Migratory Oozing of Vomitous Elaborations

As many of you already know, I have just moved from Dallas to Baton Rouge. If you know me, then you know the reasons for my move. If you don't know me, then such details wouldn't interest you. To put it simply, I've followed the inspirational example of the great Kelly Clarkson to "take a risk, take a chance, make a change, and break away". They're aren't any palm trees around here to sleep under, and I don't plan on getting on a fast train any time soon, but I may try and find a tall building with revolving doors to play in later on today.

I have developed an acronym for MOVE. Migratory Oozing of Vomitous Elaborations. It's a stretch, I know; but it was the best I could come up with. My moving experience hasn't been filled with as many uh-oh moments as a Ben Stiller comedy or anything, but it has had its share of frustrations.

12 friends (all saints) helped me load my crap in Dallas last week. One even drove from Louisiana in order to do so. 6 of the 12 were guys....all teachers, coincidently. It was the making for a new cliche' opener for joke telling. "How many male teachers does it take to......". In this case, it was "How many male teachers does it take to load 2 couches and a bed into a 5'x8' UHaul trailer?" It took all 6, in fact. The whole process took about 2 hours and was more entertaining to watch than a LifeTime movie. There were no murders, kidnappings, or reunion of lovers; but there were minor injuries, team work, and even some furniture humping. Despite everyone's sweat and tears, we couldn't manage to fit all of my belongings into our vehicles. About a 4th of what I own still resides in Dallas. I was haunted by images of accidently leaving all of my underwear behind, thus being forced to cut holes in my pillow cases out of makeshift urgency.

Unfortunately, the very same weekend I chose to move, a monsoon hit the southeast. The drive from Dallas to Baton Rouge normally takes 8 hours. Our journey on Saturday was drawn out to a near mind-numbing 10, however, due to our frequent stops in the rain to repair the plastic tarping over the bed of my friend's truck. We even stopped at grody podunk Family Dollar during a thunderstorm to buy duct tape. We climbed up on top of the truck right in front of the entrance of the store. Everyone stared at the 2 dumbass white kids. I absolutely loved the white-trashiness of it all.

The drive was made even more enjoyable by Bridget, my poor little kitty cat. I loaded her into my car in her pet carrier, but was too heartbroken by her cries to keep her in it for long. As soon as I cleared Dallas traffic, I let her out to sit in my lap. The first 2 hours of the trip were made with her sitting on her hind legs, facing me with her claws dug into the collar of my jacket. After that, Bridget displayed her previously hidden talent of impersonations. The mink collar: her favorite position while I was driving was draped around my shoulders with her nose in my ear. The ostrich: there was a 6" wide hole in the "mountain o' crap" directly behind my seat. It wasn't a space big enough for her entire body, but she found that she could stuff in everything except her booty and back legs. Once she wiggled into position, she'd stay there for a good 10/15 mintues. The mole: when the 6" hole got boring, she would dig a pathway (in the "mountain o' crap") and disappear. The first time she did this, I panicked a little. Okay........I panicked a lot. I pulled over and made my friend unload and rearrange in a gas station parking lot. When we finally found her under a pile of pillows, I couldn't reach her well enough to pull her out, and I couldn't see her face. After feeling her belly, I was convinced that she wasn't breathing. Once I was proven wrong and my overreacting subsided, I ate a hamburger and all was well again. Just like that.

Bridget and I moved into a house that already had 3 animals living in it. 2 dogs, 2 cats, and 3 women is WAY too many for one small house. The situation is the making for a cheesy ABC sitcom. Our show would be narrated by stereotypical (voices matching their personalities) voiceovers for the pets. Darby, the chocolate lab's would the voice of a young man...slow, stupid, meek. Bobby, the pipsqueaky, peacemaking mutt would be an older woman, possibly high pitched, but with Yankee accent. Webber, the hardheaded male cat would be an older man...always sounds inebriated and confused. And Bridget....cutesie young girl's voice....excited and mischevious. In reality, our pets would use lots of profanity, I'm sure; but this fantasy is in prime time. On our show, we'll encounter a multitude of the typical roomate/pet scenarios. My favorite epidsode will be when one roomate comes home drunk and catches the house on fire with a neglected scented candle. In her drunkened state, she passes out, and the animals (whom she previously hated) will drag her body out to safety. The episode will end with soft music, intervention, forgiveness, hugs, and a goofy neighbor making sense of it all with a corny joke.

Anyway.....living in this house is quite an adjustment not only for me, but for Bridget. Her normal "I'm not scared of anything or anybody...I love you, I love you, I love EVERYthing!!!!.....Yay!, your belly is a trampoline!" demeanor had taken a sharp fall the first few days we were here. There were a couple of violent exchanges between she and Webber, and Darby retreats and barks for hours on end after seeing her. I've felt like I've been running a freakin day care all week....and those are memories that I try to stay away from as much as possible. Just like with toddlers, if I turn my back for more than 2 seconds, someone gets hurt and starts cying, something crashes and breaks, or both. At least I'm not having to potty train 12 of them at once. But, alas......the sun is starting to emerge. The cats managed to sit within 10 feet of each other yesterday without fluffing tails, and the dog hasn't drifted into anxious barking nearly as much. And I feel a little bit less crazy being here with them all.

No fears....more updates will come. I must run now because I think I hear another sitcom epidsode developing in the next room, and I want to be a part of it. I must keep creative control....