Ulcer

My head is going to explode.

Readers, I ask you this. When faced with the prospect of paying double rent for eternity, is it ridiculous to discriminate against a potential apartment-inhabitant because her name is "Barbie?" Do I really want someone named "Barbie" living in my apartment? I think not, but I called her anyway.

I am trying to be multi-tasker extraordinaire, and I want to crumble.

I was being address-changer of super ability, until we (we! both our names on the envelope!) received a copy of our lease in the mail yesterday, only to learn that the realtors had given us the incorrect zip code. When D left, I yelled "Motherfu*****ers!" at the top of my lungs and threw the lease across the room, then sat down and quietly re-changed whatever addresses could be re-changed without arousing suspicion.

Today I've been making calls to change addresses. Again.

I am also trying to be super-realtor, and to rent my apartment on my own. This is difficult when you have a landlord who is prone to yelling at you and prone to wanting to f*ck you over as much as possible for breaking your lease. Which I guess is understandable, because it is not nice to break a lease.

The thing that irks me most about this (and there are so many things of irksome nature) is that they stand to profit by my leaving. They are going to charge the new tenant $220 a month more than I pay, so by my breaking the lease a year early they will make an extra $2640 for doing absolutely nothing. And then they're charging me on top of that to break the lease.

Also irksome is the fact that "the management" wants to go through a realtor, and if I find a tenant, the tenant still has to go through the realtor and pay an exorbitant fee even though the realtors didn't do anything.

I am also trying to be master-coordinator, coordinating multiple moves (we did Move 1 last night) and have the godforsaken piano moved, which is causing me no end of agita. I wanted to hire the same guys who moved it before, because they were awesome and friendly and trustworthy and, most importantly, accomodating.

I emailed them last week and they wrote back saying "We can move your apartment on Saturday! If not Saturday, then Tuesday. Give us a call on Saturday."

I called on Saturday and there was no response.

I emailed and said "Let's do Tuesday."

No response.

I called on Monday:

Me: Can we still do it tomorrow?
Him: Yes, oh, yes, sorry I didn't call you back this weekend. I didn't forget. We can do it Tuesday. What time works for you?

I listed the times. He said he'd call back Monday afternoon to confirm.

Guess what? You guessed it! He didn't call.

I called on Tuesday morning.

Him: Oh... right...You said after 5:30?
Me: Yes, after 5:30. Tonight.
Him: OK, yes, we'll do it tonight. I'll call you later to tell you the time.

No call.

I called at 5:30.

Him: Oh... well... we're still tooling around in NJ. Moving pianos. I'll call you later to let you know what time. What's the latest we can do it?
Me: 8:00.

He called (miracle!) at 7:30.

Him: We're still in NJ. Can we do it at 9:00?
Me: No.

Absolutely not! Because you know it would have been more like 10:00, and I think its horribly impolite to move anything at that hour, especially a giant piano that involves many men grunting etc.

Him: How about tomorrow?"
Me: When?
Him: Morning?
Me: What time?
Him: Well, before work. What time you need to be in work at?
Me: 10:00, at the latest.
Him: So we could move it at 9:30?
Me: No. Start moving it at 8:30 at the latest so I can leave the new place by 9:30.
Him: Oh... well... I'll give you a call tonight to let you know if we can do that. That way we can do it first thing tomorrow.

Did he call? OF COURSE NOT!!!!

He did call this afternoon "confirming" to move it tonight, but again he didn't know what time because he has a job in The Bronx and blah blah blah. I already hired another company, that committed to a window of time, and that's that. I left him a message and said "No, sorry, I called another company because you didn't call last night to confirm."

It makes me sad, because they were so very awesome before, and I really liked them, but whatever. Run your business like a business. Don't blow people off. Don't be noncomittal about my piano!!!

OK. I need to go to the post office to get a change-of-address correction form and eat some lunch and work work work and then get out of here to show my apartment to Barbie.

To Be Of the Planet Nice

Sometimes I feel like my boyfriend and I are from different planets, and not in the Mars and Venus sense. It's as though we were born and raised in differerent societies, him in a society of nice, understanding people wherein legal documents are not actually binding and where, if you're a nice person, it doesn't matter where you signed your name.

When we started all of this moving in together stuff, I said "Look, I have a two year lease that I am going to have to break."

"So what?" he said. "No big deal!"

"Well, it will cost $350 for me to break the lease."

"No it won't."

