Thursday, January 20, 2011

Sticker Collections and a Silly Girl...

Apparently there is a popular website called and it's super hilarious. One of my Allisons told me about it and I have been thinking in dearblankpleaseblank letters all day! Please go to the site and read some, but until then, to explain a little more, they go a little something like this

Dear so-and-so,
Please do or don't or something sarcastic
Thanks, Someone relevant to the recipient or message

Ok, ok, example,

Dear Perfect Boyfriend,
Welcome to the Club!
Love, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy
(Get it?)

Well mine isn't witty and funny like those but this would be mine and a great introduction to my post...

Dear 13-year-old-self,

Do not cover every inch of the walls in stickers, no matter how important they may seem to you at the time.

Your 26-year-old self who is having to scrape them all off...

So maybe I have some kind of obsession with stickers. I do love stickers and have about a billion of them in all of my craft stuff...but until this week when I moved back into my mom's house (and my childhood bedroom) did I realize I might have a slight problem.

Growing up I had a great room: bunk beds, triple high bunk bed, a lofted bed...etc. I had a little nook hiding place, two window sills to sit in way up high and a closet that is basically a museum now.

My closet was a place that I drew on the walls and let my friends write notes and sign...and is also where I stuck just about every sticker I ever got...which was apparently a LOT.

I had braces for 6 1/2 years meaning an orthodontist appointment about once a month, and dental visits 3 times a year...which roughly meant about 100 trips to SOME Dr. or another's office...each of which usually yeilded 4-6 large stickers.

Apparently they all went on my closet walls. I have stickers from every major holiday and season, Winter, Valentine's Day, St. PAtrick's Day, Easter, Spring, Summer, Back to School, Christmas, etc. There are little tiny sheet stickers of everything from Winnie the Pooh to Pokemon and golden stars. Like reward stars. I must've just gotten a pack and decided to put every single one of them on the wall. Great Job. A+ Catherine.

I have BUMPER STICKERS, expensive, big stickers, concert or record label stickers, journey's and Vans stickers and basically, anything that stuck, anything with adhesive backing, I stuck on my walls. I even have the opposite side of the stickers, the shell, the stuff that's left on a sheet of stickers when you've used all of the stickers off...I have several size stickers saying:

6 Reg
6 Reg
6 Reg
6 Reg
6 Reg
6 Reg



Really? This kind of collection could NOT be healthy.

Well...I have moved back into my room and have decided that that kind of disorder and chaos in my closet is just going to make me crazy so I will have to paint over it. Please don't hate me if you were one of the lucky ones to get to sign your name or write "Have a nice summer" on my wall. I took lots of pictures and I will be sure to always remember you all in my heart... You can be sure that my level of anxiety will have decreased about 50% as I stare into the newly painted, uniform, closet and take a deep breath.

BUT how does one begin to do something like that? I tried my hardest to peel each sticker off with my fingernails, then with an exacto knife...most of them however having been stuck on there for over 10 years peeled off a portion and just ripped the top layer off. I used some denatured alcohol in the form of Goof-off and pretty much acheived only a mild headache from the fumes...and then I just began getting them off at any cost--and removed a bunch of the drywall... I think I'm going to have to repair the drywall and sand a little...but I might get impatient and try and prime and paint right over it. One thing is for sure, to all you 13 year olds out there with a sticker fetish--get a sticker book.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Moving Day

Well I moved. And ohhh boy. I can’t remember a day where I have felt so mad. Frustrated, angry, whatever. I am just furious. Things did not go well.

First of all, I love my mother, I respect her, I try and honor her, I know she loves me more than life itself (although I don’t know how much she enjoys me)…BUT we are very opposite people and we are very similar people. We are opposite on things we should be similar on and the things we are similar in…are reasons we disagree, because we are both stubborn.

The first thing that I have to say is that she is busy. She definitely has a lot of things going on and anyone [who is not me] might have a hard time keeping them straight. I am about to sound prideful here, so stop reading if you want…but mom, write things down, figure out what you want and then do it. Have some priorities or something and in general do not give me a play-by-play. For example, do not call me on Thursday (2 days before I am counting on you to help me move) and say something like this, “Well, Aunt Ellen [102-years-old] died and the funeral is Saturday.” To that I will say, “Alright, so what are you saying? That you are not actually going to be helping me move? That you really WANT to help me but you just might need to be at the funeral, or really, you just wanted me to know?” Because all of those things are ok, I just need to know, because I will need to make a [now-super-last-minute] revised plan. [Which I hate because it now makes ME look like the flighty, doesn’t-plan-ahead-of-time person, which I am not.] I have been planning this for weeks, I get my entire house packed up beautifully. Bought boxes, bubble wrapped everything safely, labeled the boxes specifically, taped things…lots of things…I organized my piles into things going to the house and things going into storage…packed everything meticulously, dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’ I have diagrams and lists made of how I need to unpack things in my new room, and I have done everything...] I asked my mom to reserve a truck and rent a storage unit (which she needed reminding about) and she was going to bring my cousin Win, who had offered to help with the move, for the things that were heavy or required two people to move, like the couch.

