Moving. The mere mention of the word, and I envision friends scattering to all ends of the galaxy like roaches in a Denny's to avoid assisting me and my 2 dumb hands to pack, carry, shift, and lift all of my life's treasures from point A to point B.

I've actually moved quite a number of times in my life. Wait, I shall amend that. I've moved a fair amount of times, but, whenever I have moved, it wasn't exactly down the steps and across the hallway:

• At 18, I was sure I knew it all and headed 2 hours away from suburban Chicago to Carroll College in Waukesha, Wisconsin.

• At 19, I decided that college is for suckers and moved to the city of Milwaukee.

• At 20, positive of how successful I'd be as a comic, I moved back to the suburbs of Chicago.

• At 23, I saw the 'burbs are for losers and moved to Logan Square, in the city of Chicago.

• At 24, I saw that being a comic is for suckers and moved to Nashville, TN.

• At 27, I saw Nashville was for...well, not suckers, because those bastards are tough. I moved to West Hollywood in Los Angeles.

• At 31, I realized that West Hollywood was for "suckers" and moved to North Hollywood.

• At 35, I discovered that marriage wasn't for me, and I moved to Silverlake.

And now, at 36, I am quite literally moving down the steps and across the hall to a 1 bedroom twice the size of my studio. I think tonight, I may have moved 1/3 of my belongings to my new place in a span of 2 hours. Here she blows, in picture form. Most exciting is the kitchen, which is easily the size of my current living space:



That isn't a real tiled floor. It's the kind of laminate that curls up in the corners of rooms that you're constantly stomping on to flatten. Oh, and:



My hallway that connects the bedroom to the living room. It appears that my living room has a 3% grade downhill slant, so that putting green I envisioned goes out the window. Along with anything on casters (thank God). And finally:



This is a flour sifter inside a MASSIVE baker's rack from the 1920's that the last tenant left behind. My manager tonight said, "I'm gonna haul this thing out and trash it if you don't want it." Actually, he told me, "I'm gonna haul this thing out and trash it if you d- " before I threw myself on the thing and thanked him emphatically for not touching MY F*CKING AWESOME ANTIQUE BAKER'S RACK.

All in all, this will be my quickest, most efficient, painless move: No packing tape, no moving truck, no logistical trickery. Just me and my 2 dumb hands.

And any volunteers?