Hey Kids,
Sitting at work trying not to eat the big bowl of chocolates I keep on my desk to entice people to come visit.
My company issued Crapberry sits on my desk slowing dieing of old age or incompetence (which means the same thing in the tech world). It's lifeblood of ones and zeros oozes from its data port and a fail light blinks red, perhaps electronic for help-help-i'm-a-useless-piece-of-crap-please-replace-me-with-newer-technology. Godspeed little piece of crap...godspeed.

Ipod playing as I watch traffic steadily grow thicker on the 134 below. Thank god I'm not one of those poor commuting slobs.

Don't get me wrong. I have plenty to do. I just have no interest in doing it.

Colleague sent me a link to her blog. In it I found something interesting...ahhh a project!

1. Go to Wikipedia
2. In the Search box, type your birth month and day (but not year).
3. List some events that happened on your birthday.
4. List two important birthdays and one interesting death.
5. List any holidays
6. Post it.

Below is the post for April 2 (i left the links in...incase you were curious)

Events that Happened on my birthday...

In the year 69 - Galba, governor of Hispania, names himself legatus senatus populique Romani, breaking the line of Roman emperors begun with Julius Caesar and Augustus.
(don't you think that is interesting?)

1513 - Juan Ponce de Leon sets foot on Florida becoming the first known European to do so.

1902 - "Electric Theatre", the first full-time movie theater in the United States, opens in Los Angeles, California.

1917 - World War I: U.S. President Woodrow Wilson asks the U.S. Congress for a declaration of war on Germany.

1917 - The first woman ever elected to the U.S. Congress, Jeannette Rankin, takes her seat as a representative from Montana.

1982 - Falklands War: 1982 invasion of the Falkland Islands by Argentina. The disputed islands are later retaken by the United Kingdom.

Birthdays...

1867 - Eugen Sandow, German bodybuilder and circus performer (d. 1925)

1914 - Sir Alec Guinness, English actor (d. 2000)

1938 - Whirlaway, American racehorse, 1941 Triple Crown Winner (d. 1953)

1939 - Marvin Gaye, American singer (d. 1984)

1941 - Dr. Demento, American radio personality

1964 - Patrick Roycroft, Twat (HA! I don't know who that is it was just in the Wikipedia list...it is funny)

Deaths....

1502 - Prince Arthur Tudor, son of Henry VII of England (b. 1486)

1872 - Samuel Morse, American inventor (b. 1791)

2000 - Tommaso Buscetta, Italian gangster (b. 1928)

2005 - Pope John Paul II (b. 1920)

It is obvious that I have lost interest in the moving story 
I’m trying to keep up with it…but it was so long ago and quite frankly…I want to forget most of it. The nice part (or I should say troubling part) of the story is just about everyone I talk to says they have had a similar experience. Which is exactly why I blog such things; To get out into the public my own story…to hopefully strike an empathetic cord if not start a conversation of sympathy.
The whole blogging thing has really helped me to feel less secluded and alone. Now when I talk to people I haven’t spoke to in ages…I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’ve told them a particular story…we can just jump right in as if we hadn’t been apart at all. Enough about my advertisement for blog (its big its heavy its wood….a slight bastardization for you Ren and Stimpy fans)
Let me finish the moving story with the really funny bit.
OK, so I think I’ve impressed upon you the exact level of Alex’s prick-itude.
From telling me ‘You don’t need that…don’t pack it’ to being a box-nazi, to the non-committal ‘7-21 days for delivery of goods ma’am’
So I get a call from Alex on Wednesday (when they just packed me up on Monday)
“I want to deliver your stuff to you today”
?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WTF!?
So I tell him that I am not even in California yet. Surprisingly enough…this pissed him off.
He started ranting unintelligibly about where was I…he needs to deliver the stuff as he has to be on the road on Thrusday. Yatta yatta ad nauseam.
This time I was so completely fed up with his attitude that I yelled back.
‘Look Alex, You told me 7-21 days. I’m doing the fucking best I can (thought the F bomb would give me some sort of street cred) No body fucking called me to tell me when you were even coming to pack me up. I made an executive decision based off the shitty information your fucking company didn’t give me. You may not yell at me for ….blah blah blah .
This quieted him down just a bit.
“Look Meghan…I am being sent on a job on Thursday, the only day I have to deliver your stuff is Wednesday”
I told him the truth…that the former tenant isn’t even moved out of the apartment yet and I don’t know what else I can tell him.
This set him off again.
‘What do you want me to do Alex?’
‘I just want to deliver your stuff to you’
on and on this went for like 10 minutes. I want to deliver your stuff to you but I can only deliver it on Wednesday …
You can’t deliver the stuff on Wednesday…I want to…you can’t blah blah.
I didn’t think much about it as I just wanted off the phone with him.

He called me back and told me that some guy by the name of Victor would deliver my stuff on Friday and something about his girlfriend in Utah…how she wants him to come out there. I’m sure he told me more…but I couldn’t, nor did I want to, understand.

I showed up for my ‘first’ day of work on Thursday (yeah that was stupid)
My boss was out on medical leave, so I left early to go buy a bed.

Friday was the day I was to get my stuff delivered. Thank GOD! They were supposed to be there at noon. At 1pm I called Victor. At least I could understand him a little better.
No, sorry I can’t make it…what ever what ever, we will be there at 5 (or something)
More waiting. (nice of you to call me and let me know…jack ass)

When they finally arrived, I forked over all the cash I had (damn that hurt) and the strange foreign men started to haul my shit in.