So they decided they probably needed to go to the funeral. Alright. (I need to make sure you realize that I respect them going to the funeral, THAT is not the issue or what I am upset about. If you ever had reason to bail on me, a funeral is a totally excusable reason, ok?) I hung up and quickly made a new plan. The truck was being rented FROM here, one-way, so I could still pick that up myself no problem. I could find man-power to help me load things up here…drive the U-haul myself—and all I needed now was somehow to get my own car back up there.

So I called my college girls to see if any of them had carpooled and wouldn’t mind driving my car back for me instead of riding back together. Strike. I decided I could always leave the car and have someone drive me back to SSI to get it the next weekend or something and moved on to the man-power problem. Picked a dad from the daycare, friends also with a baby-sitting client of mine back in Athens, got a commitment, check. Forget about the car.

Mom calls back (play-by-play). “I need to—I want to help you, to be there for you as you do this.” Ok, thanks. You will not solve the problem alone…all that will do is waste gas because we would still have one more car than we have driver. She suggested my brother’s girlfriend-who-is-donating-her-eggs. No thanks. That’s a lot to ask of someone who has never said a word to me in our lives. I decided she should stay, go to the funeral and I would try my trusty old AJS man ;) He now has a driving son who could accompany him (plus two extra strong men) and drive a car back. Strike 2. BUT his wife could ride with my mom and solve the whole problem. Whew, ok!

I communicated the new plan to my mom, all she had to do was be ready to leave when Carrie arrived at 8 AM on Saturday, drive the 4 hrs. to the island and turn around and drive back.

Mom texted me the next morning: “Win just called and is coming afterall so CC doesn’t have to.” [The all-caps party is for the things I was thinking...] AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! FINE! YOU CALL CARRIE AND FIRE HER, CHANGE THE PLAN ON HER AGAIN—BUT DON’T DARE PUT ME IN A POSITION WHERE I HAVE TO CALL HER THE MORNING OF AT 7:00 AND BEG HER TO COME…AGAIN…WORD! BY THE WAY, THIS WAS THE ORIGINAL PLAN AND YOU COULD HAVE SAVED ME SO MUCH TIME AND GRIEF BY NOT CALLING ME AT ALL THURSDAY. But I said, “I don’t even care as long as you show up with someone who can drive.”

8:01 the next day, the morning of: “We can’t find Win so we’re an hour behind.” NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN!!! I didn’t respond so she calls me. “Hello?” “Corry.” STOP CALLING ME THAT. “What?” “What’s wrong? You sound upset.” ARE YOU KIDDING ME? “I am just asleep.” “Oh—well it’s 8:00, aren't you supposed to get the truck at 9?!” [LOST IT.] “YES, and I will, it is like 8 minutes from here!” “Oh, ok…” and proceeds to tell me that they are looking for my cousin, who went to some party the night before where there is no cell coverage, got drunk and passed out somewhere. They can’t find him, get a hold of him or anything, so they are running a bit behind. RIGHT, I GOT THAT FROM THE TEXT, I WAS JUST TOO PISSED OFF TO RESPOND…BUT NOW YOU'VE WOKEN ME UP TO TELL ME THE SAME THING! PLEASE JUST KILL ME NOW! So I sternly explained to her that I just didn’t understand why she had to go and change the plan that I’d already fixed once from an at least reliable person back to drunk-ass-kid!!! I wished Carrie had been able to come. I think she would’ve mellowed me out a good bit and I would’ve had a better day—because it only got worse from here.

I confirmed with my mom that I needed to pick the truck up from the U-haul rental on Glynn Ave. and set out. Well the truck wasn’t there and though it wasn’t her fault, it was annoying that another of the (only) 3 things I asked her to do hadn’t gone smoothly. Someone at Glynn Ave. located the truck that was actually set to be picked up at Norwich St…and I headed BACK across town. I had JUST dropped off my cable box at Comcast on (drumroll… Norwich.)

