New House

Let me be clear:

I did not pick out my new house.

It is gray. GRAY on the outside. There is no grass in sight. It has rocks for a front yard and dead dirt in the back.

There are pretty small closets.

There are tinier bathrooms. Two of them.

There is no garage and no carport.

And there is weird air circulation and weird built-on rooms.

However.

There is a great kitchen.

Cool tile.

Decent carpet.

Decent-size bedrooms.

And it's coming together. I bought some shelves. The last roommate (Gina) just got here from Utah this morning. And instantly went on a jamba juice hunt. (Definitely from up north. I did the same thing when I got here.) I initiated Vanie into late nights talking until 5am (unfortunately, she didn't sleep in the next day. I felt so bad! No more late nights for her). Between work and school and clinicals, it has taken me over a week to have the house look close to put-together. I almost killed Cox communications this week (really? you left the house instead of calling me like I told you to? I have to wait 3 more days now?). It took about 6 days to find the garbage can (in the alley; there are big garbage cans for all the neighbors. Odd, but I like it.)

Anyways, pictures coming soon. Promise. Meanwhile, here's one of Vanie being handy.

Did I mention I bought an electric screwdriver? I love it. It's my first power tool. I bought it right after I swore I was never ever buying any more stuff.

Good-bye, House

So last week I finally moved. It was crazy, as it always is. It's only when I move that I realize just how much stuff I have. I don't have clutter. I wouldn't say my house feels crowded when things are put away, but when you start to pull everything off the shelves you start to realize just how much is there. See, being 30 and single is kind of a weird situation when it comes to stuff. It's like if I had a husband to go with all this stuff it would make more sense. Or actually, even if I just had a house and a garage. That would help. As it is, having all this stuff just seems a little crazy now. But I like to go on adventures, and I've kind of been the mom of whatever house I've lived in for quite a few years. So that means when someone says, "Christin, do you have....
a pasta machine? yes
a raft? yes
hydrogen peroxide, band-aids, a thermometer? yes

a desk? yes
some pictures? yes
a snow cone maker? yes
a grill? yes
a tent? yes
an exercise step? yes
The answer, essentially, is always yes.
Which is nice for living and terrible for moving. Especially when it's just me and John, who, thankfully, was sweet enough to take off two days of work just to help me move. Over two days, probably 24 full hours were spent moving. We rented my Penske and started loading up. Over and over again. Now, the other day, I had asked my co-workers exactly what caused their arguments with their significant others, thinking how lucky I was that John and I pretty much never argue. And then I found out what makes us argue:
112 degree weather
11 hours of moving
Me buying stupid couches at an estate sale that don't fit in Brad's storage unit.
John telling me what to do too much.
A little house.
A 200 pound dresser that the drawers don't come out.
It wasn't like we were truly mad at each other, but we were definitely ready for the day to be over. It was long and crappy and exhausting.
And then while I went to clinicals the next day for 9 hours, John did the rest of it. I will never ever be able to pay him back for all of this.
Saturday I cleaned the old house. I thought of all the fun memories of that house.
Our first (terrible) reaction to it.
My first living-by-myself experience.
Becoming a nurse.
Watching The Office in Brad's room.
All the Dinner Parties.
Ariana's "walk of shame"
Summer with Bridget
Cupcakes
Blue Bell
Meeting John
The Guest Book
Yes, the house was a little dark. And more than a little brown. But there's a lot of good memories in those walls. And I'll miss it. Good-bye little house.