At the end of the delivery process Victor strikes up a conversation with me.
‘Are you a doctor?’
‘No.’
‘You look like you are a doctor.’
‘OK’

Then it was time to sign the final paper work.
‘So, was your moving experience good…any problems with the guys who packed you…did you like them…were they nice?’
Seeing my chance to get my revenge I thought about all the things I could say about the evil mover and his mute puppet servant, but something in me told me to just mind the karmatic bank account and suck it up. Things could have been WAY worse (and have been for others as many like to point out to me)
‘They were ok, I’m sure it was a long day for them as well’ (didn’t sell them out but didn’t give them a glowing review either)
Victor asked me a few more times if I liked the movers who packed me. I shrugged it off with a kind of agreeable grunt.

He gave me some more papers to sign and as I leaned down to sign them, I noticed he took cell phone out. I also noticed that he didn’t put it up to his ear rather he held it out in front of himself.
Knowing full well what he was intending, I allowed my hair to hang in my face as I signed the paper. I heard the click of his camera phone. Desperate to get these people out of my ‘house’ I played it off like I didn’t hear it.
Victor then decided to own up to the deed at least admit that he took a picture.
In his accent (middle eastern I believe)
‘You look like one of my drivers…Jean’
‘Oh, nice, you have a woman driver?’
‘No no, a man driver.’
Not the most flattering thing a woman can hear in her life time.
‘You’re telling me I look like one of your male furniture movers?!’
‘Oh yes, very pretty man, Gene gets all the women…very pretty man.’
‘Thanks.’ There was no gratitude in my tone.
‘Can I get a picture of you to send to Gene?’
What possessed me to say ‘sure’ I’ll never know. I was tired and didn’t feel like fighting the issue. I’m suspicious that the picture went to Alex.
‘Smile big like Gene’
??? Creepy!
With my picture taken…they were gone! Finally the horrible horrible movers were out of my life for ever. (and there was much rejoicing)

Saturday comes…I’m happily unpacking when my phone rings. I see that it is mover Alex.
‘Hello Alex.’
“Hello Meghan…what are you doing?’
‘Unpacking.’
‘Do you want some help?’
‘No.’
Can you believe it? He called me to ask me if he could come over! What IS it with me and foreign guys???!!! Super Creepy.
The following Thursday as I am getting gas near my appt, when I hear a
‘Hey!’
I assume it isn’t for me and I ignore it. 5 minutes later my phone rings. It is mover Alex. I don’t answer. It is then that I remember that there were some foreign looking men at the gas station. It was probably Alex that said ‘hey’ He called again 2 minutes later, I ignored it again. He didn’t leave a message. Thank god I’ve never heard from him again. I keep his number programmed into my phone incase he ever calls again…I will know it is him Uber creepy.

Remember the friend who decided she and she alone needed to make sure I had my eyes open about LA? I think I called her ‘Wednesday’s Friend’
Anyway, she called me on Friday and invited me out to Hollywood to see a former 80’s hair band. Her then new boyfriend is the new bass player in this band. (sorry…I really shouldn’t talk about it openly…not that there are ANY real stories here…and not that I am trying to be mysterious…I just don’t think it is kosher to drop names)
ANYWAY. She is dating the new bass player for this 80’s hair band who is starting to tour again. She didn’t want to go alone so she said she would buy my ticket and even drive up from Santa Monica, pick me up and take me to Hollywood. (she drives a convertible Mercedes…I was game )
So after my horrible moving day, I fixed myself up as best I could with out a shower and go to Hollywood to see aging rock stars on Hollywood and Vine. It was good to see my friend again. We fell back into old times as easy as you please. Can’t stay mad at her for long.

We were sitting around talking when who should appear…but CeeCee Deville (anyone? He is (was?)the lead singer of Poison)
Little blond guy…5 foot nuttin’ hair, high and mighty but short, with a modern twist.
My first (and only so far) star sighting….CeeCee Deville. I’m in the big time now kids 

Monday the 23rd

I don’t know why or where this feeling came from, but there is something about waking up while it is still dark. I used to love it. It meant that we were packing up the car and going on a fun vacation. I used to love the feeling that I was the only one awake and active. Somewhere in my travels, waking up in the dark became to mean catching a flight for a job. A job I didn’t want to do (Harris days) Its not a fear of flying, maybe a fear of schedules. Maybe it was a sense of loneliness as I was always the one leaving, never staying.
So when I woke up alone on Kristy’s couch, even though I knew I was on my way home, I felt anything but comforted. I skulked around like a thief, careful of any noise I made, off I went into the solitude of darkness on my way the Burbank Airport. As I drove, I kept ticking off things I still needed to do, contact the property manager, return the cable, pick up my dry cleaning, should I get the carpet cleaned, I don’t want to leave my house, I haven’t even seen the new apartment, my new apartment will be nothing like my house…I psyched myself deep into the heart of sickness. Completely nervous and unsure of my decisions, I arrive at the Burbank airport almost completely unaware of what was really going on. In a fog of check lists and responsibilities I walked…zombified, aware only of what had to be done and that there was a time schedule to keep. Thank god for that really, I think if I didn’t have a rigid time schedule to keep, I would have been buried alive (kinda like Bill Pullmat in Serpent and the Rainbow “Don’t burry me…I’m not dead) .
Once on the plane, I took a deep breath. That was all it took, I started to cry; A brief repose where I allowed emotion to leak out…literally (ha)
I remember a lady behind me chatting and chatting and chatting with the man next to her.
She kept on about being “…so hungry”. I looked at the bowl of fruit I had bought in the airport for my own breakfast…breakfast that stress wouldn’t allow me to eat. I turned around and offered her my still sealed fruit bowl. She looked at me like I had leprosy.
I could hear the needle side from its groove on the record…que the crickets. She spoke to me like I was a simpleton. “aww aren’t you sweet, I’ll get something in Denver”
I turned away from them and back into my own seclusion, my emotional child hurt on a whole new level. The long silence behind me and her laugh told me they were making fun of my nice gesture. (sigh) ungrateful bitch. Starve.
I took this scene and made all kinds of other plays out of it. Is this what California people were like? Insensitive chatters who mock random acts of kindness? I was already missing Colorado.

