Movin' Out

For some reason, I was compelled to take pictures of my apartment as I de-Megged it and left it behind. Here they are.

On Tuesday night, had I wanted to watch TV, there would have been several
boxes in the way...and, oh, yeah. The TV was wrapped up. I chatted with
Maayan on the phone and read a book.

I put the comforter down and slept on top of it that night.

I went to Stockton on Tuesday night with one purpose in mind--get that
very parking spot, so that the movers could have it on Wednesday.

Empty closet. I miss it already--my closet at Mom and Dad's is TINY.

Cali Swimmy reflects on the days he lived on the shelf I had above the toilet,
an anonymous duck with no real purpose in life. He's glad those days are over.

Cali: I can haz some bleach for my dirt stains?

Getting ready to clean.

It's always a little chaotic the night before a move.

My second bedroom...formerly the craft room/music room/library/cat bathroom.

So yesterday was moving day. The movers arrived at 9:30--two guys, about my age, who co-own the business with a third friend. They were really nice and asked right off the bat if I minded if they plugged in an iPod.

"Not at all!" was my reply. I figured they'd probably have some hard rock to keep them going...and I was amazed and pleasantly surprised when the playlist turned out to be a long mix of awesome 70s and 80s music. By the third song, when "Dancin' in the Moonlight" started, I was smiling. "I love this song!!" I cried out happily. One of the guys laughed at my reaction and said, "It's such a good one!!"

So the move went very well--I had figured at their rate of $105 an hour, I'd spend around $500--after all, there was loading the truck in Stockton, driving back to Lincoln, and then unloading. They started loading at 9:29 (I looked at the clock on the stove) and at 10:29, they were loading the last piece on the truck. The drive back to Lincoln was the long part. It took me an hour and 15 minutes in Rosie Pro, and obviously in a big moving truck, it took them a little longer. I raced ahead to the storage place to sign in and pay my first month's rent. They arrived about 15 minutes behind me and had the truck unloaded in about 20 minutes. 

The bill came to $341, and I was pleasantly surprised.

Throughout the loading and unloading, I chatted with the guys--they were really nice and we talked about music. Like me, they have crazy-eclectic tastes, and one even plays in a band. 

Today, Dad and I drove back to Stockton so I could finish cleaning the apartment and check out. It didn't take long--I had already done the bathroom and the hard parts of the kitchen (the oven and the fridge and freezer). Mostly I just vacuumed, dusted and mopped the kitchen. Before long, it was done, and we had loaded my leftover cleaning products into the car. Dad walked out while I took a few pictures. 

A neighbor whose front door faces opposite mine came out and said, "My dad and I are sorry to see you go. Of course, it's the quiet neighbor who moves out!" I was tickled to find that I am, indeed, a quiet neighbor. I laughed and said, "I really did try to be quiet and respectful." And I did--my music was never too loud, I never had loud parties, and I didn't feel the need to stand around in the parking lot having loud conversations in the middle of the night. The noisiest thing I ever did was vacuum.

I finished snapping pics and dug my keys out of my purse. I touched the wall and thanked the apartment for being a good home--and it was a good home. Sure, some of my neighbors often got on my nerves, but that apartment was always clean, cozy and comfortable. It was my haven, my safe place, and it was set up just the way I liked it. There was no storage to speak of and I do rather wish the porch light had worked and that maybe they'd put linoleum just inside the front door instead of carpet (the traffic stains there are AWFUL and that's coming right out of my deposit). But all in all, I could have lived in something a lot worse. I had shady trees and new appliances, just enough room for one lady and two cats to be comfortable.

Before I could get too maudlin, I locked the door one last time, and hopped in the car to go turn my keys in. After three years, the management office knows me pretty well (I've never been shy about complaining when neighbors are noisy) and they were sorry to see me go.

The floor was still damp from mopping.

The London Shrine was in that corner, with the TV next to it.

The second bedroom.

Looking in the front door at the living room, the kitchen counter, and down
the hallway. Fond memory--skipping from the front door all the way down that
hallway to my bedroom at the very back when I found out that Keane
would come back to Oakland last year.

I've never disclosed my apartment number on the blog, for obvious reasons
of safety and security. But now that I'm moved out, I can tell you that I lived
in Marina Village West, apartment 237. It was a burnt-orange building with a
deep red front door. And it was home.

For perspective, here are some pics of the apartment in its full glory:

I eventually got rid of the large fake tree because a certain ORANGE FURBALL
kept trying to eat it.

I always loved my bedroom--so comfy and pretty.

How many cat beds can one woman have? I don't have any now--Millie
and Harley prefer the back of the couch, my bed, or my lap.