Getting it together.

I am real sorry that this blog has totally become about me moving. It's just that it's occupied about 14 of my 16 waking hours for three days straight. But it will be over soon. Actually, things are already shaping up in here because A) I have an awesome friend who spent about 8 hours with me on this today and B) I am not about to live out of boxes. It's just not cool.

Today's my last day of moving martyrdom, I promise. Then I will be getting back to real exercise and real Islamic studies. For real.

The Biggest Loser wins again.

You may have noticed that this post is about 12 hours late. Actually, you probably didn't notice because this blog isn't really a part of your life now, like it is mine. I deeply regret my tardiness anyway, but I have about a million (this time legitimate) excuses. If you are a regular reader, you know that I moved yesterday. My seemingly innocuous little jump from one small apartment to another about 2 miles away started out great but quickly turned into one big, wet, pain in the posterior by the end.

This was me at 11:30 p.m. last night.

If you make it through this whole post without crying, you are stable enough to be my friend.

On your feet!

Every time I move, I have a new appreciation for mothers, domestic workers, janitors, and basically everyone else who works hard all day long with very little reward. Today was no exception. Though I officially move tomorrow, the real work was done today. Mostly by my sister because she is a go-getter and I was wandering around the apartment taping little baggies of hardware to things so I wouldn't have to search for the right screws when I want to hang curtain rods. My mom was helping too, wiping down the mini-blinds, cleaning a year of gunk off the front of my kitchen cabinets, and generally eradicating my nonsense with about 72 Clorox wipes. I do not care about the environment while I am moving. It's just a fact.

I should get her pharmacist's number. 

There's more writing ahead.

Friday Night Bytes

That's the name of my new computer club. You can join but you gotta bring your own mini-screwdriver (not a drink) and 4 GB of RAM for the donation box. Also, the door password is 1Up4mAri0&1uIgi so you better have it memorized when you get to the keypad made out of a graphing calculator taped to the door.

Just kidding. I don't really know anything about the computers but sometimes a joke wins over reality. My buddy knows a thing or two (She's been C-prompting since before you were BORN, son!) but we usually just trash-talk PCs and try to get as much out of our aging Macbooks as possible since they are darned spendy.

Name the movie reference and get a free Slurpee coupon to use in another state.

The giveaways on my blog are not going to be as good as Pioneer Woman's.

Throwdown!

New Me would definitely win in a gloves-off contest against Old Me. I'm not trying to pretend I've really changed that much in two months, but there are definite differences in my attitude, motivation level for everything, and the number of hours I spend with these people since starting this blog.

Here's a play-by-play of today's fight (read the points with a little "ding" after each for fun):

Old Me: "Could these people drive any slower?"
New Me: "Alhamdulillah."   1

OM: "Let's just mail it with the errors."          
NM: "We can figure this thing out."   1

OM: "Packing is still exercise, right?"            
NM: "It's awesome out. Let's walk."   1

I don't think armpits are awra for men.

As you can see, New Me totally killed. Before you vomit all over your keyboard (NOT recommended) and go looking for the "unsubscribe" button, I want you to know that Old Me isn't totally out of the running and I am not going to become one of those prissy "perfect" people. EVER. For example, Old Me keeps talking New Me into eating the leftover candy bars from our class concession sales because I put $20 into the kitty for change and never took it back. This means I am owed 20 candy bars. Well, 14 now. UPDATE: I just mixed a bag of crushed-up Peanut M&Ms into some peanut butter cookie dough (of course!) so now we're at 13. 13 candy bars left.

Guess what else? You also win today by default because I took some beautiful pictures of the "lake" on my walk. Eye of the tiger!

Moving delusions.

#1. "I don't really have much stuff at all. It will probably fit in less than 10 boxes." Yeah, if you're talking about your baking stuff! Seriously, you say this EVERY time and lo and behold, you're running around three days before the move taking boxes from wherever you can get them and staying up until midnight filling 'em up. One box just says "OIL AND BAGGED SPICES." Really??!

#2. "I'm fine, I don't need any more help. I hired movers." Okaaaay, but who's going to help you cram your seven cutting boards and a rolling pin into a laundry basket full of shower curtains when your family sees your mess and runs in the other direction? Dear mother and sister: I'm sorry.


#3. "This place is pretty clean already. It won't take that long to finish." PLEASE!!!

I guess they're right.

Just stick with me until after the move, ok?

Right-Under-My-Noseville.

Apparently I have lived by a lake for nearly two years without knowing it. I don't mean within a short driving distance. I mean one block away. I feel like I just got Punk'd or something. Of course I didn't have my phone for once in my life so I can't show you a picture. You will just have to believe me. More about this under "Exercise".

Google Maps got my back. 

Stumble along aimlessly through life with me ...