Move it, shake it, work it, throw it out

I'm in! I'm in and moved! (I'll be unpacked by oh, the end of the lease) I'm officially a Denver resident, oh yeah. So take that, Elway, Dannielle is in the house.

Moving - sucks. It's no great revelation, b/c I don't really know anyone who says, "Man, I LOVE packing up all my shit, sorting through it, hauling it, carrying it up a set of stairs, and THEN getting to do it all over again for my roommate!" I do, however, love all the help we had this weekend. I love the beautiful neighborhood I'm living in AND, as it turns out, I'm living in some kind of crazy hipsters-w/dogs-dormitory.

Our apartment building looks like a motel. The layout is rectangular with a large common courtyard in the middle , anchored by a surprisingly calming fountain. The mixture of rocks and grills, the picnic style cement table and bench give it the look of a quiet motel. At night, the lights in front of each apartment come on and the courtyard is lit by lights around the walking path, blue fountain lights and various open windows. Crunchy, squeaky sounds emitted by the rocks underfoot remind me of the old-school McDonald's playground. Windows in the apartment are cheap, thin and are covered by long and noisey metal blinds. Everyone really does seem to know everyone else AND their dog - literally. We might be the only people there without one. So far I've met a Great Dane, two black labs, two doxins, some kind of corgie mut and TWO, count 'em two, pugs. Disturbingly, my bedroom has complete audio access to the next-door neighbor's apartment and the bathroom above us. I can hear every sound of someone using the toilet - almost certainly a man. Men have distinct peeing sounds, which might be most disturbing in the fact that I can distinguish this. I'll just pretend that I have a boyfriend in the house.

We moved on Friday and Saturday, the majority of heavy-lifting being done on the latter. I was exhausted after hours of moving and the stress of moving. My roomie had been called in to work and so I was left alone. It was the first time that I felt a little overwhelmed by the situation, a kind of throw-back to sleepover homesickness and panick that I used to feel as a kid. I went to Target to get beer and pizza for myself, unable to share the traditional end-of-moving-day food with anyone. In some small way I almost felt compelled to run up to an adult and tell them, "I am here by myself. Isn't there anyone you can call, shouldn't someone be notified?!?" I wasn't lost, but that's how I felt. Even Target, which I kind of thought would be a comforting place, seemed larger and foreign and different. Departments weren't in the proper places and the grocery side had all kinds of foreign and ridiculous third-party vendors. Everyone had someone with them or something to purchase, I was there just there under the pretense of browsing for Lysol. Somehow the success of a moving day celebration meal was diminished by the fact that I ate a personal pan pizza in an empty bedroom on the floor, a single light and ceiling fan humming above. The building was rushed with sound of people getting ready to go out on Saturday night and I felt shabby.

Beautiful mornings mend so much - and I've had two in a row. I think the excitement of the move is ramping up and I'll soon be taking Denver by storm. For now, I need to find my way to the grocery store and the closet bar.