Pros and Cons of The Big Move, Part 1

After eleven years of living in Quincy, I finally decided to bite the bangers and mash and move. I am now an official resident of Somerville, MA. The move made a heckuva lot of sense for me. I spend three or four of my nights in Somerville or Cambridge in one Square or another. And I work in Waltham. The only thing that had kept me from moving until now was the thought of packing up 11 years worth of crap and that I suffer from a debilitating bout of chronic laziness. But, when a friend of mine was moving out of her apartment, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to snag her digs. Before I could talk myself out of it with visions of cardboard boxes and treks to the dumpster and thoughts of what could potentially be growing underneath my love seat, I signed the lease and moved last week.

During my move, I discovered that there were pros and cons of moving. I'll start with the cons and get my complaining out of the way:

Cons of moving from Quincy to Somerville after 11 years

1.) Going through the afore-mentioned 11 years of crap. When you've lived in the same place for 11 years straight, you amass a lot of stuff that you haven't looked at in 11 years. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that I made twenty-two trips to the dumpster behind my building and three trips to goodwill. And I STILL had a ton of junk left over, enough so that I received disapproving looks from my movers when they arrived on Monday morning, and I had to hide my head in shame like a coned puppy.

In a cabinet that I clearly had not opened in the past 8 years, I found a stocked-disgusting-liquor-that-I-hate stash.

Triple Sec, yuck. Orange Stoli, blech. I think there's even a cup o'noodles in there in the back? My sister, Lori, was kind of enough to throw it all in the trash.

2.) Finding scary bottles of goo. Speaking of disgusting things in cabinets, I also found a bottle of brown goo that used to be ketchup. The sell-by date was 2008. I didn't look that closely, or take a picture because I was having trouble keeping my noodles down, and I'm sorry for that because I bet that you're all wondering what 2008 ketchup looks like.

3.) Dropping your keys down an elevator shaft. This last one might not be a con related to EVERYONE's move, but it sure was a con of mine. At the end of move-in day, after three straight days of packing and moving, I was so tired that I was having trouble getting my body to do what my brain wanted it to do. My very last job of the day was to go to my old apartment in Quincy and clean out all of the trash that we had left that day. As my parents and I were walking down the hall to the elevator, I walked right into the fire extinguisher box on the wall. My parents laughed at me because they're super sympathetic. My mom made the statement, "In 11 years of living here, have you ever done that before?" And I laughed and said no and turned back around toward the elevator. As I turned, just as my dad opened the elevator door, my car keys dropped out of my hand and rolled toward the crevice between the elevator floor and the hall.The three of us watched with horror as the car key slipped right through the crack into the darkness below. Now, this would upset someone who had just been to Disney World, rode Splash Mountain five times in a row, watched the Electric Light parade, sang along to It's a Small World and oooh-ed and aaaah-ed at the fireworks exploding over Cinderella's castle. To someone who had just been through one of the most exhausting days of her life, it was too much to handle. And I had a meltdown.

During my meltdown, my poor parents who were just as tired as I was, tried to offer helpful suggestions. Call the landlord! (Didn't answer.) Call the fire department! (Sad that I was crying but couldn't help). We finally decided that my dad would drive me to Somerville where I could get the spare (luckily, I knew right where I had packed it!) and then back down to Quincy to get my car. So, that's what we did. By the time that we got back to Quincy, it was after midnight. I thanked my parents for all of their help and said goodbye and watched them drive away. With a sigh, I went over to my car in the parking lot, pressed the alarm button on the key and watched...as nothing happened. Apparently, if you haven't used the spare remote control key in a while, the transmitter dies on you.

Anyway, I had enough wits about me to try to get a new battery. (Didn't work.) Call my sister who lives in the same apartment building as my old apartment (Offered to drive me to Somerville and sleep over so that I could feed my cat). And try the manual key without the remote control. (Tripped the alarm).

After saying farewell to my neighbors with three trips of the car alarm at 1 a.m., we finally figured out how to start my car with the manual key. I was able to go to the dealer the next day and get a new transmitter. And that, my friends, was my last day in Quincy.

Stay tuned next post for the Pros of the Big Move and why, after all this, I'm psyched that I made it!

Strip T's to the rescue: Part 2

There we were, the Strip T's staff and I waiting for Mr. Could-Be-Sloth to walk through the door. I had just received a text saying "Where are you? Inside." Jonathan and I looked quizzically at each other. Strip T's is not that big of a place. It's essentially the size of a D'Angelos. (Side note: When (and notice I say "when", not "if) you go to Strip T's, take a trip to the bathroom. You will feel like you just came down the beanstalk to wreak havoc on peasants. It's an experience.)

Making me even more nervous was the fact that, during one of our texting conversations, Mr. Could-Be-Sloth had told me that I was only the second person that he's met online to date. The first...he arrived at their meeting place, saw her, and in his words, "ran like a cheetah." I almost broke the date off when he told me that story, but he explained that it had nothing to do with her looks, he just freaked out, and he called her later to apologize. Whether or not his version is true, I don't know, but a free meal at Strip T's was at stake, and I didn't really want to give that up, so I gave him the benefit of the yay-I-get-food doubt.

As Jonathan and I scanned the room, Jonathan asked what Mr. Could-Be-Sloth looked like. I told him that all I knew was that he was bald, with a goatee, and Middle Eastern. Jonathan, then became busy with restaurant stuff, such as like, you know, running it, so I decided to take a look outside. I looked to my right, down the sidewalk, and saw a gorgeous bald, bearded man round the corner. He glanced at me and smiled....and then started walking in the other direction. For a split second, I thought "cheetahs run faster than that," but quickly realized that that wasn't the person I was waiting for.

