19 March 2012

Moving in.

46 days. That's how long it's been since we turned in the keys to our old apartment and began living out of Marriott hotel while we waited to move into our Japanese home. I feel like a brat complaining about living in a four star hotel for a month and a half. It's impossible to kvetch when there are no dishes to do, beds to make, meals to cook. If you start to bitch about maid service? Well... there's no way to do that without sounding like someone who needs a swift kick in the panties. (Yea, I just said panties. Cringe all you want.)

But, sometimes, when we mentioned that we were still in the Marriott, other expats would look over at me with this very specific look in their eye. They KNEW. They knew what is was like to live in one room, to be surrounded by luggage and strangers and bellhops for days on end, to eat out for every single meal, to ask maids to come back because you really just wanted to stay in bed and watch Community for one more hour... or was that last one just me? Hm.

On Friday, the moving truck pulled in and began to unload. We were, officially, in business.

As they unloaded and unloaded and unloaded, I began to get a bit worried that all our stuff wouldn't fit, especially in the kitchen. There's nothing like facing the cold, hard reality that you really do own 10 vintage champagne coups. I may need to really lay off the estate sales for... forever. (I blame Alexis.)

In the early afternoon, as the mound of boxes to unpack was still quite high, the guy at the moving company shook his head and said "Yes, all Japanese apartments are so much smaller than American homes."

"This is actually bigger then our last place."

"Oh... really?"

Yips. This was right as they were trying to move in our couch, which barely fit through the entryway. Doors were removed, let's just leave it at that.

When they left, the aftermath was a bit chaotic and stress inducing, but give me a couple hours and a fair amount of caffeine, I can move mountains... mountains of clothing and furniture, that is. I even found room for my excessive glassware, though I'm not condoning my addiction.

By the end of the weekend, our place was officially done.

We can't hang anything on the walls - Japanese apartments have a thin, delicate, textured wallpaper, in which we cannot put holes. We've employed the 'lean' strategy. Pray for us in the event of an earthquake.

Amos was so happy to be in our new home that he didn't even complain when I lit my hippy-dippy incense. We toasted with a glass of wine left over from our wedding (goose ridge g3, what what).

There's a ton more I'll share with you on our Japanese apartment: the remote control toilet, the shower room, the trash system, our spanking new appliances... but before I leave you today, there is one special thing I did want to point out:

Ladies and Gentlemen, after years of the fridge on the countertop, Mr. and Mrs. Amos are now the proud owners of CRISPER DRAWERS. Oh, man, I'm so pumped, I'll probably write a whole 'nother post on this shiznit. Wait for it.



Sayonara Marriott. The Amoses are moving up in the world.


  1. Muwhahaha I take full responsibility for your glassware collection :) The place looks wonderful!!! Congrats on pulling it all together in a weekend! I am, as usual, so impressed with you. xoxox

  2. Fantastic -- congrats on a successful move . . . and organization.


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