Two things come to mind while moving

#AnniesMove

When it's time to move, two things always come to mind: The #AnniesMove episode of Community, and this cartoon from Hyperbole and a Half. 

Annie's Move, well, just because it's hilarious. The Community gang destroys Annie's old apartment above a porn store as they move her in with Troy and Abed where -- SPOILER ALERT (seriously if you haven't seen the episode by now...) her room is revealed to be a blanket fort. They tweet the whole thing, which is how Jeff gets busted for faking illness and going to the mall instead where the dean blackmails him into hanging out, and Shirley and Britta pick up an interesting passenger.

In the Hyperbole and a Half post, the author, in great detail, describes her dogs' complex and not-so-complex emotions as they move.

The characterizations of "simple dog" and "helper dog" fit my two to a T. Lizzie is "simple dog." She's fairly intelligent, independent and carefree. She doesn't let things bother her until they really bother her, then she breaks down into a bundle of nerves.



The first canine breakdown came when I brought her home from the sitters. I had taken a carload of stuff, packing the car after I dropped them off, and when she came home, she paced around the house, looking for all the missing things.

Then she stopped. Her eyes got wide. Her ears pointed. Like she just remembered something really important. She rummaged around her crate, emerged with her tail wagging, prized green ball in her mouth. We tossed it around, and all was well with the world again.

It squeaks.

The next week it happened again. I was packing and Lizzie was hanging out, unphased. Then someone came to buy my dresser. This was her tipping point.

As the strangers carried my dresser out the door, she started whining, and it didn't cease for 15 minutes. I tried petting her, coaxing her, feeding her, nothing worked. She finally laid down on my bed. I sat down next to her, talked to her like an adult, and promised her everything was fine.

Oh, Lizzie.

I scratched her ears for awhile. Then she suddenly jumped up, rummaged around her crate, again emerged with her ball, and all was well again.

While Lizzie is having her ups and downs, Brandy has settled into the role of "helper dog".

Brandy is a quiet, shy girl, and gets startled easily. Unlike the dog in the cartoon though, she didn't pick up on the fact that her environment was changing.

Until Lizzie had her first panic attack.

While Lizzie recovered, Brandy hasn't wanted to be alone. She gets anxious when I leave, and when I get back. She hoovers over me when I'm packing. She freaked out when I moved the couch.

My landlord was showing prospective tenants my apartment. When I go running, Lizzie and Brandy take turns lapping around Corn Hill with me. One tenant showed up early, Lizzie was with me, Brandy was at home.

Steve described her reaction when the strangers walked into the house: "She was like, umm, I don't know if you're supposed to be here and I don't know if I'm supposed to do something about it." So she stayed on the couch and watched intently.

Lizzie wears her emotions on whatever the canine version of a sleeve is. Brandy is harder to read, and I can't tell the difference between her worried look and her "feel bad for me and let me on the couch" look.

The Brandy look.

Either way, our lives will return to normal soon enough.

Jessica's lack-of-power struggle, Wednesday

NOTE: This harrowing tale was originally recorded using the ancient methods of a pencil and paper. It was transcribed Monday night in a format easily readable by others (because no one can read my handwriting) and set to autopost throughout the week.

Translation: Jessica was unable to watch “My Name is Earl” reruns on Netflix after a nasty windstorm knocked out power for several days, so she continued to blog on paper. She watches too many apocalyptic movies, so the second she has access to Netflix you will find her motionless on the couch rewatching “The Stand”, because that’s what she’s been comparing her experiences to all weekend (even though they didn’t have smart phones or iPods). Oh, and also the #Anniesmove episode of Community.

See all parts here.

 

Power lines caught in downed trees on Church Street -- likely why I'm still out.

Wednesday, 11 a.m. – I am now the 31%.

Most of Licking County has power and I still don’t. I kind of wish today was a work day. Can’t I just take my holiday when the lights come back on? I dropped my phone off at work to charge for a bit. Time to keep packing, one week until the move!

An Alabama Power worker on Church Street, near me.

Wednesday, 3 p.m. – It’s one thing when the whole city is out. You get into a “we’re all in this together, let’s go get a bottle of wine” mindset.

But when AEP is celebrating 70% power, you want to yell at each passing utility truck: “Hey!! Me next!”

I felt a glimmer of hope as an AEP pickup rolled slowly through the alley and stop by the neighbor’s. I went inside to get two bottles of water and snack bars, the best bribes I could come up with for information, but when I came back out they were already gone.

My neighbor tipped me off to some crews working on Church Street, one block over and two blocks up. Armed with my self-appointed “Official Advocate Tweeter” title, I went over to scope out the scene and take some photos.

It was ugly, tree trunks in yards and power lines snarled up in branches.

My buddy’s here. Time to go seek out a cold beverage.

Bad damage to another house.

Wednesday, 5 p.m. – Nothing yet. But now that I’ve had some hard cider and good food I’m feeling a bit better. 

It’s been 120 hours. I need to pack, but I’m climbing the walls. It’s 87 degrees in my apartment, so I can only get a bit of packing done at a time. Upstairs is completely uninhabitable. I’m so over this.

Time to run my phone to work to charge again.

Wednesday, 6:00 p.m. – Arg.

Perhaps the worst part? The sign in UDF’s window: “We are out of ice cream.”

Wednesday, 6:30 p.m. – I was picking out all the hoodies from my closet to pack and loud cheering erupts across the street. I try the light switch. Nada.

Seconds later, I hear a click.

Then there’s cold air blowing against my heels and the light above me illuminates.

I squeal loudly, then I see the neighbor in his yard. “We’re back!!!” I yell. Then I punch the down button on my thermostat all the way to 65, and close all my windows. “Isn’t it great to have power,” someone walking down the street says as I close my living room window. “Yep,” I say. Once I’m sufficiently sealed from the noises of my neighborhood, “Now I don’t have to listen to you clowns anymore.”

Time to zoom to work to get my phone to broadcast the good news to the world on Twitter, go to Brandie’s to get my food, then spend the evening comatose on the couch.

My favorite episode, and quite appropriate.

The epilogue: 121 hours without power. That’s longer than I’ve ever had to go – by about 118 hours.

I spent last night watching the Walking Dead and Community under a blanket. I was cold and I was loving it. 

I posted celebratory posts on Facebook and Twitter, but knew I couldn’t gloat too much. Lots of people I know are still out.

I offer up my washer and dryer and AC to those that need it, as others did for me. Now it's back to work -- lots to do before I skip town next week!