Move It! Ya Bastadges, MOVE IT!

Your back aches, your arms feel like you've spent the day waggling them out the back of a fast moving airplane. You can almost feel the knuckles on your newly extended arms dragging of the pavement. Your legs feel like to over-cooked rammin noodles, that is, until you sit in the truck for an hour in traffic, then they feel like two planks used as scaffolding for a crew of beer drinking, four hundred pound brick layers from Southern Jersey. You're exhausted, the line up you faced when returning the truck to the U-Haul center almost made you rip the heads off that couple at the counter that seemed to take forever to complete their transaction with one of only two cashiers who seemed to be dueling each other in the battle of the slow. In other words, you're sore, tired and a bit cranky, and you feel fucking GREAT.

You are three split seconds from toasting the completion of moving your good pals from thatty there place to thissy here place. It was a good move, your pals hadn't asked a crew of ten people to come by to stand around chitty chatting and generally getting in the way of the three people doing the job. Your friends didn't get stressed and stretched into knots, maybe they did stress a bit, but they didn't pour their stress down the back of your shirt like cold water that makes your shoulder blades tighten up and block your ears.

Your friends were organized enough, enough so that the flow of boxes was uninterrupted as we scoodled them from floor to truck and back to floor. The best thing was that your friends weren't the type that had to over think the whole process, you know the type that spends more time thinking about how a truck should be loaded, than loading the damned truck. I mean, think about it, think about your average mover-guy; usually he's a big smelly oaf; neck thicker than his head and just a little smarter than the truck he drove up in. Moving is really quite easy on the brain, see box, pick up box, move box to truck, return for another box, repeat until truck can't fit no more boxes, drive.

This was a good move.

OK, I'm a bit sad that I moved my friends out of my neighborhood, BUT, I am glad I was there when they moved. I mean, being part of a transition in your friends life is an great opportunity, experience and an honor. AND, no, no, no... Thank YOU, thank you for giving me something worthwhile to do on a Saturday, thanks for getting me up without a hang over, and putting me to the task of simple honest work. THANK YOU especially for having me part of a move that we all know is going to be great for you two. I see a whole load of brand new dreams percolating from within' the walls of your home, now that your home is no longer an uncleanable tenement dumpster fully stocked with an evil assortment of mistreated kids and bastards with no regards for the clock or the lack of insulation.

OH AND... you owe me nothing. Dinner was nice, but all you owe me is your continued friendship and the bunches of more good times I am certain we're going to have. Just give me a place to break down and schlop out after pulling the shoot on the next crazy night in your new hood, your great new hood. Can't wait to have some good clean fun in your great new home!