New Year, New Beginnings

Happy New Year, everyone. Here's hoping that all hangovers have subsided by this point just in time for the weekend parties.

The last month has gone by non-stop. Much of it was spent sorting through every last piece of crap in my apartment, trying to decide if I really needed it, and carting off what didn't make the cut down to the apartment complex dumpsters in the wee hours of the morning. It was slow going, seeing as how I was ill for the majority of December, and spent more than one night on the couch desperately clutching a box of Kleenex and waiting for the room to stop spinning at centrifugal force.

My car, of course, decided not to play nice in the relocation proceedings. The day before the movers were to arrive, one of the volunteers at work stopped into my office to report that my car had a flat tire. After calling AAA to change the tire, I was informed that it was just a slow leak, and it would be better to reinflate the tire for the drive home rather than put the spare on the car. (It was raining, and my car is already tiny enough to be hazardous in inclement weather.)

Fine. Good. I had neither the time nor money to replace tires at that point. I still had much of an apartment to pack before 8:30 in the morning.

I pulled an all-nighter and managed to get everything except for the closets sorted and packed. The funniest part of the night had to be when, at 4:15 a.m., my Furby decided to wake up inside the packing box, and chatted happily to itself for an hour. It insisted on telling me how bored it was. I rolled my eyes and hauled another load of crap destined for the dumpster out to the car.

The movers arrived an hour late, determined that they were parked outside of the wrong door (even though the dispatcher had been given explicit instructions about which door would be best to park outside of), and started to move my belongings to the truck. Well, after they used the bathroom. Now, I understand that it's a basic human function and I certainly wasn't going to deny them the use of the facilities, but I had sequestered two very unhappy cats in the bathroom, and I wasn't looking forward to opening that door and then having to catch them again.

After all of the movers had, um, taken care of things and I had tossed the kitties back into the bathroom, I stood in the kitchen swigging coffee (pot #2, for those of you keeping score at home) and listening to the radio. One of the movers (who seemed to be in charge) reminded me that his crew was allowed to accept tips. Yes, Mr. Baggy Pants Mover Boy, I read your contract. I saw the section that you'd highlighted about tips. Reminding me is just tacky.

After all of the furniture and boxes were packed in the truck, I wrote out directions to the new apartment for the movers. Of course, I was wondering to myself why they didn't already have this information. I assumed naïvely that movers were equipped with street maps of the Greater Cincinnati area and had a general working knowledge of the main thoroughfares, so I gave them the directions that used the expressway and major well-marked streets. Any moron could have followed these directions.

I was wrong. These weren't just any morons I was dealing with.

Zappagirl arrived after the movers left with the cat carriers. Now, to say that the kitties were agitated was a gross understatement. After I finally let them out of the bathroom, they were stunned to find an apartment empty of familiar furniture. It took them 45 minutes to adjust to that. And once they had finally stopped hiding in the laundry (still to be sorted - my new apartment has little closet space and required a major paring-down of the wardrobe), we forced them into little boxes and carried them down to Zappagirl's car. I think all of Clifton was aware of Ma Huang's displeasure; he vocalized his feelings at full Siamese volume.

While all of this was going on, my mother called from the new apartment. Apparently the movers were lost, and had taken an hour to make a 10 minute journey. And Mr. Baggy Pants Mover Boy had not only reminded my mother that tips were accepted, he'd also asked if I was single. Mom took one look at the guy, tried to picture him at a family dinner, and made up the oh-so-serious but oh-so-invisible boyfriend.

I love my Mommy.

Mom and I busied ourselves with placing furniture and unpacking a few boxes while Zappagirl played kitty therapist. Kismet wasn't very traumatized and took the opportunity to explore her new home (and "help" us unpack), but Ma Huang was terrified. He laid on the futon, eyes wide and trembling (more than usual).