I looked to my left and a tiny man was walking toward me. He wasn't bald (I'm not sure where I got that). He had a very nice smile. And he came up and hugged me hello. So I assumed that it was Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, who while attractive, wasn't really my type physically. However, not one to judge a kindle fire by its electronic title page, I was still looking forward to getting to know him because he seemed like a very sweet guy. As far as the confusion over his text saying that he was in the restaurant, here is where punctuation is important, guys. Without it, your message becomes, "where are you. inside" instead of "where are you? Inside?"

My Waiter Crush sat us at what Strip T's calls, the "Mafia Table". It's a corner table that faces the entire dining room and it's where I expect I'll receive my business if I ever have any and happen to be eating there.

I was trying not to feel self-concious that, sitting down, we looked like Jack Sprat and his wife, but even at 5'5", I felt as though I was towering over him...even though he insists to this day that he's 5'7". Waiter Crush took our drink order and left to grab them.

I turned to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth and said, "so nice to finally meet you! How was your day today?" "My day was good," he responded.  *Silence*

"What is it that you do for work?" I asked. "Operations," he responded. *Silence*

"What kind of business does your company do?" I asked. "Hospitality," he responded. *Silence*

"Oh cool, that's what my company does too!" I said, hoping that this would spark up the conversation. "We run the laundry facilities in dorms and apartment buildings and hotels." I continued. "I see," he responded. *Silence*

Now, a few things were running through my mind. One, oh my GOD this is BRUTAL. Two, is the whole dinner going to be like this??? Three, is it too soon to sneeze and get the check? But, I thought maybe he's just nervous. Or it might be that he's not interested? So I gave him an out by saying, "if you're not hungry, I don't mind just grabbing a small plate and a drink or something." And in his longest response yet, he stated, "No, let's eat a meal." and grabbed the menu.

The conversation went on like that for our whole dinner. During the times when I was just tired of the responsibility of carrying on the conversation, I sat there with my elbows on the table, and my chin in my hands, in classic boredom pose, like a kid who's been told she can't have dessert until she finishes her peas. I kept catching the eye of Waiter Crush and sending him silent "help me" signals, which I could tell he understood. But, with f-ing delicious food also comes painstaking care, meaning I wouldn't be seeing our entrees soon enough and there was nothing he could do.

Our food did come out soon after though, and my food was ten times more interesting than my date! The amazing thing about Strip T's is they basically go to the farm and get the ingredients for the menu which changes daily. I'm not being sarcastic...they literally go to the farm and get ingredients. They cure their own meat. They make their own vinegar. The flour for their bread and pasta is milled the day before. So, not only is the food interesting and cooked perfectly, but it's practically the best quality you can ask for.

That night, I ordered for Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, whose only instruction was "I like spicy," which I conveyed to Waiter Crush who suggested that he have the roasted skate wing, with spicy 'nduja sausage, kale, potato and leeks. Mr. Could-Be-Sloth ok'ed that with an "ok". Me, on the other hand, I knew exactly what I wanted. Oysters Ouefs Brouilles, and the Anne Fish Tautog with lobster sauce, fiddleheads and home fries. And in a down-to-the wire decision, encouraged by Waiter Crush, I got the seared pork belly small plate. Yet another reason that I love Strip T's...whenever I'm on the fence about ordering something, the waiters always give me a "no big deal" go ahead, which makes me feel like I'm not being gluttonous, just appreciative of what's on the menu.

Anyway, back to my disaster date: I still took the time to enjoy my food and wine, but once that was gone, I wanted to be!! I excused myself to go to the restroom, and on my way back from Lilli-pot, I went by Jonathan who asked, "Are you sneezing?" To which, I responded, "God, yes." Over comes Waiter Crush, who again subtlely steered us in the right direction by saying, "You guys are too full for dessert?" Before Mr. Could-Be-Sloth could answer with a one-word "no" response, I said, "Yeah, I'm stuffed."
Waiter Crush: Just the check, then.
Me: Yep.

Once Waiter Crush dropped the check off, I offered to pay, and Mr. Could-Be-Sloth took the billfold and said that it was on him (which was nice), and then he proceeded to put it on the bench next to him... So, we sat there in silence for another ten minutes (or was it a year? hard to tell), while Waiter Crush kept glancing at the table, trying to see if he could help me make my escape by speeding along the payment process.

Finally, (and I literally breathed an audible sigh of relief) Mr. Could-Be-Sloth slipped his card out of his wallet and into the billfold and Waiter Crush took it, bringing it back processed a second later. I said goodbye to all and Mr. Could-Be-Sloth walked me to my car where I gave him a hug. He told me to text when I got home and I said ok. When I got into my car, I saw a text from Jonathan, "At least the food was free. :)"

I texted Mr. Could-Be-Sloth when I arrived home and he asked, "Be honest. What did you think?" And I replied, "It started out good! I just thought that there were a lot of awkward silences," thinking that there's no way he could disagree. He responded, "I didn't think they were awkward, but oh well." This leads me to question my own dating style, and I would love it if you'd let me know what you think. To me, if you're having silences on the first date, they're prima facie awkward. You should have plenty to say when you don't know anything about each other. The silences come after you've been together for a while, then it becomes a comfortable silence.

Anyway, I haven't heard from Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, so I think he realized that it wasn't a match. But, the silver lining around my dinner plate...man, those oysters and that pork belly were F-ing Delicious.*

*I'm trying to get Strip T's to adopt that as their slogan. I'm not optimistic.