Moving Horror Stories

I ought to be more careful about what I wish for. 

When I told 2011 to “bring it on” I didn’t anticipate just how intently the universe was listening!  We’re not even one month into the new year, and my life is in major flux.  Only a week into the new year I was informed that I would have 60 days to move out of my current home.  After throwing a mild tantrum about this, I came to accept it and went about the search for somewhere else to live.  Being the over-achiever that I am, I found a new place 2 days into my search (I can’t help it - I’m a planner.  I don’t like leaving things to chance!)  Had I known that the universe was accepting requests, then I may have started the new year with wishing for world peace or ending starvation.  On a more selfish level, I may also have asked to become invincible, win the lottery, or have Mr. Right sent my way.  But alas, in my zeal I stuck with BRING IT ON.  And oh boy, has 2011 fulfilled that request already! 

Boxes full of stuff seem to be multiplying like rabbits in my living room.  I am currently in that limbo place known as packing hell.  I typically enjoy packing, but when you get to that point where there are boxes everywhere and yet more stuff that needs to somehow find its way into boxes, you kind of get over it.  With that said, I am an expert packer.  I should be, I’ve certainly moved enough over the years to have plenty of practice!    And yes, I have moving stories to share…

No joke, this is the current state of my living room!

Places that I’ve lived

In my 30 years I have lived in two countries over two continents (the UK and USA), five different states (Kentucky, Ohio, New York, Vermont and California), and ten different cities/towns (I‘m feeling too lazy right now to list them all!)  Phew.  During that time I’ve moved 18 times.  The longest duration in any one place spanning over a decade, and the shortest duration being 6 weeks.   Needless to say, each time that I now move I utter the mantra “I am NOT moving again for a LONG time!”  But, alas life, animal infestations, and month-to-month leases have a way of messing up your plans. 

The Bat Cave

One of my most negative experiences with moving happened while living in Vermont.  When I first moved to the States, the ex and I lived in this awesome loft apartment in a converted Woolen Mill.  (If you know me, you’ll know that I have a thing for loft apartments - case in point, I’m moving out of one and into another next week!)  The apartment was amazing, but it was kind of tiny.  So I pushed for moving into a larger unit in the same complex.  We found one that would work perfectly.  The issue was that it was on the exact opposite end of the building from our current place (and moving from the top floor to the ground floor too).  It literally was a quarter mile walk from one door to the other.  That move took forever!  If I had been wearing a pedometer, I probably would have walked the equivalent of a marathon!  So, we eventually get moved in and I get to work over the next few weeks unpacking and decorating. 

I thought this place was super cool and unique.  My parents, not so much.  My Dad likened it to a prison!

One month into our stay in the new place we discovered that we were not the only tenants.  A lone bat appeared one day (in the MIDDLE of the day I might add) and was flying around the living room like a lunatic.  Me (being a girl), did the only reasonable thing that I could when presented with a potentially rabid bat, and ran screaming out the front door.  (The irony that you have to leave your house to feel safe was not lost on me).  I’m not quite sure how the maintenance guys and my ex got rid of the bat, but they did.  After assurances from the leasing staff that this was a bizarre one off, I calmed down and went about the continued unpacking.  One week later, I’m sitting looking out of the window at the torrential rain coming down.  All of a sudden this giant gush of water comes pouring down the hillside heading straight for our patio doors.  And then sure enough it starts to come through the seams on the doors and windows and right into the living room.  The ex is freaking out about the electrics and trying to move them away from the water coming in, and I am just freaking out in general.  I run out the front door to find a maintenance man,  and there is a freakin’ dead bat lying at the front door.  That was it.  I snapped.  “That’s it! We’re moving!  I can’t live in this bloody Bat Cave anymore!”  So that it the story behind how I once lived somewhere for a 6 week period.  There is nothing worse than moving immediately after you have just moved, unpacked everything, and then threw away all of your boxes.  I should know. 

The sign posts that should have lead the way to the "Bat Cave", Winooski, Vermont!

