Moving Into My New Home: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

As I write this blog, I'm lying on my stomach in my new living room, a bunch of boxes -- empty and filled -- behind me, grassy areas beyond the doors to the left and right of me, and surrounded by more space than I currently know what to do with.

Yep, that's right: Earlier today, I moved into my new house.

:-)

I know that since my wife Ramona and I found out our offer for our first home got accepted last month, I've written several blogs about my new digs. But please indulge me for one more. I mean, this is the big one. I'm here. I've moved. The packing is over. The unpacking can begin. This very well may be my place of residence for the next 60 years. And with medical technology advancing every day, that number can easily grow to 70 or 80.

I've already picked out which tree out front I want to be buried under.

And as my first day in my new house comes to an end, I've learned three things:

1) Hiring movers is the way to go.

If you're one of these people who say, "I can move myself. I don't need to hire anyone to do it for me," I have one thing to say to you:

You're a imbecile.

Why the hell would you want to do all the heavy lifting yourself, renting the truck, getting the equipment, loading and unloading everything, returning the truck, then going back to your new place and unpack, when you can simply hire professional movers to do the work for you? They have the truck, the equipment, they know what they're doing, they'll move whatever you want, and they're very quick because they have other jobs to get to.

In short, it's easily worth the few bucks you spend.

The guys we used today showed up on time, packed up our apartment and dropped off the stuff at our house, all within two hours. By late morning, we were already unpacking boxes and my back didn't hurt because I paid guys to do the heavy lifting for me.

Now I know what you "do it yourself movers" are thinking:

I get my friends to help me.

I got news for you, kids: No friend of anybody's wants to help another friend move. Ever. It is the single worst thing you can ask someone to do. It's boring, it's painful, it always involves stairs, and the promise of pizza and beer a) don't make up for it, and b) become irrelevant because the pizza and beer don't arrive until after the move is over, and by that time your "friends" want to get the hell out of there because they can no longer stand the sight of you because you made them so miserable.

Just sayin'.

2) Having my own washer and dryer is the coolest thing since the return of Jay Leno to The Tonight Show.

I've been in an apartment for the past 4 1/2-plus years, and in that time I've had to learn to deal with sharing laundry machines with over 100 people in one building and finding enough quarters to do the laundry in the first place. But today, I found myself having my own washer and dryer, and the result was me doing 6 loads of laundry while skipping and dancing the entire time.

I washed everything: Clothes, sheets, mats. I even wanted to wash some stuffed animals just because I now had the power to do so (Ramona said no). There's nothing like leaving your stuff in the dryer for a long period of time following completion and not having to worry about some stranger stealing your boxer shorts.

Just sayin'.

And 3) My wife is a psycho.

I love Ramona. I really do. Marriage rocks, it was the best decision I ever made. But that doesn't change the fact that the purchase of our home has made her, on some levels, a lunatic.

Case in point:

Yesterday, during one of my half-dozen trips to the house to drop stuff off in anticipation of the next day's big move, I walked in to see Ramona and my mother-in-law spreading incense smoke all over the house, one room at a time.

"It's a Native American ritual called smudging," Ramona said. "It's to ward off all the bad spirits of our house."

Bad spirits?

"Yeah. The vibe in here was just really icky and eerie, and it was because there were bad spirits left by the previous owners. This incense will help."

Oh.

So I watched for a bit. And in an eight-minute time span, I watched Ramona and her mom smoke up the bathroom, nearly set a door on fire, and set off the smoke alarm three times.

No, I'm not exaggerating.

Three times.

After this, I thought hippy time was over. But no, Ramona said. First, she had to take the incense residual and put it with the earth...

(nope, not kidding)

...and then...

"Next, we're going to light some sweetgrass," Ramona said.

Sweetgrass?

"It's for positive energy."

Oh.

She asked if I wanted to participate.

I declined.

One psycho in the relationship is enough.

Just sayin'.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

This is quite honestly one of the most disturbing stories I have ever read.

A 2-year-old boy in Indonesia is addicted to cigarettes after his dad gave him his first one at 18 months. Now the boy, who is grossly overweight and doesn't have the energy to play with other kids, smokes 40 cigarettes a day.

His mom was quoted as saying: "He's totally addicted. If he doesn't get cigarettes, he gets angry and screams and batters his head against the wall. He tells me he feels dizzy and sick."

The father, meanwhile, had a different answer: "He looks pretty healthy to me. I don't see the problem."

I only see one problem: The fact that you still don't need a license to become a parent. Because of that, idiots like this guy are allowed to procreate.