I moved out of my parents' house

Yesterday I finally moved out of my parents house. They don't know yet, so don't tell them. I don't want them to be sad. I left the first time in 1998. 10 years ago. I started thinking about all the places I lived since. I took a couple minutes and jotted them down. 15. (Unless I missed one. If you lived with me somewhere that isn't on the list let me know.) The following is a summary of the last ten years of my life (not including the two other times I lived back at my parents' house), and in no particular order:

Long Beach, Santa Barbara (2), San Luis Obispo (4), Reno, Sacramento (4), Thousand Oaks (2), and San Jose.

With that kind of mobility one may asks: what constitutes "living" somewhere. I came up with the following parameters: I paid rent, and received at least one piece of mail at the address. My longest tenure was 12 months, and a few places were merely two or three months. I lived with some incredible people along the way, and have many stories I could share about each place. However, I won't do that here, but feel free to ask.

With that kind of history it is pretty obvious why I didn't call my bank and change my address every time I moved somewhere. It would have been a hassle. Despite having 15 other addresses since 1998 the address on my credit cards have always remained the same. Yesterday that changed.

I called the bank and said, "I would like to change my address." I gave her a new address in Sacramento, California. She entered it, and asked which accounts I wanted changed. I replied, "All of them." That was it. The woman on the phone acted like it was no big deal. Just typed it in. She didn't even say anything like, "Wow, after all these years, and all the moves, you're finally moving on from your parents' address?" All she said was, "Is that all you called for today?"

For her it was completely unceramonious.