tip: If you can’t sell it on eBay, throw it away. Anything you pull out of a crevice that you haven’t used in the past three months, throw it out. You don’t need it. You will never need it but on the off chance you do, you will be able to buy a new one once you are settled. If you’re moving a three-year-old Swiffer, you don’t understand life.
2. There will always be casualties.
Things are going to break. In my most recent move I lost a piggy bank I’ve had since childhood and a mixing bowl I treasured.
Tip: If you’re moving across the country, pack one carry on suitcase with the most precious items and wrap each of them in a towel. This is for the plates your grandma gave you, your antique perfume bottles and fragile trinkets from your travels. If we’re talking about a fishbowl, pack it in Styrofoam peanuts and newspaper and have a friend (hopefully you have some) mail it to you once you’ve arrived. If we’re talking about a cross-town move, make a special car trip with just the delicates. This should be either your first or last trip. If you do it in the middle, you or one of your friends (again, hopefully you have some) are going to step on something and you’ll find yourself crying in a ball mourning the material manifestation of your memories.
3. Everyone blows dog dick.
If you are lucky, most people will be sensitive to the fact that you’re switching up domiciles and even lend a hand if you ask, but there are a lot of people who just don’t get it. Don’t be as surprised as I was to remember that your “What the fuck is wrong with everybody” moment will sneak up on you at some point.
Last month I went from living in an older 18-unit building with charm to a big corporate loft. I got fucked from all sides. The management at the loft is all freaked out about lawsuits and hides behind a set of insanely overcomplicated rules that forbid them from telling me things like where I could have my movers enter and how most of their residents could fit king size mattresses down a long hallway. They had no information about where I could dispose of my boxes or where my movers/friends could temporarily park while we brought stuff in. On the other end, I returned to my old West Hollywood building to discover that the remainder of my belongings were now covered in dust because giant holes had been cut into my walls for a building-wide replacement of copper piping. Even my beloved Waze app was like, “Fuck no, Molly. You’re going to get lost each and every time you try to drive a carload of clothing and coat hangers to your new place. Real lost. Like an hour out of the way. You better bring a Gatorade bottle to piss in, because you’re going to go on a motherfucking road trip if you want to bring this box of mugs and mixing spoons where I think you want to bring it.”
Tip: Drink a bunch of alcohol every night and bitch to anyone who will listen. Lean in to any opportunity you have to cry.
4. You have to like, do paperwork.
Cancel your cable, have your televisions dismounted, shut off/transfer your electric and your gas and your trash pickup. Have your mail forwarded (I only do this about half of the time ‘cause I don’t want fucking mail anyway). Start new accounts, make copies of leases, and harass your old landlord into giving you back your security deposit. Notify the car insurance people, the bank and your dog’s vet that you’ve had a change of address. There’s probably even more that you have to do that I can’t even remember because I didn’t do it and I fucking blow at paperwork and numbers and anything else practical that’s supposed to keep me alive. That’s just not my scene. I’d honestly rather just die.
Tip: Hire a business manager if you can and if you can’t, live a gypsy life until it catches up to you and you’re forced to do something about it. Or make a list or whatever and set time aside on a Saturday morning to get it all done but how boring does that sound?
5. Weather is disgusting.
In the summer it’s too fucking hot and you’re sweating balls the whole time. In the winter it’s too fucking cold and your nipples hurt the whole time. In the spring everything is wet and in the fall you’re depressed. Weather will bend you over and give it to you like you begged for it every single time.
Tip: Maybe just don’t move. Just stay where you are. Change is terrible.