I landed at DIA and waited for my Mother and Tom to pick me up.
While I waited for them, I got a call from the 818 area code (Burbank)
The caller was foreign with a very thick accent. With all the noise of the passenger pick up area there was no earthly way I could understand him who ever HE was.
I remembered leaving a message to see an apartment on an answering machine of a foreign sounding man named Alex. I assumed it was him.
“No thank you, I’ve already found an apartment” and I hung up without ever really understanding what he was saying to me.
5 minutes later this Alex person called again.
I told him that I can’t understand him and that I’ve already found an apartment. I hung up again.
My parents arrive, I get in the car and smell the smell I’ve always associated with Boulder and freedom, comfort, being my own person and having different thoughts other than the main stream ones thought in Omaha, my mother and home. (that’s a lot of memories for one smell)
It was the smell of the Crystal Dragon (anyone who has visited or at least received gifts from the Dragon know this smell) basically the smell of all different kinds of incense, but mainly Nag Champa.
I felt safe and warm and loved. I sat in the back seat and took a greedy whiff of safe and warm. Ahhhhh serenity.
I took the fruit out of my backpack and offered it to mom and Tom. They happily ate it with me. 

My phone rang again (a different 818 number) this time it was a woman I could understand.
‘Ma’am, we have been desperately trying to get a hold of you since yesterday. We were trying to get to your house on Sunday but you didn’t answer. The movers will be at your house in half an hour.”
Serenity lost.
I was in Denver on my way to Colorado Springs with my mother driving. No way no how was I going to make that deadline.
It was then that I remembered that the movers were supposed to call me on Friday to tell me when they would show up. All I knew was that I had planned on the week of the 23rd with the moving broker. He had told me the movers would call with a time on Friday. They never did. I felt a touch of rainman coming on….’OHHHHHH 30 minutes to movers…..OHHHHHHHHHHHHH’
I relied on the movers to tell me when they would should up and give me more than a half an hours notice.
Serenity shattered
‘OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH’
I called a friend and arranged to have her wait at the house to let the movers in. She was a little weirded out by it…but she agreed to at least let them in and get then started packing.
My parents were stunned at the unprofessional-ness of these movers. I couldn’t think about it and tried to focus on the task at hand.
’25 minutes to movers. OOHHHHH’
About that time Alex called again. This time I worked out that he was the mover. He told me
“I at you house at 2 hour” (I am SO not exaggerating the accent).
Now you know me…I love strange new accents, I love mimicking and mastering them. I pride myself in being able to understand anyone after a few words. I had to work hard with this one.
‘What?’ I said
‘I AT YOU HOUSE AT TWO HOUR’ not any clearer, just louder and angrier.
At the time, I felt bad for not being able to understand him, in hind site…this was foreshadowing at its most elementary. That ratfuckerjackasssonofabitch mover. But I digress.
The whole time frame was fine for me, so what ever really.
I sat back in moms car and madegood my preempted ‘warm and safe’ (little business jargon for those in the know)
When we got to my beautiful, loyal, loving home in the Springs, Mom, Tom and I started packing. Luckily I had some boxes in my basement from when I moved just over a year ago (17 months). I set my parents to task and I took a shower. I then spent the better part of 2 hours trying to direct my foreign movers to my house. I honestly could not understand him. I tried very hard to understand and I swear, he tried to make it difficult for me. As if he knew me and decided before even knowing me that I was not deserving of his pathetic consideration. (prickles wonder) The movers finally show up at around 4p. Alex and Neal. Alex the Russian who doesn’t speak English and Neal the American who doesn’t speak. They drove two big ass trucks into my little cul de sac. Thank god there was a place to park the second just across the street.
Alex was clearly in charge. He told Neal to get right to work packing.
Thus began my day of hell. I barely remember what transpired that day
A friend of mine came over to help with the packing (even though I paid an extra $500 to have the movers pack) (slimeygoodfornothingsociopaths)
I was running up and down the stairs trying to pack my house…running to them when ever they bellowed out my name. Watching them as these indifferent strangers pawed at my possessions. Supervised as they uncaringly dismantled all the years of careful spending and saving. I witnessed as what had come to define my actual adulthood was carelessly shoved into an innocuous brown box with smelly yellow tape wound willy nilly around it. This was just about all I could stand.
‘When will you be delivering the stuff to Burbank I heard my mom ask’
’10-21 Days ma’am’ came the reply
’10-21 days???!!!! How can that be an answer?” Said my mom
’10-21 days.’ Was their only response.
I tried not to think about it.
In order to make myself feel a little better, I tried to have casual light hearted conversations with the…shall we say ‘salt of the eath-ers’
I tried to explain all I had been through and how I just landed not 2 hours ago, how I had to be to work in Burbank on Thursday. I told them this not as a poor me story, but maybe for then to say…damn…that sucks, I feel for you. I didn’t expect anything in return except for maybe a bit of a ‘brothers in arms’ kind of feeling.
It did get them talking, but it was all about them and how hard their life is and how much they hate their jobs and how much they have to be on the road (yeah…complaining up the wrong tree on that one jack ass)
’Maybe you should get a different job if this one is so bad.’ I said
‘No, said Alex…his English suddenly understandable
‘This job pays well. I like doing this…boy is it hard, don’t you feel sorry for me….by the way, I have this girl friend in Utah, she is crazy. Here is a picture of my son. Isn’t he cute?’
Meanwhile….
Mom and my friend were looking for more wardrobe boxes. Neal, the underling mute, said that he didn’t have any more wardrobe boxes so just uses those over there.
Mom and friend were happily packing up my clothes when Alex screams for me from down stairs
“MEGHAN!!!”
I obienently go down stairs and ask what I could do for Alex.
“I need Deesh Pak boixes, I hat moure deesh pak boixes” (you’ll just have to assume a REALLY thick Russian accent here…
and oh yes, his accent is back on.
“Those women are upstairs using my dish pack boxes to pack clothes.”
“You have no other boxes?” I ask
“Yes we have more boxes but I need dish pack boxes so your dishes don’t break You tell them they must unpack that box and give it to me. I need dish pack boxes.”
I told him that we don’t know from dish pack boxes and how should anyone else know one box from the other. It was then that he took me out side where the box staging area was and pointed out the different types of boxes (how lovely…a learning opportunity)

