Turning in the keys

Today is official move-out day!  From here we will spend a few days at my parents, a few days out east with family, and then - España one week from today!

All said and done,  we got our whole life down to three big suitcases, two small ones, and a few boxes.  That may sound like fun, but I assure you it was not. (Kidding. It doesn't even sound fun, does it?)

But - almost there!

We look silly because we ARE apparently

Today I woke up in the living room.

To be fair, I was supposed to.

With our couches gone (mercifully without sweat stains as feared), our living room was nice and big and open and the coolest room in the house (no small thing in August in the desert) and completely empty.

When I say completely, I mean that there was a sorry pile of library books sitting in the corner and an old Chipotle receipt from October 2009 that came out of the couch cushions and fell on the floor and that was it. And let me repeat, this is the coolest room in the house.

So we did what any moderately creative being would do - we moved our bed into the living room.  The Mister even brought in the nightstands. Then we went on a manic light hunt, looking for any rogue sources of brilliance that would wake us up too early with beaming rays of cheerfulness.  We brilliantly pinned up blankets over the windows to make faux black-out curtains and got it all set up and then we were out (like the lights).

Twenty minutes later, the air conditioner kicked on.  And it sounded like we were suddenly in the middle of an airplane hanger, with a fighter pilot who was trying to revv up the engine for kicks because he wasn't loved enough as a child and wants to prove something to his buddies. Twenty minutes after that, it suddenly kicked off, and the noise ceased instantly like a guillotine had taken it on.

All night, you guys. All night.

Airplane hanger. Guillotine. Airplane hanger.  Guillotine.

I think they have a phrase for this.

I think it's "you can't win for losing".

I took this picture, but The Mister claims HE took it because he likes it

It's supposed to be a cloudy, (rainy?)  weekend here.  A good thing, since we are moving two couches out our front door, down the flight of stairs, onto a truck and to their new home tomorrow.  And otherwise it would be HOT and we would sweat all over the couches and the new owners would decide that they thought they were buying NICE couches, not SMELLY, SWEATED-ON couches and that if they had wanted to buy THOSE kind they would have paid 100 bucks for the one at that last garage sale.  And did they say 100 bucks, because they meant to say TWENTY because that's how much this gross thing is now WORTH.

See? Not a pretty scenario.




*The picture above is from another cloudy day, in Amman, Jordan last spring. It has a lot of dignity and class and probably deserves a more serious-minded post than the one it is now attached to.  Sorry, pretty ancient ruins picture.  You deserve better.

I will miss the lazy evening concerts

The Mister doesn't get to take his guitar to Spain.

Too heavy and bulky - doesn't travel well.

Le sigh.

I will miss this sight - and the sounds.  My favorite song that he plays is a slowed-down acoustic version of Elton John's "Rocket Man" - similar to the one Jason Mraz does sometimes in concert.

On the bright side, he wants to figure out how to play Spanish guitar.  And then I will be his flamenco girl (please note: this plays perfectly with my stated goals here *wink*)

Why we're moving to Spain

Deciding to move to Europe is like being 9 months pregnant: everyone you meet is full of "good luck!"s and good-natured questions and all the questions are generally of the same ilk (I swear that's a word).


Here are the general talking points - take notes, people.

Q: What are you going to do in Spain?
A: My personal goal is to learn to shake my hips like a flamenco dancer. The Mister has loftier goals. He would like to eat an entire pan of paella all by himself. Sexy, no?

In all seriousness, we will be employees of the Spanish Ministry of Education. We will be working as classroom assistants (called "auxiliares") in their bilingual education program. So we might be teaching English, or we might be teaching history, science, math (with a qualified teacher standing by, of course) to kiddos that are learning English.  I am in an elementary school and he is in a neighboring high school.

Q: Do you get paid? (you'd be surprised how often this gets asked) (really really often)
A: Yes. Really. Swear.

Q: Where exactly?
A: In the south of Spain, on the Costa del Sol

Q: Where will you live?
A: We'll stay in a hostel for the first few days as we look around for an apartment or a room in a house. Either one is fine with us. Having Spanish roommates would be sweet. And very good for the Spanish acquisition!

Q: Do you speak Spanish
A: Yes, we do alright for ourselves, or at least we rarely get the word for "bathroom" confused with the word for "beer". One of our goals though is to return basically fluent.  I would like to be able to converse with Antonio Banderas.  Over a glass of sangria.  On a date. Simultaneously, The Mister will be on a date with Catherine Zeta-Jones.  So, see,  it will all work out in the end.

Q: Will you ever come back?
A: Si! Our contract is for the school year, so we will be gone about a year, unless the economy stays in the tanker and we decide to wait it out one more year before entering law school, thereby pushing back graduation/must-get-a-job date. (kidding Mom!) (I think.)

Q: Will you have internet/email/cell phones/Facebook?
A: Actually, I think the internet in Spain can be much faster than the internet in the U.S. (side note: when you end a sentence with U.S., where do you put the period? Because U.S.. would be weird, right?). And we'll have phones and all that jazz. Beware the time change though!  3 a.m. calls = no bueno.


If you think of anything else that you are really, truly, wetting your pants to know (or just sort of want to know), tell me in the comments and I'll throw it up here later! (Throw up as in, "post it on the blog".  Not as in "vomit".  Important distinction.)

By the numbers:

I only miss you at dinner time.

One-way tickets to Spain = 2

Items of furniture sold on Craigslist = 6

Creepy people met from Craiglist = 0

Nice people = 6

Places we now have to sit and eat dinner = 0 (sold table)

Weeks left = 5

Spanish flashcards in rotation = oh, thousands

It begins!

The way we were. Sniff.

And the moving has commenced!  Seeing as we're going to be gone for a while, we're taking the opportunity to get rid of all our stuff. All. Our. Stuff.

This makes The Mister jump to the rafters in delight.  He loves moving so much that he thinks everyone should be required to do it once a year, just so that they all clean out their crap and experience the lightness of spirit that comes with having just purged useless belongings.

I am not quite so enthusiastic (is anyone?) but I will confess that I have rarely if ever truly missed something after it's been gotten rid of.  And it definitely makes me consume less, as I think to myself: do I really want to buy this book? Or can I get it from the library? Or a friend?  Basically, is this thing worth packing it in a box and carrying it to a moving truck in 110-degree heat?  And if the answer is no, then it probably won't get bought, because sooner or later it will face the wrong side of that question and then I will have to decide what to do with it.

Last night we got sold our desks, which we loved until we both got laptops and found that the "desk" known as "the couch" is more comfy than the wooden ones, and also sold a pretty wall table that got a zillion responses on Craigslist.

And so it begins.