Category Archives: Bitchin’

NaBloPo-MOFO

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I’ve totally backdated this entry to yesterday, when I meant to post it, except my not-so-hot hosting company took the entire server offline to backup a failing drive. I definitely expended more energy fretting about my lack of blogging ability than it takes to write an entry anyway, so I don’t think I should be disqualified!

When I emailed the hosting company to let them know I was pretty pissed that there would be an hours long outage to backup a drive, their response was “Unfortunately hardware failures are a fact of life. They’re inevitable. We don’t plan for them, but they do happen.”

Um… if your only business is maintaining hardware to hold onto people’s data, and hardware failures are inevitable and a fact of life, WHY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH IS THERE NO PLAN?

Eighteen hours later, my site is up and running. Hoo-frickin-ray.

Anyone know of a good host that has some concept of service-appropriate backups? Because I’m definitely looking.

In the meantime, here’s a pretty picture:

Sunrise

Crapping Hell

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I was all ready to share a great “Snow Day” video of me and the dog in the park.

Unfortunately for you, I got sick of waiting for both Google Video and YouTube to stop being assholes.

That didn’t happen before I ran out of patience, so no video for you.

Hope you enjoyed the snow anyway.

Mussel Man

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Mussels in white wine broth

One of the culinary frontiers I hadn’t explored until today was shellfish. I don’t mean eating (I’m an old pro at that one), I mean preparing in my own kitchen.

I doubt I would’ve made it there, had I not possessed an excess of wine in the fridge that needed to be cooked with.

(Wine that went off with surprising regularity in our slightly-too-hot apartment in the pre-wine-fridge days.)

The man loves mussels, I’m pretty fond of them, and allrecipes.com said they were fantastically simple. So why not?

Well the recipe was right, they were DEAD easy. Dead, as in, I killed 1/3 of them by leaving them in the bag too long. Did you know mussels need to breathe? Yah. I didn’t either. In fact, there was a whole bunch of stuff I didn’t know about cleaning mussels.

No matter. It was all done in fairly short order, and the recipe we used was easy and tasty.

Unfortunately, the mussels were just a bit too… real.

The flesh of these fresh sea-treats was huge & meaty. Much more so than from any restaurant I’ve had them at. And while I usually enjoy mussels, the texture of these ones turned me off a little.

Ok, a lot.

The rule has generally been that I prefer food I’ve made in my own kitchen. It’s somewhat disappointing to form a new relationship with an ingredient, only to find out that the ingredient is “not that into you.”

Have I just been subjected to shitty mussels all these years? Did I inadvertently happen to get some juiced up “kitsilano meathead” mussels – all bulk and no substance? Could I have done something differently?

In any case, I’ll probably try shellfish again someday (especially if you, gentle readers, leave some tips or advice for me), but not until I’ve soothed my poor, brokenhearted, disappointed palate with some tea and girlguide cookies.

Piece of Shit Car

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I want to give you a good car-life, I really, really do!

I got you inspected before buying you a little over a year ago, and other than that seemingly small pulley issue that the dealership said they’d fixed, you checked out A-ok.

Well today marked the day I paid more in repairs for you, in only 18 months, than I paid for you!

That pulley cost over $500 to finally fix properly.

But I suppose it wasn’t soon enough for you, because you rebelled with your broken crankshaft. It’s ok, I didn’t need that $900 at Christmastime anyway.

So I was good to you. I spend about $1500 more on oil changes, filter changes, tune-ups, spark plugs, a new battery, radiator, transmission and brake fluid flushes.

I even went and got you fixed up right away when that idiot backed into you.

And this is how you repay me?

A NINETEEN-HUNDRED DOLLAR TRANSMISSION REBUILD?

Fuck you car.

This is it. Anything else goes wrong, I’m pushing you off a damn cliff into the ocean.

Dog-gonit

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Jonathan posted on Metroblogging Vancouver yesterday regarding his opinion on having a dog in an apartment building.