It was in a sketchy little place, but no worse than the Glynn Ave. place (that’s Brunswick for you) smoky as a lounge, but the man was as nice as he could be… He just moved slower than Christmas. I mean it took FOREVER. I was already stressing about beating Ed and Allison back to the house…then I hadn’t remembered to remind the U-haul man about including a hand truck…so I basically just doubled the time I had to spend there but I thought it would be really helpful.

I finally got the truck picked up, paid for and back to the condo, where I did a damn good job parking that beast. I am a really great backer, btw, also, I pretty great driver in general…I just tend to go a little fast.) I backed it in perfectly, all by myself and I wasn’t too terribly late for my helpers. Allison brought donuts and as soon as I got the first bite near enough to my lips it was like a flood of relief and comfort washed over me. Chocolate is a powerful drug to me. The heart rate went down, the breathing got deeper, I relaxed… and then we got moving. (Pun intended.)

Ed and I got all the heavy stuff, he loaded things as I commanded and almost everything ended up where it needed to be. The mattresses were tricky and ended up in the back of the truck although they would be some of the first things I wanted unloaded…oh well. I could feel my legs starting to burn and my back was hurting a little already but what else could I do, I didn’t have a lot of choice but to keep going—which is why I think sometimes I either ignore or don’t recognize the messages my body is telling me like, “You are starving,” “You are not hungry, you are actually extremely dehydrated” or “Please stop, when your vision and hearing faded out a little while ago, it means we can’t do this anymore and you are going to pass out.”

We seriously had MAYBE 15 minutes left of loading when my mom and Win finally arrived. Last things needed to be loaded and organized into the CR-V and then all was left was to clean a few more things. But of course that is the point it is really hard to tell people what to do. Pack the cooler, clean out my fridge and freeze… Better yet, the bathroom: please scrub my toilet and shower, friend. I am also a freak about cleaning. Pretty much I feel like I need to do it myself or it won’t be good enough. [Side note, especially when money like a security deposit is on the line…I’m not messing around with any sub-par cleaning. I did get my mom to do the windows. I tried to tell myself, “Who could mess up cleaning the windows.”

But she finished that quickly and was chomping at the bit to get everything all finished. We’ve already established I like to do things my way…so when you might do it the wrong way, well it’s the same thing as the cleaning, I would just rather do it myself…even if there are 4 other people around just watching me try and do everything.

I sent my mom and Win to pick up my car that I had had to leave at the dealership when I picked up the truck so that helped some. Until they came back and were doing the same thing—just acting like they were in such a hurry, rushing me to finish, “let’s just knock this out” kind of attitude…which is fine except—YOU ARE THE ONES WHO ARE 2 HOURS LATE SO DON’T RUSH ME!!! GO FOR A WALK ON THE BEACH FOR ALL I CARE WITH AS MUCH HELP AS YOU ARE BEING, JUST DON’T ACT LIKE I AM WASTING YOUR TIME!!! They both swooped like vultures on the remaining pile in the living room and asked if it was ready to be packed. Well the remaining stuff included: my suitcase, dirty clothes basket, modem/router, and external HD, things I wanted right away or were extremely important (my HD.) I mean would you just throw your computer in the back of a moving truck? No. No, you wouldn’t.

I wanted that stuff in the car. My trunk was full but my seats were empty and my mom’s seats had been lain down to pack things in. I got started cleaning and left them to the packing. We had done good job in the beginning, knew what we were doing, had a plan, cared or something…and packed things well. They wouldn’t slide around, were boxed up well, etc… so when I heard Win talking about having “more room in the truck” I just let it go in one ear and out the other. I was consciously trying not to micro manage. And surely, with so little stuff remaining, surely even if it wasn’t loaded the exact way I would load it I would be ok with it for a couple of hours. I just tried not to imagine what it looked like after they pulled the door down closed the last time.

They were ready, and hungry and really, I think they were probably in such a hurry because they wanted something to eat. So I bid farewell to Allison and we went out to lunch. Lunch was terse to say the least…and then my mother (after ALL of the 4 pages of nonsense above…PAID my cousin for all of his “help.” Oh and not just with lunch, or 20 bucks, but $100.) I thought to just raise hell right there in the restaurant, but finally just thought better of it and decided if she wants to be that stupid, let her. As long as she’s that generous with the Benjamins the next time I help her out with something.