Damn rat ate my Harry Potter book

When I first moved to California 3 years ago the lure of having an ocean view was just too much.  So the ex and I in our infinite wisdom splurged on renting a fabulous place in San Clemente in the heart of the pier bowl.  The first thing that I learned about this is that having a fantastic view makes you lazy.  Very lazy.  Why walk down to the beach when you can admire it from your balcony?  Needless to say, friends and relatives loved coming to visit us, and frequently did. 

Look at that view!  It was a rather amazing place to live... at least for a little while!

All was well, and it was a great place to live until yet again, we discovered that we were not alone.  I was standing brushing my teeth at night when I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye.  It looked like a snake’s tail.  So, of course I did what I always do when faced with unwelcome little critters.  I leapt on top of the bed and started shrieking like a maniac.  After calming down somewhat and now armed with a pair of big clunky knee high boots on my feet, we discovered that there is a hole under the bathroom cabinet that the “snake” has slithered into.  A call to the landlord and animal control was useless.  It was 10pm on a Saturday night, and nobody was prepared to help until noon the next day.   “Block off the hole” is the only advice that we were given.  So I grabbed some duck tape to cover the hole, and all of my Harry Potter books and wedged them into place until they didn’t budge.  That night neither of us got much sleep.  Our “snake” was a noisy little critter who kept us up all night.  In the morning we got up and looked down at the book barricade, only to see that was no longer acting as a barricade.  The books had been pushed aside and one of my books had been chewed right through.  “Ah, it seems we have a rat” observed the ex.  “OH MY GOD!  We have a rat?!? What the hell did it do to my Harry Potter book?!?!” I shrieked. 

Fast forward a few hours, and we have a rat terminator giving us all sorts of information that we DO NOT want to hear.  Namely, that we likely have a family of rats living with us, and that they are in the walls, and that we just need to set up rat traps and deal with it.  So that’s what we do.  I am now by this time an expert on finding and removing rat poo, and I refuse to walk about in bare feet at any time.  I’m getting so freaked out that I feel like I am going to become a full blown obsessive-compulsive with cleanliness!  Thankfully we were flying out of State for the weekend to go visit the in-laws.  We caught one rat before we left, and were glad to be residing in a rat-free residence for a few days.  Upon return, our flight got canceled and then the next one was delayed, and then our bags didn’t show up.  We got back home at 3am with work to go to in the morning.  Upon entering the apartment we were assaulted with a terrible odor.  “What the hell is that smell?” I asked while trying not to gag.  Yup, it was a dead rat in the bedroom that had been cooped up indoors for a couple of days.  Let me tell you, I had a few choice curse words to utter at that moment.  Needless to say, that we didn’t last much longer in that place, and as soon as our lease was up we were out of there! 


Moving on...

So I am hopeful that my new place will be free from unwelcome little critters.  The only pet that I intend to have is a cute, fluffy little dog.  All I need to do is get moved, settled, and then find one to adopt.  Speaking of which, I really should stop procrastinating and start packing!  I’m moving in less than a week… I have work to do!  2011... Be kind to me please.  I’ve had enough drama so far this month!

Happy Hogmanay!

If you are Scottish you will know what I am talking about.  If not, then let me explain: Hogmanay is what us Scots call New Years Eve.  It is arguably the biggest party night of the year.  In fact, we tend to party so hard, that we have two days to recover.  That’s right:  January 1^st and 2^nd are Scottish bank holidays.  My Hogmanay celebrations have tended to vary from awesome to utterly disappointing over the past decade depending on where I was celebrating the New Year.  My first US New Years experience was such a letdown.  But before I get into that, I should explain what it is that makes a Scottish New Years Eve the event of the year.