Vancouver’s no-pets-in-the-building policy is probably a good thing. If people want a dog, they should at least have a house with a yard or public park across the street.

It’s an opinion I hear a lot from people who feel “sorry” for my dog, because she lives in an apartment.

That’s bullshit.

I’ve lived in both apartments and houses with dogs of all sizes, and I can say that it absolutely DOES NOT MATTER what kind of home you inhabit with a dog, you have to exercise them. Putting a dog out in the yard does not guarantee they’re exercising.

I’d actually argue that dogs who live in homes with yards don’t get as much exercise as they should. I know that personally I was FAR more likely to just let the dog out the back door to do its business rather than actually go play outside with it, or take it for a walk around the neighbourhood or to the park every day as I do now.

And I can’t vouch for Mt. Pleasant, but there are a LOT of parks in areas of Vancouver that I’m familiar with. No, there isn’t one immediately across the street from me. But there is one across the street and two blocks west, one a block behind me, and another park across the street from that. Every neighbourhood I’ve explored has at least a public grassy patch every 5 blocks or so. It’s probably better for the dog, and the owner, to have to walk an extra block or two to get to it.

My dog’s trainer actually recommends AGAINST yards for dogs. Sure, a yard is great if you go out there with the animal, but putting them outside alone is a horrible idea. That’s where the poor dog is antaganized by any amount of neighbourhood cats and wildlife, and feels he/she must defend the yard as part of his/her territory. If a person is going to be a good dog owner, it doesn’t matter if the grassy patch is attached to the house or a 6 block hike away – the person must accompany the dog.

Having a dog is far more like having a toddler than having an animal. They’re about as smart as a 3-year old, and need stimulation and interaction in order to flourish and not become destructive and start yelling (barking) and pooping in corners just for the hell of it. The day someone agrees that it’s cruel to have a child in an apartment because they don’t have a yard to play in is the day I’ll agree with the same argument for dogs.

I think his other points are relevant – non-dog people have just as much right to live in a non-dog building as dog-people do to live in a dog-friendly building. I wouldn’t move into a condo complex knowing that strata bylaws state “no dogs” if I wanted a dog to be in my future. If it were that important to me, I’d be putting “dog-friendly” on my list of must-haves right next to 2 full bathrooms and garburator. I’m not about to be a strata-council rabble-rouser to try and bring dogs where none have gone before. People have as much right to live dog-free as those who live in “adult only” complexes have to live child-free.

But the type of house someone lives in is NOT a valid qualifier to determine whether or not they’re a good dog owner (or parent), and is not a valid argument for banning dogs from apartment buildings.

Were I to be a Strata Council renegate, I’d far rather get on the council at the new place, and try to put in a clause that bans judgemental ignorami (not that Jonathan’s necessarily one – I don’t know him from Adam – he just planted the seed to ignite my wrath) from living there.

Home Run

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Much to my surprise, I received a call from friendly Kurt at the Home Depot on Sunday afternoon (a customer service call on a Sunday!).

I calmly and rationally explained my experience, and told Kurt my major disappointment was in the fact that they couldn’t do a straight exchange for the item, requiring me to a) subject myself to further inconvenience with the shipping company and b) wait 3-4 weeks to actually receive my (hopefully undamaged) product.

Kurt listened politely and we chatted and settled a few things.

1. The shipping company (contracted by UPS) is supposed to offer everyone a 30 minute delivery window up until 7:00pm Monday-Friday. Not mentioning that and then showing up over an hour late is completely unacceptable. Home Depot just dumped Purolator for similar issues, and will be launching a formal complaint with UPS because of this.

2. My feedback on their return policy has been recorded and will be passed on, for whatever that’s worth. They are currently working on an inventory interface that will allow homedepot.ca orders to be facilitated through local stores, but they’re not there yet. Fair enough. Because of my feedback and situation, Kurt assured me that though it’s not their policy at this time, they’ll ensure my exchange is quick and easy (and not requiring multiple shipments) or facilitate the pickup and issue me a credit for the order.

