growing in the goo

Still in DC, right now I'm on E, C-note and T's new couch. But first things first.

The trip started off with a bang when I sat down in my assigned seat on the airplane. The guy beside me turned, shook my hand and said "Hi. I'm Cristefano, your neighbor for the next hour." He seemed nice, but I was hoping that a) my neighbor would move into the empty window seat next to him and b) that he wouldn't be talking the whole flight.

Well, he didn't move (i guess he enjoys cramped spaces? and stealing my armrest?) but he did stop talking briefly after that. He took out his headphones and a PDA looking device and started listening to music. Before, and during takeoff. I was going to tell him to put it away because I didn't want the plane to have an electrical breakdown since he was listening to music but - here it is, folks - I didn't want to have to talk to him for those extra 5 minutes.

I decided that not listening to him was worth jeopardizing the whole plane's safety.

Then the drink cart rolled around, and he asked for two glasses of tomato juice. Questionable, but okay. I guess some people have to buy the crap, otherwise it wouldn't get sold. The flight attendant raises the plastic cup to put ice in it, and he goes "NO! NO ice." Frantically, as if he's allergic to water. The FA says "okay..." and then Cristefano asks if he can just have the cans. She acquieces.

She and the cart push on up towards the aisle, and Cristefano turns to me (ignoring the fact that I have my headphones on) and says "You know, she just commited a safety violation. This can be used as a weapon." Mistaking my look of horror and distaste for one of incredulity, he continues "No, really. It's in the book." And then he weighs the can in his hand, as if testing its strength and durability for crushing skulls.

After that, Cristefano and I didn't have very much interaction.

Fast forward to last night. C-note asked me if I wanted to come with her, L and Mike LaRosa to pick up a sofa in a U-Haul. Sorry mike, but my first reaction was "Mike? driving a U-Haul?" but then I decided that I have to be young and stupid at least some of the time, so I decided to come along. And I knew that it would turn out to be an adventure.

After a brief altercation with a Metro employee, I met up with C-note in the train. We rode out to the great suburbs of Virginia, where Mike and L picked us up in a huge yellow Budget rental truck. There we encountered our first obstacle - the front seat was not a bench seat, rather, it was two chairs. not a problem. L sat on the ground in the middle, C-note sat on the edge of the passenger seat, I sat on the passenger seat, one cheek leaning on the door, one arm around C-note, one arm frantically holding on to the random bar that was on the dashboard. The whole time I had visions of the door lock failing and me flying across the pavement. (It alternated of being really funny and then reallly scary in my mind)

We get to mike's house. He looks at our "moving clothes." L is wearing sensible flip flops (maybe the ones she got at CVS?), with work pants and a white button down shirt. Not bad. I'm wearing gold bejeweled flip flops, a white tank top and a short skirt. C-note is wearing 3 inch sandal heels, white capris, and a light blue button shirt.

Not a problem.

We somehow get the sofas out of mike's house - out of the sliding glass doors, off his porch and then up the (wet) grassy hill. And then into the trunk. A lot of squealing and exclamations of terror were made by all, but it wasn't that bad. We then decide to stop somewhere for dinner. A "quick meal" turns into an hour at least, and that included singing and dancing by the staff of the restaurant. (Why is that all the cute ones are 18? Darn it.) At the end of the meal, L says "AH! I forgot that we had to move the sofa in to our apartment!" It sounds like a ditzy thing, but to be honest, I had forgotten too. i think we were in denial.

Driving along the highway to DC was fun. Singing to country songs, looking like we were in a country music video. It worked. And the last song, pulling up to their apartment building, was a loud rendition of "All by Myself," as sung by Celine Dion. We put our hearts into it.

Through much pulling and finagling, we get the smaller sofa into the freight elevator. I was left downstairs to guard the bigger sofa. Growing bored, I manage to get it through the doorway and into the lobby, with the help of an older man who clearly didn't know what he was getting into when he offered to help the girl in a skirt move a 10 foot sofa. L and Mike come down in the elevator 20 minutes later, and we attempt to put the sofa in. And then again. And then again. It's too tall and too wide to fit.

and we realize that we have to carry it up the stairs. 4 flights. And by far, the scariest sight I've seen is that sofa standing straight up on the step above me, tottering along.

And at each switchback, the sofa is too large to just gliiiiide on through. We have to push it vertical, slide it back, then pivot for each turn.

There are 9 of them. And we finally get it to the fourth floor (SALVATION!) and at first glance, it's too big to fit through the doorway. We spend a good ten minutes on that step, panicked at the thought that all of this work was for nothing. But through twisting, turning, despairing and pushing, we got it through.

I took pictures of the finished sofa in the living room. I'll post it when I get home.

time to take a shower. I think I'm going to be late for lunch!