We have odd traditions…

It is not enough that we like to party into the wee hours of the morning.  There are some set customs that are typically followed.  For example, steak pie is usually served a little before midnight (or “the bells” as it is also known).   People eat, mingle, bleather, drink copious amounts of alcohol and generally have a good time.  Usually the TV is playing on the background with dedicated Hogmanay TV shows.  (Rikki Fulton’s the Reverend I.M.  Jolly is hands down my favorite!  I was lucky enough to be in the studio to see him film this segment one year.  RIP Rikki – you were a comedy genius).  Anyway, I digress.  As it approaches midnight some of the guests may be flung outside in the cold to ring in the New Year outside. Why do we do that you may ask?  Well, it’s a Scottish tradition known as “first-footing”:  it is good luck for the first person to cross your door to be tall, dark and handsome.  They are supposed to bring a gift to bring good luck suck as coal, shortbread or whiskey.  More often, they drunkenly stumble over the door shouting “Happy New Year!!” and hugging everyone in sight.  It is also customary to sing Auld Lange Syne.   This is a more widespread tradition is several countries now, but the song is originally based on a poem by Scottish poet Robert Burns (who actually has his own day on January 25^th known as Burns Night – note: this is the only day of the year that you will find Scottish people willingly eating haggis).  The Hogmanay festivities continue until the wee hours of the morning, and then people finally crash and sleep until noon.  

If you haven’t ever tried steak pie, it is beef and gravy incrusted in puff pastry and is typically served with mashed potatoes and veggies.  It is delicious!

Some alternative Hogmanay celebrations….

If you are not celebrating at a party in a friend’s house, then perhaps you are being hardy and braving the cold to celebrate the New Year in the city center.  In Glasgow, people crowd into George Square to listen to live music and watch the fireworks go off at midnight.  I did this one year, but it was so incredibly cold, that I’ve never been compelled to repeat this experience! 

Fortunately, being packed in like sardines helps to keep it a little bit warmer!

Another alternative Hogmanay celebration involves a good old fashioned céilidh (pronounced “kay-lee”).  This is a traditional Scottish dance set to Gaelic folk music.  There are several traditional dances.  There are couple dances, “set” dances (with four couples dancing together in a square formation) and progressive couple dances performed in a ring around the dance floor.  If you ever have the opportunity to attend a céilidh then you will have one of the most fun evenings of your life!  

How to people know how to do these dances?  Well, aside from the band giving the crowd a refresher on all of the dance moves, most Scottish people have been taught these dances at some stage in their life.  For example, during the wintertime, gym classes in Scottish high schools teach “Social Dance” AKA every teenager’s worst nightmare.  While I would love to have these lessons again now, at the time I hated social dance.  The boys would have to ask the girls to dance and vice versa each week throughout the winter months.  Being a socially awkward kinda geeky teen (this was a time prior to nerds being “cool”) I never got asked to dance by anyone that I actually wanted to dance with.  Instead I got the guys with two left feet, and the ones that smelt funny.  But anyway, now I have an appreciation of having a glimmer of memory of how to dance to the “Gay Gordons” or any of the other oddly named dances.  

Last Hogmanay I got to go to a céilidh with my parents and my Gran.  It was the most fun night of 2009 for me hands down.  I don’t think I sat down all night – I literally danced the night away!  Now THAT is how you are supposed to celebrate New Year’s Eve! 

Me and my Mum having a blast!  I forget the name of this dance, but it was so much fun!

An American New Years Eve by comparison…

As I noted earlier, my first US New Year’s Eve was a huge letdown.  Sitting up watching the ball drop on TV in NYC while sipping a cup of tea is not what I am accustomed to.  Even when I transplant family over here in the hopes of livening things up, it just isn’t the same.  I remember the year that my parents and brother came over for the holidays and we went to the festivities in downtown Burlington, Vermont.  “First Night” promised us fun, fireworks and more.  In reality it was colder than Siberia, boring as all could be, and a bitter disappointment.  As summed up by my little brother: “First Night?  Load of shite.”  