3. As an additional good faith measure by Home Depot, I have also been offered 10% off my next order online up to $100. When all I was expecting was for someone to hear and acknowledge my complaint, and to fix the situation, the additional offer to incent me to shop again at homedepot.ca (and hopefully have a better experience) was unexpected, welcome, and really smart on their end.

And how did I manage to complain my way into this? I had a valid issue, I politely and immediately asked the lowest rung on the call centre ladder to either speak to someone, or have them call me back as soon as possible about my issue, and I stuck to the facts, rather than the emotion behind my the delay in having my precious yuppy wine fridge (because even I wouldn’t take me seriously if I were whining about that). There’s no point in trying to deal with the person who answers the phone, and sometimes the person with the decision making power to help you isn’t available right away. The more polite you are in trying to get to the right person, the faster that usually happens, and the more amenable they usually are to talking with you.

So far so good Home Depot. You’re nearly forgiven. We’ll see how this all plays out and I’ll update again with the final resolution.

You Can Never Go Home.

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Home Depot Sucks

After our adventures in Bordeaux buying, the man and I decided to buy a wine fridge after all. Hooray!

Except, not so much.

We ordered online from the Home Despot (yes, despot), and hoped our fridge would arrive in fairly short order. Worst decision ever.

After a couple days, I received an email that my order had shipped. I tried to track it online, but no dice. I called the Home Depot to ask why it wasn’t working, when I was informed that it was being shipped by a “Common Carrier” and couldn’t be tracked online. Could I have the name or contact information of the carrier? Of course not. Despite multiple requests.

The only thing I was ever told was that the carrier (who would insist on remaining nameless) would contact me 24-48 hours before delivery to arrange a time to receive the order. Fine then.

I received a very cordial call from the freight company and set up a delivery time. Not a convenient one, but a time nonetheless. Between 11am and 1pm on Friday. So I went into work early, and packed myself up to get home by 11am to work from home and wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Until 2:09pm.

That’s when I got a faint knock on the door. The delivery driver was there, saying my buzzer didn’t work. Too bad he tried the wrong buzzer entirely, even though the correct number was written on the delivery slip. No matter, the fridge is here!

Fridge is unloaded, delivery guy leaves, I rip open the packaging like a kid on Christmas!

And find…. the dent.

broken

A huge unsightly gash in the side of my pristine fridge!

So I call the Home Depot, which is where they had a chance to make things right, and instead did absolutely everything wrong.

I’m instructed to keep the original packaging (have you seen how much stuff comes packaged with a fridge? I’m going to have to sleep with the stuff!) and the carrier will be instructed to contact me to set up a time to pick up the busted up appliance. There goes another few hours off work.

But instead of sending another fridge to a valuable customer in good faith to exchange the units, the Home Despot insists on waiting for the broken unit to arrive back in their Burlington ON warehouse (a mere 4500 kms away) before sending the replacememt back across the country to me.

No, there is apparently no way around this. I can’t work with a local store to make a swap, and there’s no way they’ll send a whole extra unit (I mean, I’m sure having that extra $250 out of the warehouse makes a HUGE dent in their bottom line, right?) as a replacement at the same time as the pickup.

I replied that I would arrange a time for them to pick up the fridge and would like them to promptly cancel my order. It took two weeks to get the original fridge, I’ll be damned if I’m going to take yet ANOTHER day off on top of the return pick-up and wait about four weeks to receive an appliance I can get at innumerable other places.

I also asked for a supervisor or customer service person of some sort to contact me to discuss the issue, since I find it all pretty ridiculous, and I’m hoping that someone other than their friendly but ultimately useless call centre monkeys can actually find a reasonable solution to the issue.

Considering the speed and concern with which my issues about the neverending bathroom reno were addressed (read: none) I don’t have high hopes.