After the cats had adjusted somewhat, Zappagirl and I went to Best Buy in search of wires to hook up the stereo/DVD player/VCR/TV to the optimal effect. By the time we had arrived back at the apartment, Dad had joined us and took everyone out to dinner.

The following day, my sister and her family arrived to drop off towels and couch cushions. The nieces were more interested in seeing the cats, which was a challenge since the kitties had never dealt with little people before. Allison tried to crawl under the dining room table in hopes of getting to Kismet (Ma Huang had crawled under the couch upon hearing the VERY LOUD doorbell), while Amanda stood back and watched, occasionally commenting, "Kitty! Yay!" (She's a real life blonde version of Boo from Monsters, Inc.)

The next week was spent covering four jobs at work (mine, my supervisor's, housekeeping, and the IT guy... I was only supposed to be logging problems for the contracted service to fix, but a few people seemed to think that I had the knowledge to fix their computer problems). Thankfully it was ridiculously slow, and I spent more than a little time making lists of things I needed to do to make the settling process at the new apartment go smoothly.

The Christmas Eve party at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's was loads of fun, as usual. Good food, good friends, and much silliness. I drank a bottle of wine and crawled into a sleeping bag in the dining room somewhere around 3 a.m.

Christmas at my parents was wonderful, also. I ate entirely too much too many times, took a nap, read a few books to Amanda, and went out with Dad to rent DVDs for the new player they received from Sydney and Steve.

I spent New Years Eve dying my hair, setting off the smoke alarm (by preheating the oven), and toasting the kitties at midnight with a glass of California champagne. (Cook's now makes 4 packs for those of us who don't want to drink an entire bottle alone.) I also spent the evening taking silly online personality tests at Emode, in hopes of getting some ideas for resolutions for the new year. I didn't get any resolution ideas, but I did find out that my aura is crimson, my "style of sexy" is "sweet & sexy," my flavor is cinnamon, my lucky number is 4, my true color is green, my superpower is animal communication, my party animal style is owl-like, my perfect car is a minivan (NOOOOOOOO!!!), and I'm still single because I don't want to compromise.

So here it is, an hour into the 4th day of 2003, and I'm sitting in my new apartment contemplating the year ahead as well as the one that has past. I feel like I'm starting my life over. This time last year, I was unemployed. I was driving a car being held together by rust, bungee cords, and sheer will. I was a single feline household in a complex near the university with neighbors I'd never bothered to meet.

In the past year, I got a great job working for an organization I actually care about. I got a new car that doesn't leak a puddle of oil every time I park it - and actually learned to drive it. I got to write an article for the monthly Zoo members' magazine (yeah, it was a boring rehash of last year's article, but...). I got a new kitten that quickly turned into a very large cat while retaining her kittenish curiousity. I got the pleasure of watching my nieces grow older, albeit too fast. I discovered the true value of friendship, and learned who I could count on and who would remain questionable the next time I programmed my redial. I learned that I was getting too old for the club scene on a regular basis, and that I much preferred getting together with friends to watch movies and chat over coffee. (An occasional night out dancing is OK, but every week? No way.) I wrote half a novel, and will be getting back to finishing it soon. I moved out of my pseudo-grad student crackerbox apartment into a new building - older, but with character. Kinda the way I want to look at myself when I look in the mirror.

So, all in all, it was (as the Tori Amos song goes) a pretty good year. It's too early to make any judgements about 2003. It's only 73 hours old. I have high aspirations for the path ahead, though. I'm starting from a better place than I was (physically, emotionally, spiritually) a year ago. I suppose that's a start. So to all of you lifestyle pioneers out there, best wishes for a yearful of pleasant surprises from me, Ma Huang, Kismet, and Shirley (who is resting happily in her brand new garage, antidcipating the new tires I plan on buying her tomorrow morning).

(And as a sign, I just received an email from the "questionable redial" person. I'd included him on my New Years greetings list, and he actually emailed me for the first time in six months. Fasten your seatbelts, folks. It looks like this is going to be an unpredictable year.)