You know you’re a happy girl when you return home after eating massive amounts of cheese and feeling so constipated your stomach may just explode and to top it all off you’re rather hungover and your boyfriend tucks you into a warm bed, turns on Family Guy and rubs your back until you fall asleep. And then, when you wake up late and are freaking out trying to get to work on time, you find your keys with a note taped on them that says, “I love you.”
Lucky, lucky girl.
Today Trent & I began the tedious work of moving for the third time in two and a half years. It seems to me that every time I’ve fully settled in enough to forget where all my random collections of meaningless crap are, we dig them all out, fill giant plastic tubs with them and load up the cars yet again. This includes my “Love, Italian Style” record and all our old college notes. You never know, we may need that Intro to Scuba Diving test someday! We no longer have time for cable TV or sitting around on our butts being bored. There are never enough hours in the day when you’re in the process of moving.
Things are a bit more hectic because I have a huge conference for work this week, which adds that extra bit of stress to turn me into a crazy succubus that wants to claw out the eyes of anyone who questions me. My mother always said I was a joy to live with!
This time we are trying to invoke some sort of process into this moving business. In general, things seem to be going smoothly. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time both of us have been truly excited and happy about where we’re moving. I’d like to think it’s because we’re more mature, but I can’t honestly tell myself that. Ha! Mature! Old maybe, but never mature.
Anyway, the process involves me cleaning the new house, Trent moving everything and then me cleaning the old house. It works for both of us since Trent hates to clean and doesn’t mind moving and I’m a total freak who swoons at the smell of chlorine bleach and loves the smell of pine sol. You’d think since I love things so clean, my current house would be cleaner…hmmm…food for thought I suppose.
Wish us luck. It’s gonna be a very. long. week.
I just want to say that my father is the greatest man alive! When I’m lost or scared or penny-less, he is right there to pick me up. Even when I least expect it. He just made my day and my life so much better. I’m always afraid he’s going to let me down and I’m scared to let him down, but I don’t think either has ever happened. Thank you Daddy. Thank you so much. And thank you to Trent for trying to pick me up off the floor and showing me that I don’t have to turn to people who I don’t want to turn to. Thank you for offering to pay for my tires. And thank you for understanding that I’m a stubborn girl who will never ask for what she really wants. I swear, I’m trying to be better, but I will probably always be this way. Maybe just a little more subdued and less dramatic. I hear this comes with age, although looking at the family tree, we may be in trouble!
I think anyone who has a pet should be required, when talking about their pet, to remember that most people don’t give a crap about their pet and just want their paycheck without any lip! (This includes myself, if and when I ever get my new puppy. You all must keep me true to my word, because I’ve already begun to turn to the dark side).
I think the Backstreet Boys must seriously reconisder their attempt at a reunion. It scares me when I am driving home at 11:00 at night and hear a love song on a VERY BAD RADIO STATION because the one that I like only plays Loveline at night (and by the way, I’m pissed about that as well) and I hear the Backstreet Boys. I am transported back to high school and am thinking of the sweaty south gym with it’s rubber floors and crepe paper. Frightening thoughts.
I am sure that all players in the Shawnee Intermediate Sand Volleyball leauge should have mercy on my team and my arms (and my legs and my feet and my belly) and drink at least 5 beers before playing us. We must end the 6 game streak.
Thank God for hotdogs, beer, summertime, the Royals and camera phones.
Thank God for mini bottles of Bacardi. And thank God for Justin Timberlake. Yes, I like Justin Timberlake. Yes, I understand he’s kind of the same deal as the Backstreet Boys. And no, I don’t care.
So this morning I’m getting up like I do every other day of the week, which basically means about 20 minutes after my alarm goes off. As per usual, I’m groggy, grumpy and stumbling around the apartment. I head to the bathroom for my morning pee and to turn the shower on, and as I get up I step on a VERY LARGE, HAIRY BEAST!!!
Now, I’m not a person who is easily frightened by bugs. I’m the one who’s usually killing the spiders while my friends are hiding in the other room. After 2 years working in a dirt lab (yes, a lab where we tested dirt…long story) I’m not even scared of most bees or other insects with stingers. That, of course, does not count the scorpion, which would scare the living crap out of me if I ever saw one!
Anyway, so I step on this large insect, which then starts freaking out and buzzing around the room in a panic. I still cannot see what the hell I’ve stepped on because I’ve yet to put my contacts in, so by this point I am pretty much freaking out. I finally get my contacts in and turn around to where the bug was, and it’s GONE! DISSAPEARED! I breathe, remember I am not a pansy, and go on with my daily routine.
Then, as I throw my PJ’s in the hamper, I hear more wild buzzing. At this point the fear of the unknown has taken over my body and I start screaming at the top of my lungs. I run into the bedroom and wake up Trent by yelling, “There is a HUGE BEE-FLY-THING in the bathroom and it’s going to sting me!!!†Trent replies with his usual “Go away woman.†This is normally his response when woken up by screaming.
I finally get him to realize that this is a very serious issue where I may die of a prehistoric bug disease of which there is no current cure, and he gets up to check out my situation. Once he saw this bug, he too was screaming like a little girl. In a very manly, sexy sort of way. After several swats at this beast and several changes of clothing for fear of the bug getting trapped underneath his shirt, Trent conquered the creature. It is now sitting in a jar in our bathroom where it will lie in state for 9 days of mandatory mourning. After that, a new bug will be elected to terrify me in the morning.
