Well… Okay, I guess I can’t speak for all men. Just me.

I am ignorant and stubborn. But I can only blame my manhood.

We’re moving tomorrow. We’re officially going to start moving the big stuff over to our new house. No more rental townhouse for us. Nope. We’re on to 2100 square feet and four bedrooms of pure, shiny bliss…

Which means that I am moving again. Twice in one year.

For the most part, we’ve just been painting and prepping our house to get it ready to move in to.  But starting this week, I’ve been moving boxes upon boxes over and stuffing them into our garage. All by myself.

L.A. Mommy would love to help me, I’m sure… Well, so she says… but when you’ve got two kids to watch it’s kinda out of the question. So… it’s up to my forty-year-old, worn-out self to push and pull and haul and lift crap. A lot.

However, as I continue to proclaim — I am a man. There-upon and to-which, I will try to do things I could easily do when I was 18 years old as if no time has passed. This also means that, despite aching back and gimpy knees, I will not only do these things but that I will also do them “all by myself.”

I don’t need help! I’m a man, dammit!

I don’t need directions. I don’t need an operator’s manual. And I certainly don’t need help to lift heavy objects.

See? Not only am I stubborn… I’m ignorant.

I’ve nearly got our basement completely cleaned out. The last thing on the list was our clothes washer. I decided to do that today. And I nearly died.

When I went to move said washer, to get it in place for my furniture dolly, I couldn’t move it. I will swear to my dying day that this thing gained about 100 pounds since its been sitting in our basement. At least 90.

It took all I had just to turn it around to get the dolly under the side. I put it on the dolly and it nearly flattened the tires. You think I’m kidding? Well… I’m not.

When I got the massive washer to the bottom of the stairs, I debated about waiting until my neighbor got home to help me out. But that was a severe dig at my manhood. Remember… I don’t need help! So, I summoned my energy and tilted the 700 pound washer over to lean on the stairs. The stairs are covered by carpeting, so my plan was to simply slide this beast straight up to the top.

I lifted with all of my considerable man-might. Nothing. I think the clothes washer laughed me.

I then sat on the floor, put my feet on the bottom, and pressed the washer up to the first step. By now, I’m sweating from all the straining and lifting and… embarrassment. It now hangs tenuously on the step. I manage to press it up to the next step. Success!

Holding it in place, I took my feet off to spin around so I could get my shoulder behind it and continue to push it up the stairs. Problem is… it slipped off it’s step. Now, even though it only had to travel down 2 steps, it still weighed 800 pounds. And it pinned me between the wall and washer.

“Help…”

I think it came out as more of a squeak than an actual request for help.

But I was stuck. Because I could do it all by myself! No one was coming to my rescue. I was really sweating now. Between the pain, the exertion, and the embarrassment, it was pouring off me. I looked around my body for a reserve of energy. I used that to make an attempt to get this thing off me. And it worked.

I stepped away, err… limped away, and was about to quit. But — I am a man! I don’t quit! I don’t give up!

I wasn’t going to let this 900 pound machine beat me!

So, rested for about 40 minutes… then got on my butt, leg-pressed the thing back up those two steps, and flipped around so I could push it up with my shoulder.

Getting as low as I could, I pushed. Nothing. I turned and put my back on the bottom of the washer and managed to get it up one more step. Then another. But, it was digging into my back. I turned again to put my shoulder into it.

Bad mistake.

It slipped down and hit me in the head. Being the manly man that I am, this pissed me off. With sweat streaming down and adrenaline pumping, I lunged forward and shoved the 1000 pound clothes washer up five more steps!

Woo-ha! Take that, you piece of shit!

Now, I thought I was really sweating like crazy. It was running down my face, neck, into my eyes… and then I looked down.

It wasn’t sweat. It was blood. When the thing had slid down and hit my head it had cut my head and my ear. Now, I don’t know if you know this… but when you cut your head, it bleeds. A lot. And I was gushing…

It looked like I was the first slasher victim in a Friday the 13th sequel. Blood was on my shirt, my shorts, the carpet, the washer. And I was only halfway up. Or, halfway down. I tried to stop the bleeding with my hand, but that made the washer slip down a little. I had no choice - - I had to keep going.

Of course, when you exert yourself… the bleeding can sometimes get worse. Oh, and, boy, did it! I think I lost a pint of blood when it was all said and done. Or at least a couple of ounces…

But I got it up there. It’s at the top of the steps! I have overcome! I won… except that I’m kind of stuck down here. I can’t get up and over the washer. I decided to come back down to my computer and tell you the story. And hope that maybe someone can read this who can let L.A. Mommy know I’m stuck in the basement. Covered in blood. Slightly woozy.

And that I may possibly need some help to get out of here…