Finally.

I finally made it. The move is complete. After hours of procrastinating, 2 seasons of The League, an amazing dinner at Slow's and more procrastinating, I left Detroit and made the 4 1/2 hour trek to Chicago. I may not have a bed or any food (yet), but I moved and I'm here for the long term. For right now it still feels like I'm visiting. I mean, I've only been here for like 5 hours. I'm sure that when I mail my first rent check it'll feel more real. woof.

Procrastination is Fun

I cannot pack. It is physically impossible for me to pack at this moment. It's 6 pm and all I've done today is watch an entire season of The League (hilarious, by the way, I highly recommend it) and walk my dog. I'm moving to Chicago in 48 hours, people. I don't know why I have this anti-packing mentality, but it's really starting to get down to the wire. I think I just need to eat dinner, sit on Twitter and watch 3 more hours of The League and I'll be good to go...

I Am Not a Hoarder. I'm Okay (I Promise)

This blog is supposed to be about moving to Chicago, so I'm gonna get back to that for a second.

My move date is rapidly approaching and it seems like the closer it gets, the bigger the pile of shit I have to move gets. If you had asked me a few weeks ago if I was a hoarder or not I'd say abso-fucking-lutely not. Ask me again today. I'm totally a hoarder. I was going through my closet yesterday trying to figure out what can stay in Detroit and what must come with me to Chicago, but I got sidetracked when I found basically my entire K-12 life. Tests, homework, dance trophies, soccer trophies, t-ball pictures, works of art I made at Plaster Playhouse when I was 8, parting gifts from my high school senior all-night party. It was like a time capsule that I didn't even know I buried deep in the abyss that is my closet. Needless to say I spent about two hours looking at all this shit and didn't get an ounce of packing or laundry done. I started to wonder why I kept all of this random, pretty much meaningless stuff (I hate using that word, but I don't know how to better describe a box of barettes made from random household objects. Literally. I wish I had taken a picture of the Bazooka bubblegum barette.). Then I remembered who my mom is: the woman who has boxes of clothes from pre-1985 in our basement, the woman who has a cake topper she never used for her wedding and whose marriage ended in divorce 20 years ago, the woman who kept all of my baby teeth. That's like borderline psychotic behavior. I was instantly scared straight at the thought of simultaneously becoming my mother and a batshit crazy hoarder on a TLC reality show. 5 full garbage bags later I was officially purged of my pre-college self. It might take another few years before I can get rid of all of my MSU sideline passes and the My Chemical Romance poster from my freshman dorm room, but I'm taking baby steps.

Days left until I'm officially a Chicagoan: 9

Moving Sucks/Is Awesome

This is going to be the one and only whiny, complainy post dedicated to why moving sucks, because it does. 99.9% of the time I'm amped out of my mind to be moving to Chicago. It's just the other .1% of the time that it absolutely blows, and here's why:

1. I have a teeny tiny car.

I drive a Honda Civic. It gets great gas mileage and for the most part it's an awesome car, but, as you all know, size matters. The trunk on this car is relatively big, but not nearly big enough for an interstate move. Luckily for me IKEA is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. As for the rest of my 23 years' worth of accumulated shit? That's on me and my baby Asian car.

2. I'm really bad at packing.

If you know me at all you already know that I always forget something big. I get really tied up in details, like remembering a specific pair of earrings or floss or the right pair of underwear for each dress I packed. Remembering all these little things prevents me from remembering big, important things, like my phone or tickets. Almost every time I'm responsible for remembering tickets to the concert/sporting event/anything I'm going to, I forget them. It's not even funny. I annoy myself when I do it yet I can't seem to not do it in the first place. Knowing that I do this even gives me anxiety that I'm going to do it, and you would think that would help me remember to do it. But no. Luckily I don't need tickets to move to Chicago, but I do need other stuff that I'm likely to forget. Like pants.

3. When it comes to driving long distances, I'm That Girl.

Normally, I try very hard in my everyday life not to be That Girl. You know That Girl. She overanalyzes texts from her boyfriend, she doesn't want to get dirt under her fingernails, she's a vegetarian this week because Kate Middleton is, etc. That Girl is also known for being extremely annyoing on long car rides, and that's exactly how I get. If it were up to me I'd never drive anywhere if it took longer than like two hours. I'll do it, and I've done it, but it's not cute. I get tired and antsy and my ass gets sore (insert That's What She Said joke here). Metro-Detroit to Chicago is about 4 hours and I'll be making the trip 3 times in 5 weeks. The only thing keeping me from going absolutely bonkers on the drive is knowing that in 2 weeks I'll never be forced to make the drive again. Until Thanksgiving. Fuck.

To counterbalance all the That Girl-esque whining, there are so many reasons why I'm pysched to be moving to Chicago. The actual list is longer than time, so here's a few randomly selected highlights:

1. Not living at home
2. Not living in the suburbs
3. Being able to watch every Blackhawks game
4. The improved possibility of running into Jonathan Toews
5. Not living at home
6. Being able to see Soldier Field and Lake Michigan from my living room
7. Not living at home
8. Bars. So many bars.
9. Boys. So many boys. Ones I didn't go to elementary school/high school/college with.
10. Jamba Juice