Drinking Game Friday promises to buy you dinner if you just do one thing for me.

I feel like 10-yr-old Kaitlin and you, collectively, are my Uncle Rick when I tell you: Rick! Rick! Rick! I got an apartment!!
Also, Rick, if I get my ears pierced, they'll look really professional when I grow up and I go on job interviews...
For those of you following me on Twitter, I apologize that you have to hear this again, in more than 140 characters. For those of you not following me on Twitter, for shame! (www.twitter.com/misterlizlemon).

Anyway, I am unreasonably excited about this for a variety of reasons.
a) I'm getting a place of my own, which will significantly cut down on roommate issues, like who is responsible for cleaning which week and why the electric bill is so high. Unless I suddenly develop multiple personalities a la The United States of Tara and one of my alters is a total neat freak, whereas another alter, called "the Monkey Man," literally throws feces everywhere. Barring any unforeseen traumas that may shatter my psyche, I think I'm in the clear.
b) I secured this place completely on my own. I did all the legwork, I dealt with the brokers, I saved up for it. I feel like a real adult. While I might never grow up, I can at least appear like an adult to the rest of the world. Also, this is a feat for me because I get outrageously nervous doing anything for the first time. Going to a new bar for the first time? I need to do countless hours of research, and I need to show up with someone. I can't even begin to tell you how nervous I was the first time I had sex. (That, my children, is a tale for another day. And a more adult-oriented website.)
c) I also got a pretty bitchin' apartment, considering I make pennies being a nerd. It's a pretty decent sized space, so the next time Meg comes to visit, we won't be awkwardly sitting on top of one another. But we might do that anyway, just for shits and giggles.

So understandably, I'm psyched. But like Jessie Spano on cafeinne pills, I am simultaneously so excited and so scared. Why scared? Because the physical act of moving is a fate worse than death. Why do you think the Egyptians had slaves build the pyramids? Because no one wants to cart a mattress up 4 flights of stairs themselves. Especially if that "mattress" is actually a sandstone block weighing several tons. (Did I really just make a history joke? You know what, I stand by that. I'm leaving it.)

All that being said, this is whole moving thing is going to have to happen. And I have a feeling I'm going to have to rope some friends into helping me, so this week's Drinking Game Friday is the Reluctantly Helping My Friend Move Drinking Game.


(Luckily for my friends, I have neither a sleeper sofa or an air hockey table. However, my grand piano isn't going to get up those stairs on its own.)

Drink once:
- for every flight of stairs you walk up or down
- for every item you drop
- for every battle scar you acquire (bruises, scrapes, cuts, et al.)
- for every pound you lose afterwards

Drink twice:
- when you pull a muscle because you failed to do your pre-move lunges
- when someone tells you to lift with your knees
- when any container rips or breaks
- for every item broken during the move
- for any item lost during the move

Drink thrice:
- when you have to change clothes from sweating far too much to be considered healthy
- when a fight inevitably happens because someone is stacking things incorrectly
- you realize everything you own won't fit in a car
- when someone asks you if you "really need all this stuff"

Finish one Long Island Iced Tea:
- when you've finished, even though all of your stuff is still in boxes in the corner of the room.

Though this won't be happening until the end of the month, I plan to get very drunk after the big move. I'll let you guys know how much you need to drink, if you want to play at home. In any event, thanks for reading! Have a great weekend, and see you back here on Monday!