Wild thing . . . I think you move me

So we just moved all our combined stuff into the new apartment. I am never moving again. Ever. We are going to stay in that 1-bedroom apartment and raise our children. They will sleep in cubbies above the washer & dryer. And one day they will fall down the 34 concrete steps and die. That's just the way life is, kids.

First off, I need to give a huge, huge, shout-out THANK YOU to all the people who helped us out. Allow me to count my blessings in this department:

Blessings:
GF who threw away a good chunk of his childhood (and teenagehood, and youngadulthood) at my urging
Aunt & uncle who offered us their old washer & dryer
SIL who sold us a barely-used couch
MIL who lent us a nice glider rocker
Roommate who gave me our old kitchen table and an end table
FIL who loaded, drove, and unloaded the U-Haul
BIL and CILs who loaded up all of these items into said U-Haul
Sister and friends who wrapped, taped, and packed my entire kitchen
Roommates who did not even complain about me turning the downstairs into Packing Central for days
Ibuprofin who makes drugs. Tasty, tasty drugs.
Coolboy and Ed who drove up to help us unload in SLC
Coolboy for getting The Great Idea
Desmama for buying me the sexy crystal pitcher I used to make ice water to revive the collapsed men
Pizza Hut for having our pizzas ready in 20 minutes
Crate & Barrel goblets and Williams-Sonoma cheese plates, which is what we ate the pizza on, because that's what you get at my house. (Also because we hadn't yet gone to IKEA to purchase the peasant stuff.)
IKEA for being so beauteous that a $75 gift card can get you glasses, dishes, silverware, and anything else you don't yet have.


Things that are not exactly the same as blessings:

Even after all the ruthless destruction of childhood, we still have too much stuff.

The angle of my concrete-step stairwell. It made it impossible to get the couch (NOT a huge couch, mind you) through the front door. Coolboy eventually convinced them to try push/pulling it up through the BALCONY, which was one of the more surreal and potentially fatal things I've ever witnessed.

The tub was installed in such a way that when you step into it (or shift weight in it, or think about approaching it) it lets out a deep, loud creak. I'm pretty sure this means I'm going to fall through it one day and land, naked and mangled and possibly dead, in my downstairs' neighbor's tub.

There are two doors going into the bathroom. One is from the hallway, the other is from the bedroom. Even though we KNEW this, GF and I still both opened the other door while we were in there, thinking there might be a nice closet for towels behind it. I was actually sitting ON the toilet when I opened the door and was confronted with an (empty) master bedroom. So . . . yeah. I'm thinking we'll put a sign on that door, to save everyone from some awkward moments.

The toilet. Holy frightening crap, the toilet. I don't know what someone's been doing with that thing, but it's as black as sin in the tank and there's weird crap floating on the water. Also it uses about 47 gallons to flush and you have to stand there holding down the handle the whole time. Will be speaking to the management about the toilet, and how I like mine to be relatively water-efficient and evil-free.

But see, I need to end on the biggest blessing of ALL, which is that the moving is finished. That was the last big insane thing I had to do, and now it's done. Drinks are on me!