When I told my mother that she needed to unpack that box and give it to Alex, she got twice as upset as Alex was.
“Meghan, that guy told me I could use it (Neal) I am NOT unpacking this box.”
By this time Alex was in my mothers face telling her she must unpack the box. You can imagine how little my mother appreciated this. All I wanted was this damn experience over. Alex wasn’t backing down and my mother suresthehell wasn’t backing down, so I chose the path of least resistance and yelled at my mother to just fucking unpack the goddamnbox. You can imagine how well that one went over. As I unpacked the dish box, mom was in the corner livid. She kept on about how ‘HE TOLD ME I COULD’ I gave the box to Alex, to his credit he didn’t gloat and that was a good thing.
Mom later told me that at that point, she turned off. Mom and Tom pretty much left the packing to the jack asses who’s job it was to pack my house. Sorry mom, you only hurt the ones you love. The movers actually were AWFUL. Even Tom, the eternal pacifist suggested telling the movers to just stop what they are doing and leave. He hated them and wanted them away from him.
About this time, I got a call from a friend asking how the move was going. It was something about a break from the insanity, a kind voice on the line asking about me that just started the water works. I sobbed almost uncontrollably for a good 10 minutes. Kind of feel bad for the friend on the phone. Nothing they could do but listen to me sob. This was a lot to take. These movers were the most insensitive, jackass buffoon clod head jerkoffs ever and I wanted nothing more to do with them. They had seen me crying and later asked me in their most sensitive monosyllabic grunts “what is up with the crying?” I tried to explain to them what all I had been through with the 1500 miles away planning of the move, the just getting to the Springs on Thursday, the driving and the arriving that day (phew)
My reply??????!!!!!!…they shrugged,
“Life is hard, I have to drive to Wyoming tomorrow and do this all over again…I am on the road all the time…I don’t get paid shit...my girlfriend is crazy, wanna see a picture of my kid?”
So once again I am nothing, it is all about them and their problems even though I am paying a hefty price for their ‘services’ all they did was complain about how hard it was for them. (jackmotherfuckingnobrainnitwitstupidasses)
My friend, thinking she might get a little more reasonable answer, asks the movers again…
‘When do you think you will be delivering the stuff to Burbank?’
’10-21 days ma’am’ was their dogmatic reply.
‘It’s at most a 17 hour drive…how can you say 10-21 days?’
‘We don’t know where else we have to stop. We have to go to Wyoming tomorrow. 10-21 days ma’am’
My friend shook her head.
The original plan was for mom, Tom and I to spend the night at my house on Monday night (as the movers weren’t supposed to be there until Tuesday….I thought)
Mom comes up to me and says
“Tom and I are going to look for a motel to stay at tonight”
All I heard was “…we aren’t staying the night here with you…we are leaving”
I looked around at what was once my pride and joy, my home, my first responsible adult thing I had done…it resembled the Who house after the Grinch had had his way with it. Reminince of happy home owning and careful picture hanging, warm cozy nights in front of the fire, gone and in its place a tattered blank box with bits of string and box tape scattered about in a frat house sort of way.
Once again, I sobbed uncontrollably
“Please…please don’t leave me here.” (god, just retelling this story makes me mist up)
I had no pride, I pleaded like an innocent man who had just been given the death sentence. Even the movers stopped their dismembering of my house to see the spectacle.
Mom assured me that the plan included me too. We needed a nice place to stay and calm down.
They left to procure sleeping arrangements and the movers stopped for a pizza break.
My friend tried to make me lay down for a nap. Yeah right. I couldn’t sleep. It was getting late and the packing wasn’t finished. I wanted these bastards out of my house.
Apparently at this time my friend had a little sit down with the movers.
They asked her what was up with all my hysterics, so she sat them down and told them my story. She also told them that we were helping them with their job and to lay off being complete jack asses. (in so many words)
My friend assured me they were done being fuck heads. I have no idea what she really said to them, but for the most part, they were actually a little nicer…Alex’s English got better after that too (jackass)
But it wasn’t until I slipped the lead wanker a bill ‘for taking care of my stuff’ that they really became tolerable. (slimy cockroaches)
Mom had to tell me this story later…I had completely forgotten about it.
Alex said he was done packing the kitchen. I looked around and saw that my toaster oven was still not packed. I pointed to it and said ‘what about the toaster oven?’
“Oh you don’t need that” said Alex the Jack-ass-in-chief
I looked at him with disbelief.
“Pack my toaster oven” I said
You may think that he was kidding…he actually wasn’t kidding. If he didn’t want to pack it, he told me I didn’t need it.
He told me not to pack my jackets.
‘You won’t need them in California’
I told him that I had been there before and yes, it gets chilly at night, especially in the winter months. He just shrugged and continued packing.
This is above and beyond all the things they said I couldn’t take,
“No liquids Ma’am….it will leak”
Neal had originally told this rule to me as I was packing my perfume.
“No liquids ma’am, they will leak.”
I looked at him blankly.
“You mean to tell me I can’t pack my perfume? Hundreds of dollars of perfume…and you won’t let me bring it?”
“It will leak.” is all he said.
“Fuck you.” is all I said in reply. I know how to pack. (and by the way…not a single bottle of perfume leaked)

