I. Am. So. Sore.

My mother refered to my sister and I as "acting like men" for the entire weekend. "Ohhh thank you so much for acting like men," she would say as we moved everything from her house into a 26 foot U-Haul.

"No problem mom!" As we would be carrying a couch (yes, a couch. Two girls. A couch) down steep stairs, or up steep stairs. There were dressers, boxes of books, boxes of teddies, boxes of "Alice's boyfriend boxes and other teen memories." (yes, I actually did name a box that.) There were boxes of pots, boxes of baby clothes, boxes of "ooooh everything" (which was the name of another box). In total, we moved about 10,000lbs of junk from one house to another.

This meant the entire weekend was gone. Waking up at 7am, going to sleep at 1am. Now, it hurts to type.

I must admit though, I did feel good. I was grimey and strong and I drank a lot of beer and I swore a little too much. I didn't have a shower for two days, and it felt fucking good. Tough! Tom boy tough! I've got bruises and cuts and the smell of A535 to prove it.

I'm moving to a town with a strip mall. That's it. And on Sundays, everyone parks their car on the side of the road by the grocery store parking lot. The parking lot is cleared out- except for orange pylons, and there are... Car Races. Yes folks.... the entire community comes out, and watches their neighbors race other neighbors. Anyone can participate- all you need is a helmet.

I couldn't stop laughing. And I'm moving there. Oh. God.