wherein I expound the levels of my dorkiness

Warning: in this post, I involuntarily outline what a phenomenal and unequivocal OCD dork I am. I say this so your expectations are lowered and you don't expect one iota of cool. If you're looking for cool, go visit some other blog. You'll find none of that here today. Only dorks lay ahead in these waters.

The rest of my stuff arrived! Can I get a huzzah?

Hey, you! Yes. You in the back there. You didn't huzzah. You'll need to huzzah before we can move on. Don't be a loser. Everyone is waiting on you.

Well, it was a little lackluster, but it'll have to do.

Sorry about that, folks. There's always some jackmunch that has to ruin it for the rest of us. *ahem*

Moving on!

Since the epic Starving Asshats debacle has now come to a conclusion, we can commence with the final phase of the moving process: nesting.

I finally received my two bookcases (one tall, one short), my many boxes of books, one box of VHS tapes (because those dance recital videos aren't going to digitize themselves), and my couch.

So naturally I had to spend the rest of the day organizing and finally nesting. I've been unpacking like a madwoman since I got the first batch of my stuff but really couldn't nest until I had everything.

First things first: books. I had to organize the books. That's the most important thing. I could have left everything else in storage (except my bed), but my books (and I guess my bookcases too) are like old friends. I was beginning to miss them.

But how to organize? At my old place, I had them organized by genre and alphabetized within genre (because I'm an OCD wacko and I worked in a bookstore too long).

But that proved problematic for my psyche when I own books by an author within two different genres. I hate breaking up an author. Seriously, it really bothers me. And I love seeing a row of books by one author. It gives me a perverse kind of pleasure.

Like I said: wacko.

So I did one stack of travel and language books, two shelves of anthologies, how-tos, and non-fiction (read: dork) not including biographies or autobiographies, and then alphabetized the rest of the lot.

But it became clear that I didn't have enough shelf space for all my books as I got into M and N. I got rid of a bookcase in my garage sale, but I also got rid of some books, so I thought it would all fit. Wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong. Durf.

So I spent a chunk of invaluabel time figuring out which books to shelve (because one bookshelf was upstairs and one down), running up and down the stairs with books (my ass is gonna be rockin' tomorrow!), deciding what would both keep me sane until I could procure a third bookshelf and be less work in the long run.

Good god I am a remarkable dork!

I eventually decided to work backwards from Z in the upstairs bookshelf and stack the books in the middle of the sorry ass alphabet on the floor. Poor things. Homeless books are just so sad.

Then of course I spent the rest of my day unpacking everything else that was still in boxes, getting the roommates to help me arrange the furniture in our bizarre house, and hanging pictures.

Our place is starting to look like a home!

Thursday or Friday I'll be off to the Ikea to find a bookshelf (I know some people hate Ikea but damn if I don't love it in my panties!).  I need to get a home for those poor, sad, homeless books.

I will find a home for those books. This will not become The Great Homeless Book Debacle of 1994*.

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*Not a real event. I just made it up. But it sounds tragic, doesn't it?