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Posts Tagged ‘moving to Atlanta’

Dear Yellow Pages:

So, wow. You followed me all the way to Atlanta. Not to be mean, but I thought we were done. I mean, I’ve been chucking you (and some other phone book that looked a lot like you, but was even less valuable) straight into the recycling bin for YEARS.

We haven’t had a real relationship since high-speed Internet became a reasonably basic service.

Come on. I didn’t even hook up my landline this time around, yet I came home one day to discover that you had arrived in the mail. It seems a tad desperate, don’t you think?

Oh, you say. But what if the Internet goes down? For DAYS. Then I’m going to sorry, right? When I need a big printout of indexed phone numbers and can’t get online to find them?

We’ve discussed this, and I remain unconcerned by your argument. If the Internet at my home and office goes down for days, there’s every chance that the power is also off, and I’ll have more pressing problems than finding the number for my hair salon.

Also? I rent now, so flipping through your many pages to find a roofer? Not a thing for me.

I feel I should also mention the fact that every contractor I’ve used in the past couple of years — including a tile guy, a painter and lawn care service — has exclusively used a cell phone for contact, meaning they’re not even LISTED in you.

If the Internet ever falls and the landline comes back to life, we’ll talk. In the meantime, please stop following me.

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One of the best things about this move: I FINALLY got rid of the landline. 

I know, right? Why was that anachronism still hanging around, ringing every night at 6 p.m.? 

One word: bundling. 

The cable company had cleverly rolled Internet, phone and cable TV into one package when we moved in some seven years ago. Fair enough: The price for all three together was cheaper than buying Internet and cable separately. Our surfing and TV habits were totally subsidizing the phone line. 

The pricing strategy remained unchanged over the years, but having a home phone became nearly intolerable at times.

Have you ever noticed that hardly anyone with a cell phone actually has the ringer on? No one wants to hear the phone ring. Do we miss calls this way? Yes. Do we care that we miss calls? Sure. And by sure, I mean absolutely not. We look down at some point, realize we missed a call and call back. And by call back, I mean we send a text. Because 2014 means never having to talk on the phone.

But I digress. I was savvy enough to put our home phone number on the Do Not Call list. Unfortunately, this list doesn’t apply to callers with whom I have a “business relationship,” or those representing a charitable organization. So, at 6 p.m. sharp every night, the phone would ring and some form of “unknown caller” would show up on the caller ID. The unknown caller may have been one of our credit card companies trying to “upgrade” us on something. More likely, however, it was some organization selling magazines or otherwise trying to collect money for the firemen, the police or some sort of children in peril. (I’m not a monster – most of these telemarketing shops take way too much profit out of what they collect. If I want to donate to the police department, I’ll speed my way to a ticket.)

Why did I leave the ringer on, you ask? Well, sometimes I didn’t. But the husband’s parents used that number occasionally, and if I turned the ringer off I never remembered to turn it back on. Thus, the nightly fast-walk to the phone for the one-in-a-million chance that the ringing indicated a call we actually were willing to take.

All that is over now. The home phones are packed in a box, awaiting dropoff at the thrift store. The new cable company offered an Internet/TV package at a fair price, no phone required. 

The silence is beautiful. I haven’t heard a phone ring outside the office in nearly four weeks. If my phone buzzes, it’s almost always someone I want to talk to. My only cellular pest is the Red Cross; I made the mistake of giving them my number about five years ago only to discover that they will bother you literally EVERY DAY until you schedule another donation. I always DO schedule another donation, but their efforts are so irritating that I’ve considered changing blood donation entities.

Again, digression. The landline is dead. Long live the silence.

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So … it’s been awhile. I’m back in Atlanta, this time with the husband and the cat, and I’ve returned to the job that I loved but had to leave last year to return to Alabama.

Everything is pretty awesome, overall.

We’re renting a two-bedroom condo in a very walkable part of the city. I can’t walk to work, mind you, but I can walk to a huge park in addition to several grocery stores, museums and restaurants. We have so many entertainment options that I barely know where to begin.