There was a bit of a down time and Alex’s cell phone began to ring.
“Shouldn’t you answer your phone, it might be work.”
“No, it is my girlfriend.” Said Alex, who’s English had become intelligible yet again.
“She wants me to move to Utah….She drives me crazy…I need to break up with her you wanna see the pic of my son…blah blah blah”
I was listening simply to get on his good side so all my stuff would arrive in one piece and before 10 -21 days.
“Yeah, women hu?!...You gonna pack up those vases above the refrigerator?”

Mom and Tom came back from the hotel hunt pleased and with a 12 pack of Coors. Now you know me, I’m not a Coors woman but I gratefully gulped down 3 or 4 in 10 minutes. At this point we were all so fucking sick to shit of these piss head ass hole bipolar movers, we sat in the living room drinking beer and laughing as we watched them finish packing and load the moving truck. I laughed for the first time in weeks.
Finally, what seemed like would never happen…those horrible horrible men drove away.
“See you in 10-21 days” I thought I would never see my possessions in one piece again. This chapter was finished and over.
I packed up my cat, got in the back of mom’s car and let them drive me to the hotel.
It was at that time that I realized that I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. I didn’t think I could eat (stomach was full of stress) but there is something about Taco Bell that always works. 
With me tucked cozy into a standard but clean warm room, my cat exploring the new room she was in, the cartoon network on the tele and 6 beers and a grilled stuffed burrito in me, I drifted off into a somewhat uneasy slumber. I kept thinking about my lap top that I forced myself not to bring, I still had so much work to do.

Saturday the 21st.

While the bed and room service was wonderful, I can't say that I woke up refreshed. I would have to be totally relaxed for that to happen. I had a mission and that mission was not yet complete, no time for relaxin’, I had some more road to be on again.
As I think back on this morning (a full three weeks later) I honestly don't know if I truly knew where I was and what I was up to. I think I had to hide the main purpose of my trip from my deep deep psyche. My ID. You know how often I travel, I kept my mind in travel mode; mainly because I had to shut off the part of my brain that knew damn good and well what I was up to. I think had I really told myself what was up…I wouldn’t even be telling this story. I would still be working for the old company mildly unhappy and living in my house in Colorado. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.
While waiting for Betty to be brought up from valet a rather buff looking security guard starts a conversation with me. I told him my story about moving to Burbank and how I just got in last night from Colorado. He seemed impressed of my driving prowess. He told me he went to college in Utah and played football there. Brigham Young? I asked. Southern Utah state or something like that. Looking at his dark chocolate skin I surmised that he was neither Morman nor born in Utah. (Sometimes I am very un PC that way. I don't mean anything by it. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em) He laughed and said he was born in the south. He proceeded to tell me stories about being a body guard for this famous person and that famous person (blah blah) and if I were ever in sin city again, to look him up. So I’ve got that going for me 
Back on the road, I continued the saga of Bilbo Baggins and that pesky ring of his. (here is were I suggest books on CD for all my friends who find themselves with a long road trip in front of them. It really helped pass the time) I filled up with gas and diet coke. I still had some chocolate donuts from the morning before so I was good for breakfast.

