After 2 strenuous days half-as*ing moving, the majority of my things have arrived in the new house. And by that I mean, they have been stacked in the dining room.
You see, while I was avoiding grown up life and still pretending I actually lived in the B*tch Cave, boyfriendface needed someone to pull some weight around the house. ie:pay rent. While I was out, one of boyfriendface’s little brother’s, twinface#1, lived in the house and is going to school in the area. We basically have become one big happy family of concert-going, learning our drinking limits far past the age where it is acceptable to fall down the stairs from intoxication, me babying twinface#1 and overall spoiling of the entire "Face" family. Twinface#1 does not move into his new digs until August 1, thus, cohabitation involves a +1. That would be me.
Since it would be incredibly wrong of me to just throw all of his stuff outside, Twinface#1 still occupies B*tchcave 2.0 (my office/guestroom). Thus, all of my stuff occupies the dining room. Mattress, clothes, 8 boxes of shoes, and countless boxes of things I say have “sentimental value” and boyfriendface says are crap.
After my first morning of for real living in the new house, I have concluded that getting ready for work with an extra pair of hands to zip your dresses and skirts is MUCH easier, instead of doing my rendition of the hokey pokey mixed with a seizure in attempts to look professional.
I also wonder how long it will be before I stop repacking my belongings after I use them...
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