So I'm in Vancouver this week. Not the whole week, thankfully, but Tuesday-Thursday, which might as well be the whole week. I managed to get my stuff moved out of my apartment this weekend, with the invaluable assistance of my delightful girlfriend. I would have been overwhelmed and then collapsed in a heap of frustration several times (especially toward the end) had it not been for her steady help and encouragement. As it was, we managed to finish all the crucial packing well beforetime on Friday, so we got one long, last, luxurious soak in my garden tub before i had to turn in the keys. We got a decent night's sleep and were reasonably chipper when the movers arrived to carry all the things from Point A to Point B. Then, we wrapped up the move in time to get a shower and a nap before going to her parents' house to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. Happy New Year! I had never eaten Jewish "home cooking" before. For that matter, aside from the occasional kosher dill or lox on a bagel, I'm not sure I've ever eaten any sort of Jewish cooking before. It was a fantastic new experience and let me tell you - homemade Jewish cous-cous ROCKS. The hizzouse.
Monday, I went to the city dump and disposed of my dead washing machine which had left a bit of water-stain on the floor of my laundry room because it had decided at some point that leaking water was preferable to conveying it all into the wash basket. At least the leak was at the upstream end, so it wasn't leaking dirty laundry water on the floor. So, I was feeling all fabulous and mature and productive because I'd gotten all the move stuff done and finished the last cleanup details at the apartment and turned in the keys... I even remembered to wipe out the inside of the fridge! Tuesday, I had to pack for Vancouver, and this is where the trouble began.
For reasons unknown to me, I ended up spending lots of time Tuesday morning doing laundry, checking e-mail, catching up on blogs, preparing for demos I'd be giving at the conference and NOT PACKING. So when I got hungry, I looked at the clock to see if I could justify a lunch break, and realized that I had just one hour to get myself totally ready. This included FINDING the clothes and shoes and socks and accessories I wanted to pack, ASSEMBLING them and my toiletries all in one place, and ACTUALLY STUFFING THOSE THINGS IN A BAG. I failed miserably at the last two, and slightly at the first one.
A short list of the stuff I already know that I forgot:
- Novels for airplane entertainment
- Jacket (It's 18 here, yo!)
- Hair Stuff *
- Deodorant (I brought some, but it's so empty that I'd throw it away if I were home.)
- Phone Charger
* The problem with forgetting my hair stuff is that, left to its own devices, my hair resembles nothing so much as a very disheveled Q-tip that has been used to clean auto parts. This, I assure you, does not coincide with even the more relaxed Professional Dress Codes. If you've been to one of those sandwich shops where the Sandwich Artists wear dreadlocks and have multiple body modfications, it's possible I could get by with my hair in a place like that, but I really think they'd make me muzzle it, even in a place that liberal. My "Hair Stuff" tames the mess and makes it lie (more or less) down against my head and unites the individual strands so they look like big curls instead of a frizzy haze. You don't even know you need to thank me for using it, so I'll tell you right now - You're Welcome.