It didn’t take too long for me to arrive in Burbank. I had a few places I wanted to check out, so I started the process of calling. One place I called seemed to be closed on the weekends…wha???!! I called and left a confused sounding message...”you’re closed on the weekends????????” Hopefully they would hear this on Monday and be ashamed of missing out of having me for a tenant. (ha)
The other two places on my list had already been rented. Another wasn’t going to be able to show the apt until Sunday. This was not looking good for Meghan. I did have one place to look at in Glendale just off the 5.
I pulled into the driveway. When I got out of the car I had the strange sense that I was still moving. It took me a few moments to get my sea legs (as it were) Is that normal?
Anyway, the front looked ok. I walked around back to see my potential new home.
Picture a Motel 6. You know how it can be two stories, with the iron railing around the top balconies…doors on the outside. I felt my heart drop. I wanted to turn right around, but I didn’t just drive 1300 miles to just turn around. Besides, maybe it was cool on the inside.
While it was big…it was not cool. Neither in the temperature nor Fonzy sense. I looked out the window of the bed room and instead of seeing Garden of the Gods or Pikes peak…I saw a gas station. I nearly cried. I had no other apartments I could see and I was not about to live here. I had 24 hours to find a place and not a clue how to go about finding one. I walked out defeated but not yet out. Back in Betty I tried to get a game plan. I had no where to go. If I could get back on line, I could look for more places. I went to the only place I knew…downtown Burbank.
To my surprise there were banners everywhere saying that downtown Burbank was wireless. Success! I parked my filthy bug (from all the snow she encountered in Vail Pass only a day ago) unearthed my backpack from the mess of boxes in the back and went in search of a satisfactory place to lunch. I wasn’t hungry but figured a diet coke and three little chocolate donuts 5 hours earlier weren’t quite gonna do it. I found my spot, ordered my lunch and got on line. There were several wireless networks to choose from, but not a single one worked. I would eventually get kicked out after 5 minutes. My good friend panic pulled up a chair beside me, ordered a drink and asked how my day was going. (UG) I saw my very deliberate time line slip away. In hind site it all seems so silly, my histrionics. Mind you I have been alone with myself for 3 weeks now. I needed a calm head and I wasn’t going to get one by looking in the mirror.
I called my future colleague for help. She said she would be willing to help me look for places and gave me her cell number. Sucker!!!!
She told me of a town house that was in the highest part of my comfort range price wise. I called that number, it was rented. I called the colleague back, she then told me to just drive around and look for places in a particular neighborhood. So, that is exactly what I did. I called a few places and left messages. Does no one in this city work on the weekends???!!!!
Finally ONE guy answers his phone. We have a few available for you to look at he says.
I went to the first one. It was ok, nothing special, looked a lot like the standard apartments that all my loser friends got when they first got out of high school…you know the ones, plain box with boxes for rooms and a box for a bathroom and a rectangle for a kitchen, they thought they were cool…but I knew it was just sheep lodging. I always knew I was better than sheep cages. The second one…it was wonderful!!!!! Different floor plan, boxes yes, but with built in cabinets and low and behold….when I looked out the window…a view of a mountain (ok…a foot hill but that was an easier stretch than the gas station would have been)
I called the land lord and said OH MY GOD I”LL TAKE IT!!!! He was pleased. Just then someone came through the door. It was a maintenance man. This made my land lord pause.
Are you in apt 101?
No, I’m in 201.
Oh, you’re in the wrong apt.
Sadly I left the wrong apt and went to the right apt.
The right apartment was still the wrong apt (for me at least).
Nothing special about it again. What is more, the stairway to my place was enclosed (that is to say the building walls were right there. I couldn’t even stretch my arms out wide, I’m no Michael Jordan(remember that poster of his wingspan?) and I saw the implications. I asked if people had issues moving stuff, he said no, but I was dubious. I declined.
A third apartment was available but the tenant was still there so I couldn’t look at it but it was the identical twin to the first one I say (the box upon box upon rectangle)
By this time ‘Get-apartment’ was so engrained in my head that when the land lord suggested I put some money down to secure the apartment, I just did it. Fine. It is done.
I want that task done as I was done. The movers will be in Colorado on Tuesday and I need to tell them where to drop off. So I said I would take the one with the tenant still in it. That one was on the upper floor…I just didn’t want anyone living above me. I signed the papers with out really seeing it. Two beds, two baths underground parking and a dishwasher. Washer and dryer in the complex. It was not my dream place by any means, in fact…was it not a sheep cage? Do I have to say again how desperate I felt? I have to say, signing the papers and knowing that I had a place to dump my stuff, took a lot off my shoulders.
With that windmill successfully battled, I drove to BJ’s (a brew pub for those of you with dirty minds) and sat in the parking lot for a bit of time stewing on what I had just done, the implications of taking a place so soon and whether or not I should go into the pub.
I wasn’t debating if I were hungry or if I actually needed the beer I kept telling myself I needed but because I didn’t feel like I belonged there. I felt so sore-thumbey. Surely everyone knew I was an outsider even though I am leaser of a lovely sheep cage. California was never my happy place, what the hell am I doing? I belong in Colorado. I feel a connection there. Then I got mad at myself for letting a state and a perceived state of mind tell me I wasn’t good enough and who’s to say I won’t connect here. Plus, you never know until you try McGuinness. Sounds like psyc 101 but all I had to do was tell myself I couldn’t do it. Against my better judgment, I dragged myself into the pub, sat at the bar and ordered a beer. That first beer…Mother’s milk!
Nearly in tears, I called my friend who lives in Santa Monica and asked her how soon could I get to her place. I need a friendly home base (for at least 36 hours)
Thank god for her.
She has 18 month old twins of her own, and that weekend she had her husband’s kids from a prior marriage, a girl and a boy who are just wonderful…still in grade school…I’m not good with ages.
So Saturday night was nice as time was spent entertaining them and not my over stimulated project managing brain.

Sunday was simply hanging out at my friend’s house and playing with the kids. I remember at one point, the older kids were wanting to play and the younger kids were being fed. One of the babies wouldn’t sit in her high chair, she kept standing up. I was sitting right there trying to move money from one bank account to another, get all the required paperwork together, organize in my mind what was next and to prepare for the step after that. I was stressing about the move and the time frame of it all. The babies were screaming the older kids were not being bad but wanting attention. I felt bad for my friend because I was no help at all. I felt I should be helping her with this brood of hers but I could do nary a thing.
The babies were crying, the kids were ‘hey watch this’
I felt myself snap. Seriously I felt something go ‘twang…boi-yoing’ (insert cartoon sound effects here)
Luckily it was an internal snap and all I did was put my head in my hands. My friend saw this and said ‘it’s all too much for you isn’t it?’ I started to cry as politely as I could (without making a scene) It was too much.
I slept on their couch again that night (thank god I brought my pillows…some bit of home) I woke up at 4am to catch my 6am flight out of Burbank. I was on my way back home…for the last time.

