The Long and Winding Staircase that Leads to my Bed

Bad combination: pregnancy brain, pregnancy body and a 3 level house. On the ground floor I think, “Brr, tile floor is chilly. I should go up to the bedroom and grab some socks.” By the time I get to the bedroom I’m puffing like a steam train and I can’t remember what I came up for. At least the bed is up there, in all its glory, glory, hallelujah. There is now enough room on each side of the bed so neither my nor Saint Aardvark’s belly is indecently molested when we get up and move around.

The move went as well as moves do. It happened. On Monday morning I had a voicemail message at work from our lawyers, saying, ooh, there’s one more piece of paper you have to sign! And I was all, like, Well, we LIVE there now so I guess it wasn’t that important. My shampoo is in the bathroom. I’ll sign your piece of paper when I feel like it.

On Saturday afternoon, an uneventful drive in our rental Sebring! brought us to New Westmizzle at 12:45 (45 minutes later than our legal possession time). As we walked up the path to our new home, I noticed that there was a barbeque on the patio.

Sadly, it was not a gift from the barbeque gods, but instead the barbeque of the guy who lived there before us. The former owner. The person who was supposed to be gone by 12 pm. The person we gave all that money to, sort of. There he was! half-assedly packing the last of his stuff and wiping down the counters in the kitchen with the enthusiasm of a 14 year old who listens to too much Korn and just discovered bongs. He was also the size of your average 14 year old boy. I’m just saying. The short man thing. I don’t make it up.

“Hey,” he said. (and I smelled beer on his breath. This did not please me. Where is my damn beer, little man?)
“Hey,” we said. (Our breath probably smelled like ANGRY FIRE.)
“So, I’m almost done,” he said. “Maybe another half hour?”
“There’s the storage locker too,” his buddy reminded him. His buddy looked like a hungover blues guitarist. He eyed my belly. My belly eyed him right back.
“Well,” said Saint Aardvark with that TONE that he uses with FUCKWITS, “our movers are coming in about an hour, so you’ll want to be gone by then.”
“Whoah,” said eejit #1, “you got MOVERS?”
“Yep,” I said, “We got movers.”

We determined that we would call him in half an hour. We went to the Most Depressing Mall In the Universe and walked around for half an hour; SA called him; we went back and moved in.

[The MDMItU has two floors. The bottom floor has stores like “Sweater Collection” and “Josie’s” (No! You have never heard of those two stores because this is the only place they exist, selling their strange polyester ladies’ outfits) and the top floor is basically an indoor walking track. There are lots of store windows, but no stores, it’s dark and there are people walking in circles.]

The second thing I did after making sure there were no left-over short man germs anywhere was sit in the bathtub to test that I could get in, sit comfortably and get out. This was a problem in the old apartment. The bathtub was too “u” shaped – stop laughing – and had no place upon which my hands could achieve purchase. Thusly, I slippily flopped around in the bathtub like the marine mammal of your choosing, moaning loudly and waiting for someone to care enough to bring in a winch.

The new bathtub is far more “upside down ‘n’ shaped” – there is TOO a difference – and so I am able to get in and out on my own and without any moaning or winching.

Then we ordered pizza and watched tv on the previous owner’s dollar since he had forgotten to cancel his cable. Apparently, there is quite a small-dog smuggling problem in the US. This woman? She bought her Pekeshitzupoo from a guy on a street corner in LA for $400? And then? The dog totally died two days later. Because it turned out it was smuggled from Mexico and it had a disease.

OK, so it makes sense that puppy smuggling should be against the law. But so should people who are stupid enough to give $400 to anyone on a street corner who does not provide DRUGS in return. I’ve thought about this (I have a new 45 minute commute to work!) and drugs are pretty much the only thing I would spend $400 on a street corner for.

In closing, now SA has the flu for his week off work, poor thing, and I’m back in the office, looking at the ends of my hair against my black t-shirt, thinking Damn. I need a haircut.

(first time using a dishwasher. no catts were harmed.)