t r a v e l w e l l
Woke up this morning to a splitting headache, Fox news, and a small child doing the Thriller dance (whether he realized it or not) while loudly demanding to be fed.
Mid-morning, I checked my FB feed. This was a mistake. Honestly, elections bring out the best and worst in people - but mostly the worst. If you're old enough to vote, you're old enough to behave like a well-adjusted adult. So, come on; do it.
Also: Some things are better left unsaid. And on that note.
How's your Wednesday, otherwise? A little update on us:
We have exactly two weeks to pack up our apartment, move our things into a storage unit, and find a new home for the new year before we head stateside on November 21st ... So naturally I decided to make all my Christmas gifts. I'm really smart like that. (And no, we couldn't get started on this whammy of a list earlier; it's a complicated contract-lease-deposit-move-in-date thing.)
I've been out running errands, seeing apartments, and trying to play the part of Tim's secretary because, to be perfectly honest, he's better at this kind of thing than I am but has less time. I haven't had much luck.
I called the housing office to obtain information about an apartment we were offered, and had a lengthy conversation about, well, nothing. I gave the woman our account number and she told me where the apartment was located. Naturally the street name sounded like Lasdkfjasldkfjlkdj-Vej to me (being American and all), so I asked her if she could spell it. She said, "I cannot do that." So I said, "Okay, what is the move-in date?" She said, "I don't know." So I said, "Okay, how does the quarantine work?" (If you reject an apartment because you are waiting for another, you can be penalized for two weeks or bumped off the waiting list altogether. They call this quarantine.) She said, "I have no idea." (?)
So I hung up and went to the office in person, hoping to speak with someone else. They were closed. Undeterred, I called the woman back. After much cajoling and an entire concert of tinny elevator music, she gave me a number. True to my luck, I got a recording, you know - press 1 for such-and-so, 2 for the-other-thing, so on. I realize that after living here a year I should probably be able to pick up on more than every third Danish word (or fifth syllable), but those recordings are on a whole different level of confusing. So I did the old fall back: press 1 repeatedly and hope a person answers. No one answered.
So in the end, Tim figured it out. And guess what! We've been offered a choice of two adorable (and more importantly: cheap) postage-stamp apartments in Trekroner, and a choice of two move-in dates as well. (!) This is a huge relief because, as much as I love this:
... And as much as I'd sacrifice to travel (which is why we're moving in the first place - to save more to travel more), I've grown rather fond of living in non-cardboard housing.
We have until Friday to choose. ♥
Next thing up: Storage Unit. I thought I'd 'help out' by getting sizes, prices, and availability. The man who answered the phone had different ideas. Before he would tell me anything, he wanted an itemized list of everything I'd be storing (no really, he was typing it up as we spoke). I swallowed the immediate urge to say "Well, ya know, a few boxes of contraband, my grow lights, a pipe bomb, that man I shot in Reno, two or three illegal immigrants, a really shiny disco ball, that kind of thing," and said, "Um, a couch? Some beds, a table, a few boxes of household stuff." To which he replied, "How many boxes? Ten? Twenty?" And I said, "I don't know, I don't have boxes yet." After which he insisted I rent the largest, most expensive unit, gave me a quote, and told me I must book it immediately to get the 'special deal' (which, incidentally, is advertised on the website as a permanent offer to every new customer, I checked). Apparently he didn't find me very convincing when I told him I didn't need 6 square meters and preferred a smaller space, so I said I'd call back and guess what, Tim is calling.
I suck at this game.
Fortunately for me, I married a guy who has recently adopted the zenny life motto that 'all things will flow.' He says this to me on a semi-regular basis, since I'm your typical type-A. Apparently my personality is not conducive to our current lifestyle.
Anyway. Must go find boxes and more coffee. Or a pastry.
P.S. A little unrelated tangent before I go: did you know there is no such thing as a 'danish' in Denmark? The closest thing I've found is called a Spandauer, but calling it a 'danish' would be like calling a hamburger an American. Or at least, that's my current understanding of the thing.