Friday the 20th

I woke up warm and comfortable with the knowledge that I was in my own bed in my own house in my own city. It was cold outside and my own down comforter protected me from its ravages. My own pillows cradled my head in the perfect position. My own cat lay at the foot of my bed, curled in a content little ball. Cartoon Network showing on my own tv. The morning sun shone through my own sky lights to gently wake me. To say I was loath to leave would be an understatement. I lay in bed thinking that this would be the last time I would be in my room with my comforter and my pillows and my cat watching my tv in my own home in Colorado Springs. I love my home, I love Colorado too. I have to leave my beloved Colorado. My friends, my mother, my home
As much as I wanted and even needed to stay in bed, my body and mind would not allow it. My mind produced thoughts of me driving in the dark in the middle of nowhere with not enough time in Burbank to find a place crept into every calm corner of my mind and forced me out of my last Colorado slumber.

I hit the road around 9am. I took the ‘back way’ to highway 70 which was 24 all the way to Breckenridge where it meets up with 70. I have traveled HWY 24 countless times. Once again, I viewed every turn, every vista, every scenic outlook as the last time I would ever see it. I stopped on Wilkerson (I think that is what it is called) and took one last panoramic photo. I breathed in the 40 degree air as the wind shoved it up my nostrils. Ahhh the mountains. Next time I come for a visit, I will surely be plagued with bloody noses and altitude sickness. Sigh. I also took a distant notice of grey clouds in the general vicinity of Breckenridge. I paid it no real mind as there was fuck all I could do about weather. I had made my interstate bed. Now I had to lie in it. I hopped back into betty, oh so chilled for my nostalgic effort, not too long after that quaint reflection, the snow began to fly. It was also at this point, as I drove in single file up a twisty turny mountain road behind 5 mountain man SUV’s that I remembered my windshield washer fluid needed filling. We all know how painful it can be driving in the snow with out windshield washer fluid and this time was no exception, but as we all also know, if you stay behind a car for long enough, its back spray can help clean your windshield. And so, I made it through to Breckenridge where I spied happy hippie mountain people traipse joyfully in the falling snow. Some wearing thick jackets, some wearing cool hats that kept off the snow, most wearing boots all of which I witnessed with a heavy heart.
“I have a hat like that” I heard myself saying. “I’ll never need that hat again” sigh.
I finally found my way to I-70 West (after stopping at the gas station for a diet coke, some windshield fluid and a pee…no gas as of yet)
I was off to Cal-e-for-ni-ay….like it or not.

The snow got worse as I went. I had slight anxiety as I drove up to Vail pass. Why did I choose this route instead of turning left at Albuquerque? There was no turning back now, all I could do was suck it up and continue. For all the weather that was happening, I must say, it was beautiful!! I continued forward on my path, slipping and sliding in places but going ever forward until I reached the furthest west I had ever traveled in the state of Colorado. I took a note from Samwise Gamgee’s book. If I take one more step, it will be the furthest from home I have ever been. Well that wasn’t exactly true…Singapore was the furthest from home I have ever been…but you get my point I’m sure. Pretty much from that point, the snow slowed and the sun began to peak out more frequently. I had spotty phone reception and I called my mother and boyfriend when I could. I told my mother that I wanted to get as close to Las Vegas as I could. “Now Meghan,” said the voice of reason “don’t over do it. Just take your time and get there when you get there, Burbank isn’t going anywhere.” While my mother was right, I had no desire to stay on the road any longer than necessary. I promised her I wouldn’t over do it, hung up and put the pedal to the metal. I remember crossing into Utah and not being too impressed. There was a sign that said 108 miles until the next gas stop. Quarter tank. I was good! I can’t remember where I filled up at, but it was somewhere before the point where 70 meets up with I-15 in Utah. Fill up betty with gas and Meghan with Burger King, a call to mom and my boyfriend and I was on my way. I turn on ‘The Hobbit’ book on CD that Joanne got for me and there was no stopping me. That CD was fantastic. I still haven’t listened to all of it. Around St. George the bugs were getting thick on the windshield. Yes I had washer fluid, but as we all know, bug carcass is washer fluid proof. Out of sheer necessity, I stop outside of Las Vegas for a windshield cleaning. I remember getting out of the car, standing up and feeling like I have been at sea for 7 years. I couldn’t stand still. I had to keep moving, (anyone remember that X-Files episode where that man had to keep moving otherwise his head (or his wife’s head) would explode? That is what I felt like) Back in Betty. Las Vegas was on the horizon. I arrived in Las Vegas at 8pm Vegas time, 9pm Colorado time. 12 hours. Not to damn shabby if I do say so myself. Let me google that distance
813 mi (about 13 hours 48 mins)
I think I did pretty good especially since Vail pass was closed due to weather not 4 hours after I drove through it.
I pull into Vegas just as the Giant Eagles plucked Bilbo, Gandalf and the troop of Dwarves from the snapping, drooling jaws of the wolves. I had no idea where I was going, nor did I really care. I chose an exit and drove to the nearest decent looking hotel (a Hilton). The valet was dubious that I would get a room. I got a room, I’m not going to tell you how much I paid for the room. Let’s just say you can’t put a price on the feeling of security and really awesome room service.

Hello FOM (Friends of Meghan)

I sit here in the Holiday Inn Media Center in the heart of down town Burbank (at least I think I am in down town Burbank, it really just sounded good) anyway I am for sure in Burbank.
My cat is here with me, coming down from her kitty high, (I drugged her up for the flight here)
The moon, a perfect crescent stained orange by LA ozone, hangs just out side my window watching me drink my sedation beer. While I am completely and totally 100% exhausted, I find I can’t calm my mind enough at night to sleep properly. I also find that beer tends to help remedy that situation  Anyone else find that?

