Last weekend, I moved into my new condo in Elizabeth. After moving in and out of temporary housing more than 10 times between junior year of high school until now, you would think this would be a cakewalk. Psych!
My mom had been here two weekends in a row and yet there was still so much to do before turning the keys in to my apartment complex office on Sunday afternoon.
A word to the wise: if you decide to hire movers, which I strongly suggest, let them move everything, it will save time in the long run.
After being cooped up in the house with the parental unit — and being forced to adult — for the past two weekends, I was beginning to get antsy. After all, it’s my duty to the Q.C. to party and, truth be told, I had gotten one too many texts asking, “What are you up to tonight?”
Once I heard from my P.I.C., partner in crime, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I decided no matter how long move day was, I was going out that night.
Saturday morning started with my mom and I fast asleep on the pull-out couch surrounded by moving boxes until we were awakened by a building-wide fire alarm at 6 a.m.
If that didn’t foreshadow the type of day I was going to have, I don’t know what would. My move was scheduled for two hours from then and there was still a few things that needed to be packed up.
And that was only the beginning. By midday, new neighbors were cursing out the guys we hired for cutting tile in the garage — where we were told they could cut it. This, of course, had everyone up in arms including my parents and the guys working on my flooring projects. Talk about a warm welcome. #awkward
What was supposed to be a same-day flooring job had turned into a three-day debacle.
And the kicker? We weren’t going to be able to shower until the next day because the grout couldn’t get wet. But we didn’t have to take a shower to get it wet.
My stepdad turned on the water main to test out my newly installed dishwasher only to find the washing machine water line hadn’t been turned off. And so, water went everywhere. Sighs.
By the time 9 p.m. rolled around, everyone was exhausted, hungry and annoyed, so I popped open a bottle of wine to get the party started.
Half a bottle and a beer later, I was headed to Draught and then Thomas Street Tavern where I was meeting up with the P.I.C.
There are blurs of buying a round of Tic-Tac shots, running to the bathroom to take pics of chalkboard art and then, next thing I know, I’m letting loose in my car on the side of the road while the boyfriend and his roommate are changing out a flat tire.
Are you kidding me?! Spending the majority of the night hugging the toilet thinking I was literally going to die was just icing on the cake.
The next morning, I woke up on top of the sheets at the foot of the bed, scared and confused. And to top it off? It’s 10 a.m. and I still have to get rid of the rest of the stuff in my apartment and clean it.
Thank goodness the boyfriend and his cousin were able to handle the majority of the heavy lifting. Me? I ended up having to make a palette on the floor of my old apartment to sleep on between vom sessions before my mom arrived to help me clean.
So, while everyone else was celebrating yet another Panthers win, I was laying on a cold, hard floor filled with shame and regret. #dabonthat
It was officially the worst moving weekend, followed by the worst hangover of the year — and it’s still January.
Somehow, we managed to get everything out and cleaned within two hours, right before my apartment complex was closing.
It wasn’t until 8 p.m. on Sunday that I was able to function.
I grabbed a Jr. Whopper from Burger King and headed to the Epicentre for a little post-game fun. And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t go out to engage in liquid spirits.
After the Saturday and morning I had, the last thing I was thinking about was Red Bull or vodka.
Needless to say, my New Year’s resolution of semi-sobriety is already out the window and we are only in week three. Have you already had your worst hangover this year? I’d love to hear how it compares to mine.
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