I dropped them back off at the condo to get in their respective vehicles when I saw that my market tote had been thrown in the car, was lying haphazardly on it’s side, contents already begiining to spill out and I hadn’t even driven 2 miles. IT HAD MY COMPUTER IN IT FOR CHRISTS SAKE! I turned it back right side up and tried not to imagine what the other car looked like…I sent them ahead of me, said some last minute good-byes and left town about 1.5 hrs. after them. As I drove a bit further I noticed that I couldn’t find my big purse so I called my mom to see if she knew where it might be. Well, my purse hadn’t made it to my car. It was in the pile by the suitcase and etc… but no big deal right? At least it had been loaded at all? Well yes, but in the truck? The MOVING TRUCK?!? Really? I refuse to have children at the risk of one having as little common sense as that.

So I didn’t have anything like my headset or iPod, camera, snacks, or even a bottle of water with me which was at most annoying…I always have a bottle of water on me in the car in case I start to cough, which is often and can’t stop. This seems stupid, but wait till you are driving with me and it happens and I have to stop, almost stop breathing, begin to gag, my tongue cramps up, and we almost wreck. It’s swell fun.

So I drove the 4 hours in the same bad mood I had started the day in. When I arrived in the ‘Boro at 8:30 ish…no one was even home. It was like 30 degrees cooler than it had been and 50 degrees cooler than I am used to, and dark. I could not have felt anymore like screaming, “WHAT WAS I THINKING!?” or turning right around and heading back to the beach and texting EVERYONE the next morning saying, “JK!”

I sat down for a few minutes trying to corral the fury that I was about to lash out with…and waited on my mother to grace me with her presence again. By the time she had returned I had just decided it was too dark, late, cold and I was too physically exhausted to do any unloading tonight, we should just find a padlock, lock the truck and go to bed. She agreed and then, once again lacking any common sense said, “but we don’t need a padlock. If the cab of the truck is locked, it’s fine.”


So I lost it, had to prove to her that just because the cab is locked you CAN still open the back, and as I proceeded to lift the door, EVERYTHING that had been in the last pile, that my mom and Win had loaded in “the car” fell out ON ME into the parking lot.


I got the rest of the stuff that had fallen out into the house and stormed upstairs to just go to bed before I said something else hateful.

Exceeeeept…when I got to my room an old bed frame was still up (though they’d had 2 weeks to get that done it hadn’t been taken care of yet, there was no way to get to MY mattresses or a place to even just put the old ones on the floor…I climbed through an obstacle course to the very back of the moving truck to get my sleeping bag (which I knew EXACTLY where it was seeing as how I loaded it and loaded it WELL) and rolled out my stupid sleeping bag and went to sleep.

I was furious. About the cold, all the poorly packed stuff falling out on me, that things were probably broken, that my mom was rushing me and stressing me out all day, that she still PAID Win $100, that I’d done EVERYTHING by myself and I’m SICK of doing everything by myself—but I would 100% rather just do things myself than have someone help me like that. I was mad that I was so angry and ended up saying things I’ll probably regret, and finally that my mom had just asked Jeff if he needed any help with his groceries. FINE, HELP HIM, DON’T HELP ME; FINE, GO OUTSIDE AND TALK ABOUT HOW UNGRATEFUL I AM, WHATEVER YOU’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE TO DO…Fine, go cry because I hurt your feelings… THEN I feel the worst of all because I imagine I hurt her feelings and she hates me and goes to bed crying because of me. I can’t even LIVE here, can’t even pull into town without feeling like this! So I HATE THIS and I have got to find a way out now, before I even move my bed in. In.Furiating.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


I have been packing for what seems like 3 months, or at least planning to pack for that long. I should also admit that I am an EXCELLENT packer, should I have things my way. Whether or not I am packing for the weekend, packing to return home from a trip or packing up my entire house, I am good at it...and I really enjoy it. I think I should be a professional packer. Or mover. Or organizer. Or go on the show Hoarders at teach people how to organize and simplify their lives!

I have also been cleaning. The deep cleaning stuff that you usually only need to do every few months: the blinds, washing out the trash cans, etc. And I went to rinse out the coffee pot to go ahead and pack it...well, about 6 weeks ago, I made tea, with tea bags, in was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving...Well, apparently after I made the tea...I left the tea bags in there. But don't worry, I found them yesterday. (Guess what else got thrown away besides the furry, moldy tea bags? Yeah...the coffee maker. I don't do mold.)

What I also don't shopping. I'm not good at it, I quite despise it, actually.
But whilst packing I found lots of things in my pantry that were Kroger brand. Perplexed, I sat back to realize that if anything in my pantry was bought at Kroger it had to be over 7 months old! Likely a lot older...because I haven't been to Kroger since I moved...the island doesn't have a Kroger! (But don't worry, nothing else had mold...not even the peanut butter that had a sell by date from 2009...And the vanilla wafers were still fresh, opened and all...mmm...preservatives.)