The Tipsy Hostess is our beloved correspondent who covers all things related to living a positive and glamorous existence. The trouble is, she's a bit fond of her gin and thus subject to certain whims and fancies, like vintage floral kaftans and irregular posting timeframes. Yet, we love her anyway. This week, Tipsy Hostess shares her thoughts on moving -- every level-headed person's least favorite thing to do in the world. Cheers.
Rule #1: Do everything in your power to not move.
Will your neighbors to leave if you hate them. Sell off your costume jewelry if your rent goes up. Learn to love terribly-printed wallpaper.
Rule #2: If you must move, outsource the task entirely.
One good outcome from this terrible economy is that there are many people who are willing to haul your boxes down five flights of stairs. Here's to you, Craigslist!
Rule #3: Don't pack up your shaker just yet.
A certain level of tipsiness is needed to pack your life's acquisitions anyway. After one martini, you've motivated yourself to start packing.
Rule #4: After your second martini, packing is a breeze.
That nice, warm feeling also enables you to become, shall we say, a bit more selective of what you should pack. (An undignified assortment of miscellaneous self-help books? Toss them! You're perfect!)
Rule #5: After three, it's a party.
Who needs the shackles of possessions? Toss care out the window along with your collection of vintage dictionaries! And who needs furniture? Why not have a series of levels! Forge a new paradigm! Throw out all those old pants! Wear kaftans! Feel the wind blow through your hair! Change your name to something more kicky to really start fresh in your future home -- how about Midge? Why haven't you considered bangs?
Rule #6: After four, you're done.
The fourth martini is often the one that pushes you off the cliff into melancholy. You start the inane self-analysis that often ends in tears, aching regret and watching your mascara run in the mirror. You know better than to look into your heart of darkness. Stop at three.
Rule #7: Don't drive the U-Haul
You're not a truck driver. Besides, your headache, hangover and messy hair signal that you are one lady who is not going to take that task. Follow behind, at a safe distance, in a Volvo.
Rule #8: Never look back.
Let your old apartment slip into the distance like grenadine drifting to the bottom of a tequila sunrise. You're too sober for nostalgia.
Rule #9: Beware of new neighbors bearing gifts.
Cultivate an air of mystique as you put on your best silk scarf and oversized glasses, Jackie O-style. (Maybe ditch the scarf, lest you be confused with a peasant from the old country. It takes millions of dollars to pull off that look.) Do not make eye contact. Go out and get your hair done while the Jell-o molds pile up. You accept one and suddenly you're listening to your neighbor Mildred's latest grievance about the butcher, her theories about the couple next door and her latest exploratory medical procedure. Install fantastic new drapes.
Rule #10: Wait one month before holding a housewarming.
Any sooner and guests will be mixing it up amongst unopened boxes, any later and you will lose the motivation to unpack said boxes.
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