Gives You Hell

HELLO TEAM!

(Wait, are we all not on a team? Are you not on my moving team? Do you want to be on my moving team? Quick! Come wrap some glasses! GO TEAM!)

So, we’re moving. And I am MUCH happier about it, as I suspected I would be once I figured out where we’d be going, and I went back to the area and we figured out where we want to live, etc. etc. SO MUCH HAPPIER ABOUT IT. Thank you for talking me off of the ledge. We found a house! That we love! With a giant yard for pug and baby to roam freely! And it’s so PEACEFUL out there, which is nothing like where we used to live in Boston, and … what a grand idea this is suddenly seeming like. Now, if only I could bring my friends.

Can I please bring my friends? Friends who are reading this, would YOU like to move to Boston?

That remains the saddest part of it all, and REALLY, by me acting okay with the move, it does not mean I won’t miss you. I PROMISE. I AM BEREFT.

MetroWest Bostonians, holler at me! And further, if you see someone who looks like me in the Natick Mall, it could very well BE me! Look at that!

So, that’s the good news. Really! The good news! Other good news: We got some actual sleep in the hotel, as we got a suite, as per EVERYONE’S recommendations, and HOO BOY, it was a NEW WORLD up in this piece. Sam slept! We slept! We woke up in the morning without wanting to die! LOOK AT US GO, SMRT PEOPLE THAT WE ARE. WE GOT THE BABY HER OWN ROOM.

JEENYUS.

At any rate, that’s kind of where the good news ends, and don’t get me wrong, it is all good news, and I will take it served hot, with a spoon and with a hearty helping of pleasure. What is not good news is that I lost my wallet somewhere in MetroWest — err, MetroNorth? What is Lexington, anyway? — and I had to go through EVERYTHANG and cancel all my credit cards and get new insurance cards and put an alert on my credit in case anyone tries to steal my identity and BAH BAH BAH. What perfect timing! Tomorrow we get to ride for an hour to visit the DMV so that I can get a new license and begin the process of reconstructing the flexibility I once had. You know, to leave the house by myself with access to money and the ability to drive.

And this was all happening RIGHT before an in-depth, up close and personal examination of my credit history! HUZZAH.

(All seems to be well. Identity secured, precautions taken, etc. Mess with me at your peril, malfeasance-doers!)

We COULD be moving in like, um, a week. Maybe. On the fast end. Which is insane, but it might happen if the movers can’t do anything later and hello, does anyone have a paper bag for me to breathe into? My whole body aches from bending over and packing and dragging boxes through our once-tidy house, and this afternoon, Sam came royally undone as we packed up a good portion of her room, because there we are, putting her precious possessions in boxes and it’s like, what the hell, Mom and Dad? Where my books at? You said that stuff was MINE and you LIED and … oh look! A toy hammer! All is forgiven.

Well. I also packed all the silverware and had no spoon for my coffee this morning and then later, oh HO HO LATER, Adam went on some kind of CLEANING FRENZY and decided, for reasons that still make no sense to me at all, to dump an entire FAMILY-SIZED JUMBO BOX of Hungry Jack instant mashed potatoes (HUNGRY JACK. Is that supposed to be appetizing? Like a hungry … lumberjack?) down the disposal and added water! HOT WATER. As in, he MADE AN ALARMING AMOUNT OF INSTANT MASHED POTATOES IN OUR GARBAGE DISPOSAL! And they expanded! And blocked the sink!

Which, you know, DUH. And for some reason, he insists that he asked me if this was okay and I guess I said yes, but I was distracted at the time, and you know, I didn’t think he’d put the WHOLE BOX DOWN THERE AT ONCE and I don’t even know why he didn’t just pack them or throw them away or … oh, what’s the use in dissecting it all, really. Just imagine, if you will, having this conversation with your husband:

Me: Is it clogged?

Him, exasperated beyond all belief: OF COURSE IT IS. I AM MAKING A BOX OF FUCKING HUNGRY JACK MASHED POTATOES IN OUR SINK.

Oh, hindsight, you are a cruel bitch. A cruel potatoey bitch.

This certainly puts the mild irritation of two-day old apple juice spilling in your diaper bag into perspective, doesn’t it? (Hint: it smells like a bar floor that’s been mopped with Woodchuck. DELISHUS.)

What’s saving me right now? I’m embarrassed to tell you. It’s … it’s the Glee “Power of Madonna” soundtrack, and y’all, I don’t even LIKE Madonna. It’s Jesse St. James, who I now have a futile crush on, and yes, of course I checked and yes, of course he’s gay and as it turns out it doesn’t matter! I crush anyway! And yet, I checked! EVEN THOUGH I AM HAPPILY MARRIED AND HE IS GAY. You see how these things work?

Me neither.

Hey, have a happy Monday!

*Um. I only have it from the Glee cast, so … Glee cast! Rachel Berry! Wait, you mean there’s someone else?

43 comments April 25th, 2010