We're All in This Together

And it Shows When We Stand Hand in Hand. Make Our Dreams Come True.

Ahhh Sunday. It's the Lord's day. Right? Wrong!! In my life it appears that Sunday is now a day to do hard manual labor. Or dance... A lot. This evening I blog about the former. 

It's been a rough couple of weeks for me - Sharing Patrick's 8 x 8 room at the old apartment. Dealing with the long and sometimes frustrating creation process of Prize. The Gala. Moving. Working. Performing. Working. And finally Moving... again. - I had a solid 24 hours to myself. Well I was working, but I wasn't dancing or moving or doing too much in the apartment. Which leads me to Sunday. 

Sunday, Patrick moved into our apartment. I'm happy. =) Honest. But on that day he said "your face looks miserable" And I was. It was my day off and I was tired and irritable. I really didn't mind helping so I said nothing, so I wouldn't make Pat feel bad.

I met him at the old apartment and we took a bus to the U-Haul on Atlantic Avenue. Despite the fact that Patrick reserved a van and all they had was a small struck getting it was quick and easy and then Daisy (that's my phone's name) navigated us back to 728 Franklin. Patrick was absolutely hilarious driving the small truck back. Like the cars around him were driving on the autobahn and he had to keep up or something. Lol. Several times he asked how he would get around a car that had paused, double parked. Just do it?!? And he did. Then we made it back thanks to Daisy's stellar navigation and a little help directing on my part for the parking across the street. 

Loading everything from the apartment took about 2 hours and more trips up and down the steps than I can count. Though I honestly think we spent more time pondering all the stuff than actually moving anything. But who's to say for sure? When that was done I said my goodbyes to the apartment, carried Turtle down to the truck, directed out then we were on our way. 

Please note that towards the end of our loading it was nearing noon and Patrick promised me food. I'm happy to report that my countenance improved greatly with that declaration. And I wasn't so much of a moody brat after that. Good thing Pat loves me too... =)

We had to drive around a few blocks before we found a parking space and in that time my phone rang. My brief reprieve from sullen moods was broken when I answered. In my frazzled state The Hair demanding my time and talents on the phone was not something that I wanted to commit to. Had he not dropped the fact that I could possibly get a few hundred dollars for the performance I would have declined immediately. I would have regretted it (because rehearsal today was actually quite enjoyable. Once I got over myself.) but I wasn't thinking that far in advanced. Luckily my diplomatic side won out and I told Hair that because I was flustered I needed time to sort out my schedule and gather my life before I could confirm or deny my participation. 

-- Yes I do really use words like that in my day-to-day vocabulary. I also once asked him if the rehearsal time he called was "Truth or Fallacy"

Sooo....anyways... back to the moving. We found a parking spot about half a block away from the front of the apartment for fear of having to leave the truck in the crosswalk and getting a ticket from the ever present po-po. Unlike Madea I am afraid of the police. So we're parked. We start unloading. On the first trip I take Turtle and Pat takes Bruce and we just run that stuff upstairs. It's warming up so I change out of my jeans into the black shorts I wear under dance costumes. On the next trip this nice man in a red t-shirt stops me. Great I'm already getting attention. It's been 5 minutes. It's going to be a long afternoon. 

Red Shirt: Hey do you guys need help.

Me: ....Um... Well... Yeah. I mean. If you want to help, we could use another set of hands.**

Red Shirt: Okay. What do you need? 

I hand him the stuff I have in my hands. Which isn't much but he takes it and follows Pat up to the apartment. We proceed this way for a bit. He carries the mattress up by himself!! Yes, you may be recalling my affinity for hard men. It's too bad he's old. 

About 3/4 of the way through unloading it's only be like 30 minutes. And Patrick quietly tells me that if Joseph (that's Red Shirt's name. About 10 minutes in I gathered the courage to ask his name.) wants to go out with me I damn well better go. Patrick...are you pimping me out to facilitate your move?? Anything to get the job done *shakes head at my fortune* Now when we're all but finished this nice older couple comes down to sit on the front stoop with their grandson (?) The little one is trying to skateboard... and failing. Miserably. But he's a little gentleman holding the door for me and what not. 

So on the next trip his uncle - okay, so I'm totally making up these relationships; but it's my blog and I can do what I want! - asks if we need any more help. I say sure another body could only help. But he tells me to move the truck closer before he'll help. LOL!! Luckily a spot right in front of the building opens up and we move the truck there for the last two loads. This new gentleman, we'll call him Igor, organizes the last few items so that we finish unloading in the next two trips. The little boy wants to help too, so Patrick lets him carry the shelves for the bookshelf. By the third floor the kid is huffing and puffing and I'm shaking my head at childhood obesity. It's a serious problem. He tells us his name is Dior. D-I-O-R. Dior. As in...the designer?? Make eye contact with Patrick, silent laughter is exchanged at our telepathic question

The last trip is mostly heavy stuff and Dior can't really help. So I play the hapless female who needs help carrying the air mattress. This time he makes it to the fourth floor before he starts complaining. Though his breathing is labored after two. 

Dior: I can't. I can't make it. 

Me: Yes you can. 

Dior: No! No I can't do it. 

Me: We're almost there. Look. 5.4.

Dior: panting. panting...

Me: 3.2.1. You made it. **

Meanwhile around floors 2-3 Dior forgot he was supposed to be helping me and lets go of the air mattress. Which is fine with me but he's walking slow so I remind him of his duties as a gentleman and he picks up the string. While I support most of the weight. Hey it's takes a village, right?

Finally - Finally!!! - we're done. I thank the gentleman for their help and they just peace out. And that was it. They helped us for no other reason than it was the nice thing to do =) What friendly people live in my building. 

We just barely miss the torrential downpour that began immediately after we got in to return the truck. We got nice and soaked running from U-Haul to the subway and ventured back on the C to the Franklin Shuttle to the B/Q. Back at the apartment we start unpacking and putting things together anticipating the TV which came on Monday and storing our toiletries in the bathroom. 

In the end it wasn't terrible and we got Patrick moved in so that we finally and officially live together. After 3 years. Our apartment is fast becoming home with the addition of the TV, and Patrick moving his clothes out of Dorian's room. Completing the set up of our kitchen. Only a few things remain. Like fixing the broken window to our fire escape so Ramon - the super- can unscrew the windows. Putting a rod in my closet - A real one. Not that janky piece of shit that Ramon installed. And getting some bedding. That'd be nice. We're working on it. You should begin to expect a housewarming invitation on the horizon. :-) 

And the rest is still UNwritten.

** Okay well, you know, the conversation went something like that. This may or may not be an actual direct quote.