a new page for the "gina's a moron" book

As usual, my intentions were good.

I am moving to Brooklyn tomorrow after seven beautiful years in Manhattan. I was late to the moving-on-August-1st-I-should-probably-reserve-a-Uhaul-in-advance party and have to procure my vehicle in the Bronx, the part above the northern tip of Manhattan that is very, very, very far away from where I am currently living and even further away from where I will soon be living. Typical dumb Gina move . . . I'm over it. The problem is that yesterday, in an uncharacteristic fit of productivity, I gave myself the false hope that I might actually go into this move prepared (barring trivial things like changing my address or, for that matter, knowing what my new address is, exactly.)

Last time I moved I got wasted the night before, slept through my alarm, woke up when the Uhaul folks called me, and made my poor and amazing ex-boyfriend watch me pack up the rest of my crap and do a move job on fast-forward, including sitting in my current building's entryway watching my stuff for an hour and a half while I sold my bed and broke at least twelve traffic laws trying to return the Uhaul on time. So this time around I decided to start early, and yesterday I packed up four giant duffel bags. Like starting an article sooner than two hours before it's due, this was a great feat. So when I woke up today, my mood was bolstered with the knowledge that I'd finish the job, have a relaxing evening, and be all rested and prepared to move in the morning.

But I woke up too early and couldn't get out of bed until Ellen brought me coffee, and then we decided to watch a little TV, and then a little TV turned into two episodes of Work Out, the first two and a half episodes of Project Runway, and an entire bag of Harvest Cheddar SunChips. There's just no fighting with the Bravo channel or Frito-Lay. And to my defense, I haven't been watching TV at all lately (pick your jaw up off the floor) and had not seen a lick of the new ProjRun season. I'd forgotten how empty my life was sans Heidi Klum.

Anyway, now here I am, 1:25 a.m., home from work and exhausted and a little buzzed, and I've got myself a 24-ounce PBR (I am moving to Williamsburg, afterall) to keep me company. And now it's time to wash dishes so that I can pack them and unload the bookshelf and find a container for all my goddamn hangers and other fun things, so that I can move on no sleep and then work eight full workdays in six days, starting Tuesday.

(I'm totally making the "world's smallest violin" motion to myself right now, so you can put your hand down.)