Last weekend (which spilled into Monday and Tuesday) I helped Isa move into her new apartment. It's not new, and it's not her's. But it is a different one. It has a different address and has different flatmates. The last difference is the main reason she wanted to move to begin with. She shared the last apartment with her best friend, an amiable half-American (and also usually half-drunk) sound engineer. In Isa's opinion, they were extremely incompatible as flatmates. This fact, to which George was completely oblivious, took her over a year to discover. About a month ago when Isa let him know of the problem and her plan to solve it, my cellphone was filled with messages detailing how upset she was with George's reaction. About a week later while I was in Andalucia, they were still not on speaking terms, and Isa was having a lot of problems finding another apartment she could bring a 2ft iguana into. When I turned my phone on at the end of each day to check if anyone had called while I was conserving batteries, I was treated to a series of max-length voice messages, some of them a cacophony sobs and chokes. Every day.
George got over it, Isa found a nice apartment with flatmates that were cool with having a big fat lizard crawling all over the place. Only problem left was to move all her shit. Isa has less useless crap than the stereotypical girl of our generation. But even still, too much. Most of her things were carried by hand. The "new" apartment wasn't far away enough to make taking trips by metro worth it. Isa has a lot of friends, but it seems like most of them can't be bothered to act like it when she needs them. So this was done almost completely by my shrimpy self and the even smaller Isa.
Once the shit transplant was complete we converted an old crappy bookcase into an iguana home. This was a lot of fun. What wasn't fun was when we brought the iguana to the new room and it wouldn't use the bookcase. It wanted to climb up our human legs while we tried to drill shelves into the wall. It also wanted to cram itself between boxes. Oh, and to shit right next to the bedsheets instead of on it's little newspaper poopy area. Trying to control the iguana's minirampage resulted in both Isa's and my arms getting all scratched up to hell. I still look like I have a deviant method of relieving my emotional problems.
The iguana problem was soon resolved, shelves were in the walls, and all that was left was to unpack. This was a lot worse than it should've been. But I am getting sick of complaining and now I want to get to the point.
THE POINT is that despite all this work, last weekend was great. It was the first time Isa and I had done something together that wasn't hedonism or fighting. Working together towards something is great bonding I guess. Maybe the reason I was so long winded with the bitching is that I can't really explain why last weekend was great, and so emphasising how shitty it was and insisting that it all
worth it is how I illustrate it.
The title of this post was going to be "Last Weekend vs This Weekend", and I was going to contrast how "this weekend" was shitty despite the fact, in recounting it, I would be telling you about parties and fun. But this has gone on long enough. I'll have to post it later. (I just realized my usage of "last" and "this" when talking about time is off by one. In this case, by last weekend I mean some 10 days ago, by this weekend, I mean 2 days ago. uhh.."future weekend" is in 3 days. Damn, I fail at language.)
[EDIT: Added photos]