This Hogmanay I’m doing something a little different:  I’m heading to the OC Fairgrounds to see a variety of cover bands and a demolition derby!  Unfortunately, my jet-lag is seriously getting in the way of my Hogmanay plans.  At this rate I will be lucky to stay awake until midnight.  The prospect of sitting at home with a big mug of tea watching the glittery ball drop in New York is suddenly very appealing.  How very unpatriotic of me!  I’d better caffeine up and go celebrate the end of 2010 with a bang!  

Wishing you all a very happy and healthy 2011.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! 

Why it’s never a good idea to insult the check in lady and other useful travel tips…

Having family that lives 5000 miles away I get to rack up the frequent flier miles.  I also unfortunately have more air travel mishap stories than I can count!  I get to travel home again this year for the holidays, and I’m going to try to learn from previous travel mistakes in the hope that things run smoothly.

Tip #1:  Travel with someone that you get along with (or alternatively go by yourself)

As much as this may seem like a good idea at the time, your significant other may not agree with you.

My ex-hubby and I typically got along great unless you stuck us both in an airport, gave us a ticket, and told us to get somewhere.  In which case, World War 3 was typically on the brink of occurring.  At the root of the problem was the fact that he hated airports and the actual process of traveling from A to B.  That combined with the fact that there was a direct correlation between the last time he ate anything and his crabbiness index (and mine too for that matter).  Also, in my case, while I usually have the patience of a saint, when sleep deprived that is not the case.  Let’s just say that we could have been a highly entertaining couple to have on the Amazing Race!!    So, it’s always a useful plan of action to travel with someone that you won’t want to strangle two hours into the flight!  Of course, even if your travel partner is charming and doesn’t drive you crazy, there is no guarantee that your fellow passengers will follow suit.  Odds are that you will be seated next to the morbidly obese man with hellish B.O. and breath that would make Shrek proud.   Chances are there will also be an overly stressed out Mom behind you with a screaming baby and a four year old who really enjoys kicking your seat repeatedly.   But just every so often, say once every decade or so, you may encounter a flight attendant who takes pity on you and moves you up the business class.  Even better, once or twice in a lifetime you may be lucky enough for a free upgrade to first class.  The last time that happened I didn’t bother with sleeping.  Why would you when you have gourmet food and wine to consume?!?  Now that was the life.  How the other half live… I’m jealous! 

Tip #2:  When you really don’t want your bags to go missing, that is exactly when they will end up in Outer Mongolia

The cartoon says it all...

Ah, lost luggage.  Yes I’ve been there many times around.  I learned my lesson that you should always have spare clothes in your carry-on luggage while on a trip to Paris.  When selecting joggy bottoms, a jumper, and trainers to travel in (American translation: sweatpants, a sweater, and sneakers) I thought I was being sensible.  Who doesn’t want to travel in comfortable clothing?  I discovered that wandering about Paris in comfortable clothing leaves you feeling (and looking) like a slob.  It took three days for the cases to materialize.  Needless to say that after one day of slobbiness I had had enough!  I hit the shops and got myself some Parisian fashions (and yes, I felt quite a bit better about myself after that). 

But what if you are bringing gifts and they won’t fit into your carry-on?  Ah well, then in that case you are just S.O.L.  One year I was arriving home on Christmas Eve.  I arrived safe and sound and on time, having made all of my connections (a rare occurrence indeed).  But my suitcases?  Nowhere to be found.  Lamenting the fact that all of my presents where somewhere in limbo, I didn’t have much hope that I would see them anytime soon.  So, imagine my surprise when they got delivered on Christmas morning.  “It’s a bloody miracle!!” I proclaimed.    “Just call me Santa Claus” chuckled the delivery driver.    