"Yes, it will."

"Why would it?"

"Because that is what they said when I signed the lease."

"Oh no, don't worry. If you're a good tenant and you always pay your rent, they won't charge you."

"I think they will."

"No, I don't think they really meant it."

"But why would they have said it if they didn't mean it?"

"They don't really mean it. You'll be rewarded for being a good tenant."

Well, they meant it. That doesn't bother me so much.

What bothers me is that D pushed me to move immediately, saying "Look, if they rent your place out, they'll give you the money for half the month. This way we can start saving money sooner."

"But what if they don't rent the place out?"

"They will rent the place out."

"But I already paid for April."

"They'll give you the money back."

"But I already gave it to them. I'm breaking the lease. I don't think they have to give it back. Why would they give it back?"

"Because they just will."

"I don't think they will."

"They will, don't worry."

Well, they won't.

And now I'm paying double rent, and who knows for how long? Because apparently when you sign a lease, you mean it, and you're responsible for all the rent until someone else rents your apartment. I wish I was from D's planet, where you don't actually have to pay rent or fees or do what you agreed to do because you are a nice person, surrounded by equally nice people.

This is not getting off to a good start. I feel like he pushed too much to move us in this quickly because he was so certain we'd get half the month's rent back, but now I'm not going to. And he is, and that's not fair, especially since he makes more money. So I have to pay double rent for an unknown duration, pay a lease-breaking fee, and also pay to move the freaking piano.

Aren't we doing this to save money?

I wish I was from D's planet.

Pressure

The facts:

The new apartment is thankfully as large as remembered.

This week is going to suck hard. This week will be packing, packing, walking eleven blocks north with bags, packing, ulcers, packing, walking up stairs with boxes, lifting things, ulcers, packing and packing.

My most loathed thing in the world, packing under pressure, is even more loathsome when combined with relocating under pressure. I hope hope hope that I don't have to move for another five years, which means that I hope hope hope I don't lose my job ever.

I don't have any boxes yet.

I will have boxes tomorrow, but I want them now. And I want to put sheet music and books and DVD's and unbreakable wine glasses and candles and other nonessentials in them now.

The piano movers didn't call me back.

Moving from a small apartment is pure insanity because where on earth am I supposed to put packed boxes as they accumulate? Where?! And how will the piano be moved out when there are boxes in its way? How!?

I am extremely skilled, apparently, at hiding things. Thus far I have packed only what was hidden underneath the bed and behind things and in one shelved corner of the closet and already there is a gigantic pile of things to be moved. Apparently I am more of a hider than a minimalist. I do have many, many, many pairs of shoes.

I haven't had a good night's sleep in two weeks. I most certainly won't have one this week.

I cannot wait until next Sunday.

I have to call my landlord tomorrow and figure out just how this is going to work.

I can't find my collection of Super Balls and I really need them now.

Exposing brick isn't as easy as he said it would be.

I'm glad that they didn't have pretty contact paper.

I am suddenly obsessed with tiling.

I am thrilled that he's being flexible.

I am even more thrilled that he's listening and allowing me to experience stress.

I need sleep.

I feel immense guilt when I move, because I organize a bunch of people to move my things while I sit around being the small, useless director. Were I moving alone I'd hire those guys from Craigslist again, who were miracle-workers, but boys will be boys and think they can do everything by themselves so who am I to interfere and spend money when certain people want to torture themselves? "Not even you can carry a couch by yourself!" said I, to which he responsed "No, well, not couches..." "But 70 boxes? You want to carry 70 boxes yourself?" "I can do it." "But you don't have to." Not that he has to, because people will help, but damn it went smooth last time with those guys from Craigslist.

When he puts his screwdriver and other misc. tools in the pocket of his jeans I know that this is a great decision.

The last minute things are what cause the stress. You can't pack all your forks and plates and your toaster oven and microwave and toothbrush and hairdryer because you need them up until the last minute. I know, overnight bag, but still. I want it to be packed now and magically transported to the new apartment so I can start living there tomorrow. And if they're going to be magically transported, they might as well be magically packed as well or not packed at all and just teleported into well-designed spaces in the new apartment.

I am excited for the party on Friday but we are moving on Saturday morning! Is this not insane? Should we not be last-minute packing or, better yet, sleeping lots?

Did I mention I'm concerned about the piano?

And the double rent?

And the packing? Did I mention the packing?

Oh my poor, poor stomach.