It’s the life-changing adventure that I wanted last year, but I guess I was too early.

Best news: Yang, pictured above, settled right into his city digs. I was afraid he would be too high up to really see anything, but it turns out that he likes to watch the cars driving around below. At night, he perches on his cat condo and watches the city lights, near and far.

Snowmageddon arrived on the third day I was here; like any survivor of multiple hurricanes, however, I was prepared. I stocked up on groceries well before the snow started falling and kicked back to watch the traffic build (I didn’t start work until this week). The husband faced a two-hour commute instead of his usual half hour, but once he was home we unpacked, caught up on “Justified” episodes and drank a lot of coffee (me)/hot chocolate (him). We attempted a romantic walk in the snow, but our trek was foiled when the snow quickly turned to slippery ice. That’s just how snow rolls in the South.

I feel like I’ve finally found  my home planet — not Atlanta itself, per se, but an escape from Suburbia.

This is huge. This is FUN.

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It’s been a slow crawl, this move to Atlanta.

I’ve realized that, despite all of my downsizing and decluttering, I’m still not very portable. And I’ve decided that portability is one of my main goals right now. If I decide to move to Manhattan in a few years, or Key West, or anywhere, really, I want to be able to stuff everything that has to go in the back of a box truck.

It’s doable, really, because I’ve discovered how many things that I really don’t want or need. I left a lot of things back in Huntsville — “temporarily,” if you will — and I haven’t missed most of it. (OK, I totally missed my cookie scoop, but I grabbed it on my last trip back.)

It’s been like losing a lot of weight that I didn’t even know I was carrying around. It’s freeing, being surrounded by only the things you actually use, the things you actually enjoy looking at.

It makes for way less noise in my head. I like it.

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If you ever want to know who really gets you, start telling your friends and family that you’re moving from a four-bedroom house in the ‘burbs to a one-bedroom apartment in the city. Immediately add that you’re ditching most of your stuff because you don’t love it, use it or need it. You’ll either get an awkward pause, or you’ll get a quick and enthusiastic “That is SO awesome!”

Not that there’s anything wrong with friends and family who don’t quite get me, because, frankly, I can be a difficult subject. But the folks who do … man, I love you guys.

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Posting has been erratic here for several weeks because my brain has been occupied with big decisions. Like whether to apply for another job, accept another job and move to another city.

In short, the answers were yes, yes and yes.

The husband and I will be moving to Atlanta in short order.

I want to say it was a difficult decision, but it really wasn’t. Huntsville is a nice enough place, but I’m getting antsy.

I haven’t been sure about my career path for the past five years. I’ve wanted to be in the newspaper business since I was a teenager. I never quite recovered from leaving the industry, and the transition to technical writing has never felt quite right to me.

People say your job doesn’t define you. I would reply that no, it certainly does not, but you sure do spend a heck of a lot of time doing it, so you may as well try to enjoy it.

Thus, I’ve accepted an Atlanta job that I think will be an excellent fit for me — the company has already hired several former newspaper folks with great success. I’ll be doing lots of reading, analysis and writing, pretty much all the graduate school activities that I’ve been missing ever since graduation last December.

Atlanta itself? Pretty cool. Lots to do, lots to see. It contains a very busy airport that I’ve never been keen on flying through (in truth, I haven’t been very keen on layovers for several years), but that I’m more than willing to fly out of and into. Two-hour direct flights to New York City abound, and I could spend every vacation day I ever earn in Manhattan if I had the chance. Which I might.

I’ve been packing and getting rid of stuff for the past week. We’re hoping to live in Atlanta, not outside in the commute-stricken burbs, and the tradeoff for this is space. This is going to be the first move in which I really analyze what means enough to me to take. Stuff doesn’t just go in boxes because I own it; stuff goes in boxes because I want it, love it and/or will definitely use it.

I’m excited and nervous, a combination that probably indicates this is going to be awesome. It’ll offer plenty of blogging material, at the very least.

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