I have been here in this Holiday Inn many times before when working for Disney so this seems a little like home and it comforts me in some strange way.

I am going to try to recount the last 7 days to you. They have been the most, worst, pinnacle, utmost, …all the superlatives… of my life (I think) at least those that I can think of and haven’t blocked out.
If I never do this moving bull shit again, it will be too soon. At least the next time I move I hope to not do it alone. This relocation really sucked! Really really

Lets start on Thursday the 19th.
My client in New Jersey, being the nice guy he is, says to me on Wednesday ( I can’t believe it was only 7 days ago) “Just go home tomorrow” I knew the project was technically finished. I would have just been hanging around for the sake of making it look good if I stayed. To be honest I had been phoning it in (as my boyfriend likes to say) for the last week and was way more focused on my move than on training him. He knew it and just let me go. I gratefully thanked him and left New Jersey in my dust. To be fair N.J was actually lovely and my client a joy to work with.
So I wake up at 2am on Thursday morning in order to get to shower and get to Newark airport by 4, after being stalked by the hotel bar tender until 11pm. (he stole my room number from my bill and knocked on my door 10 minutes after I left the bar….eeewwwww). He actually called first. I remember I was on my cell phone when my hotel phone rang. I went to answer it but remembered no one had my room number except the creepy bar tender. I ignored the phone. Not 5 minutes later a knock on the door came. I was still on the phone and I know he heard me. He knocked one more time then finally left. What a creep.
Anyway, the plan was to catch the 6am Newark to Dallas flight, that would get me into the Springs around 10am. I had plans to drop off my car for its 40K check up and get my hair cut before attending a going away party at 5p. I had it all worked out with rides (since my car would be at the mechanic’s all day) and appointments. It was a perfect plan as my original flight got me in at 9:30pm
I had called the day before to just change the flight and pay the $100 change fee (much better than the uncertainty of stand-by) American told me that because I wanted to change the lay over city (from Chicago to Dallas) they would have to cancel my current reservation and re-book my ticket at a cost of $800. Unacceptable. I would just have to fly stand by.
So, after the bar stalker and a sleepless night, after a painful stress puke in the shower, (gross) after driving an hour on the New Jersey turnpike during that nether time where even the likes of Tony Saprano are sleeping, I optimistically stand in line to check into my flight. The lady behind the counter condescendingly guided me over to the self check in kiosk and proceeded to explain to me how to check in all by myself. I decided to ignore her belitteling schpeel as I had other things on my mind. Before she could finish I politely pointed out that I wanted to fly stand-by.
“oh”
That’s when I found out that they don’t let you even stand by for a flight to a city that is not on your original itinerary.
(a slight explination)
My Original flight was from Newark to Chicago, Chicago to the Springs. But since the flight to Chicago was at 4pm (getting me home at 9:30pm) I wanted to go from Newark to Dallas and Dallas to the Springs getting me home at 10am)
That’s a big neg-a-tory
Did anyone else know that? Seriously…in all my days of traveling (7 years worth) I have never come across this rule. Now maybe it is because I’ve never wanted to do this or maybe it is because of new regulations or maybe, just maybe others bent the rules for me and this be-oughch wasn’t gonna .
Well I’m sure you know what happened next…que the water works.
Now I wasn’t doing this for theatrics. I was honestly freaking out. There was no way in hell I was going to wait around until 4 bloody pm to catch the flight, plus, all my plans just went straight out the window.
Bad bad….all bad.
I begged her through teary eyes‘please don’t make me stay here until 4pm’
Through harsh words and eye rolling on her part and tears and snot on mine, she booked me on a Newark to Chicago, Chicago to Dallas and Dallas to the Springs flight that got me in at 4p. Not as good as 10a but not as bad as 9p. There went all my plans for Thursday (except for the going away party)
I landed in the Springs, got my luggage, threw it in Betty and drove straight to the going away party that started at 5p. The girls were great and had a beer waiting for me. I was so stressed, I couldn’t drink it. ME, Meghan McGuinness, I took two sips of my lovely home town brew. I think I had one piece of my appetizer. All I could think about was the drive to California the next day. I cried my apologies to the girls that I was so lame, I cried some more and went home to my cat, my bed and the Cartoon Network. That night I slept the best I had slept in 2 weeks.

Tuesday October 17, 2006

Today was much better. I created the blog last night. I think writing it all down and sharing it with everyone was just the cathartic mental enema I needed. I also swam for half an hour. Maybe I needed some exercise too. I can’t say that I slept like a baby, but I slept better than I have since I passed out at Linda and Nancy’s on Saturday. Did I tell you I got really drunk that night and that I really needed it?
I spent the majority of the day actually working (shock!) We (client and I) had to drive to Stamford for an automation meeting. Those of you who don’t know what an automation meeting entails, thank your lucky stars for your bliss. Those of you who do know what that is, know that my head as imploded but I am recovering nicely.

My client who, to his misfortune, asks me how I’ve been holding up (and therefore gets the daily updates) decided that ¾ of a day spent talking automation was enough for one in my delicate mental state. While I enjoy the not working and am grateful for the extra planning time, all it really amounts to is extra OCD time. I spent the time looking for places to see on Saturday (assuming I get there in one piece) and annoying my new boss with silly questions like '...when should I show up for work on Thursday?' and '...will I be able to go home for the holidays?'
She had to stop me at the holidays question. Perhaps I should actually clock in before I start thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I’m down in the hotel bar now, having a Smithwicks. Ahh the foamy goodness. Perhaps tonight I shall sleep the sleep of the moved and established.