how to move into a new apartment like a complete fucking moron

After a good two weeks of double-shifts, unwanted phone calls, awful headaches and panic-induced nausea, I am back to feeling like any other fun-loving, irresponsible borderline alcholic. Praise Jesus. Moving into my new apartment turned out to be a debacle of grand proportions. The problem wasn't so much that I got exceedingly wasted the night before the big move and woke up with an angry call from the U-haul man at 8:40 a.m. with quite possibly the worst headache I've ever had and needed to haul all my shit up five flights of stairs and deliver my old bed in a very limited time period with the help of only one boy I used to sleep with. That was almost sort of fun except for the headache part, and you haven't lived until you've barreled up 10th Avenue behind the wheel of a busted up U-haul truck trying to avoid the $150 late return fee. The problem was that I didn't really bother to inform my landlord or my super that I was moving and subletting until the new tennant was all moved in. My super had told me several times that the new landlord was a notorious rich and ruthless bastard. Leave it to me to find out for myself. As I was basking in post-move glory in my new room, the phone rang and even though I didn't recognize the number, I answered. It was my landlord requesting my and my subletter's presence at his office the following day, stating that we had a problem. The words "we have a problem" comprised a good 80% of our conversation, with the other 20% involving words like "illegal" and "court." A little finesse and $1025 later, my subletter moved to her friend's place in Brooklyn and I applied for a credit extension and handed in my keys, and I imagine the evil landlord is sitting back in his enormous leather chair cackling with glee that he can now charge $2000 for a 12 x 12 foot studio. Now I live near my friends, can walk to work, and have roommates whose only rule is "buy more beer if you drink the last one." I think it was all worth it.