Tip #3:  The weather has a way of buggering up your travel plans - you just need to learn to accept that

What you DON'T want to see when you look at the departures screen

Two years in a row while living in Vermont I arrived home a day later than planned for Christmas.  The reason?  Snow.  Copious amounts of the white fluffy stuff raging outside.  I arrived at the airport to be told “your flight is leaving New York on time.  But we have no way of getting you there.  Come back tomorrow.”  No amount of begging and pleading can make a difference against Mother Nature.  So you just need to learn to accept that.  Like the time I was grounded at Bristol airport for 6 hours because of fog.  This was after a long transatlantic flight, and I had a separate connection to make heading to Switzerland with my family.  I was tired, hungry, cranky, stressing out big time about missing my next flight, and just done with traveling.  It didn’t make for a pleasant journey.  But it got much worse before it got better.  The bags didn’t show up (of course), so I had some crazed last minute shopping to do.  And then I arrived in Italy a day late only to come down with a nasty bug.  If you were to do one of those psychological association tests on me and say “Lugano” I would tell you “stomach flu”.  Not a pleasant association.  I don’t care if it’s just a placebo effect – I now take a hefty dose of vitamins before stepping foot on a plane.  Hello and thank you Airborne.  Another useful tip is to always have extra snacks stashed away.  It helps to keep the crabbiness at bay during those inevitable delays!

Tip #4:  No matter how much they may push your buttons and provoke you, never insult the check-in lady

Perhaps I should get this printed on a t-shirt especially for traveling? 

As I’ve mentioned, I’m not a happy camper when sleep deprived.  So last year when I found myself at the airport at 3am having had 2 hours sleep, I was already not starting from a good place.  Anyone with any sense should know NOT to push my buttons when I’m operating on a total lack of sleep.  This particular check-in lady though, didn’t appear to have received that memo.  So there I was at the airport at 3am – 3 hours prior to the flight departure as stated on the airline website. The check in desk did not open until 4:30am – 90 minutes later than expected.  So there I was, first in line of course because I had arrived so freakin’ early.  I gather all my bags and go up to the check in desk only to be greeted by this sour faced woman who clearly wasn’t a morning person.  I proceeded to go through the motions of handing over my details and passport etc.  “You’re in the wrong line” she barked.  I gave a look of confusion, because this was the only line.  “This is only for people who are already checked in online” she stated, looking at me as if I was daft.  I explained that I had tried to check in online and that the website wasn’t working properly.  She didn’t care for my explanation.  “Well you’re still in the wrong line” she snipped, “and I’m not going to help you.  You can get to the end of the queue.”  I looked at the line of fifty or so people that had formed and thought aye right.  At that point my stubborn streak kicked in and I proceeded to launch into my I-have-been-in-this-freakin-airport-for almost-two-hours-because-of-your-stupid-airline-misinformation-and-you-will-check-me-in speech.    It didn’t work.  She insisted that I get back in line, to wait to be helped by the lady standing right next to her (literally right next to her).  Letting out a furious sigh, I muttered “you don’t need to be such a bitch about it” and took my place next in line (I wasn’t about to go wait at the end of it).  Unfortunately she heard my mutterings and glowered at me with an evil eye.  Despite the fact that I was perfectly civil to the next lady that helped me, I still ended up with the worse seat on the plane.  That’s right.  The one right next to the smelly loo, with the seats that don’t recline.  Thankfully that was only for a two hour flight and I got much better seats for the transatlantic portion. But boy did I learn my lesson.  So no matter how sleep deprived you may be.  Or how unhelpful and sour faced the check in lady may be, it is NEVER a good idea to insult her.  Even if it is 100% justified.  That is a situation where you should use your “inside voice”.  It’s a wonder my luggage arrived at all that time! 

So for my trip back to Scotland next week I am expecting the following to occur:

1)      My flights will be delayed or canceled 

2)      My bags will go AWOL and arrive four days later than me

3)      I will be seated next to a contestant on the Biggest Loser with Octomom and her kids in the row behind me

4)      The check-in lady will be the most unhelpful person on the face of the planet and will do everything in her powers to push my buttons so that I have a tantrum that would make a 2 year old proud

But at the end of the day, as long as I make it safe and sound then that is okay with me.  I can handle the rest of the drama and misery!  At least it makes for entertaining stories after the fact…