Until then, no more Home Despot for me. I’ll pay more and shop around elsewhere if it means avoiding supporting such terrible practices.

In the meantime, I think I’ll crack open one of the bottles of currently un-refrigerated wine, and weep.

Down with the Sickness

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I do believe I’m getting sick.

I have perpetually dry eyes, a cough, exhaustion, sniffles – I figured it was just a matter of time.

Problem is, I haven’t had the time to slow down enough to just get sick! I was really feeling ill on Friday, had a busy weekend, and was a mess on Monday.

I figured Tuesday or Wednesday morning I’d be down for the count.

But nooooooooo.

So far, I still feel just fuzzy and off enough to be annoyed, but not actually sick.

Anyone have any ideas of what I can do to fully bring on some sort of plague, complete with raw, runny nose, body aches, and maybe a bronchial rattle?

I figure the sooner I get sick, the sooner I can hurry up and feel better.

Because this cold and flu season purgatory really sucks.

Miiiiiiiiiii Niiiiiiiiiii

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Scene: Morning in the Watkiss/Wiederick household.

The boy has just made coffee and delivered it to the girl, who has turned on the morning news and thrown some sort of squeaking, slobbery something across the room for the umpteenth time to avoid a storm of morningdogbreath kisses.

The coffee has led to cuddling, which has led to canoodling, which has led to… well… let’s keep this one PG for the kids out there.

Suddenly, it happens.

CHAOS ERUPTS!

That goddamn Mini Wheats commercial is on AGAIN!

Suddenly both humans in the room propel themselves violently into action in a frantic search for the remote control!

The suddenly frightened dog whines and cowers behind the door.

SUCCESS!

Remote found!

Commercial Muted!

Unfortunately not before that goddamned theme song is firmly stuck in the girl’s head for the rest of the day.

Miiiiiiiiii Niiiiiiiii FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Tragedy

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I don’t know where, when, or why the decision was made.

But I don’t like it.

I feel betrayed.

Abandoned.

Deceived.

I didn’t need to be consulted. But at least a little warning, and perhaps an explanation would be appreciated.

How could you just rip something like that away from me without as much as a “how d’ya do”?

Just because you didn’t feel you had a use for it anymore, doesn’t mean it didn’t make my life a little better.

Oh McDonald’s…

WHY did you discontinue the Hot Mustard Sauce?

My nuggets and fries will never be the same.

Vacation Lessons #2 – No Room at the Inn

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Tofino

Thank god I wasn’t expecting to birth my (likely not-so-) immaculately conceived (and thankfully non-existent) child any time soon, because while on our wee excursion, Neil and I broke the (until that point rumoured but not really believed) 11th commandment:

Thou Shalt Not Arrive in Tofino and Expect to Find Suitable Accommodations if Thou Hast Not Booked WELL IN ADVANCE!

That rule holds up doubly so if thou hast a dog as thine travel companion.

We (foolishly) figured that the whole “All of Tofino books up ahead of time” thing was just an overblown rumour, and decided to chance our luck with just “showing up” anyway. After all, it was mid-week and nowhere near a long weekend.

Boy were we wrong!

The Scene went something like this:

  • Order coffees and sit down with Accommodation Guide,Tourist Centre Printout and cell phones
  • Garner strange looks from locals
  • Phone place of lodging inquiring about rooms available for that night
  • Get laughed at by proprietor of said lodging
  • Get laughed at by curious locals realizing what we’re up to
  • Lather, rinse, repeat, weep.

    • We eventually stayed at a somewhat scuzzed out motel in the middle of town and snuck the dog in the back door.

    For those not in the know: the actual town of Tofino blows goats. The beaches and campgrounds are where it’s at. Unfortunately, with no reservations or plans on what we were doing or how long we were staying, we didn’t get to enjoy them at all.

    Thankfully we did salvage a couple fantastic meals out of it all (I highly recommend UpStairs for dinner and Schooners for breakfast), and got to poke around at the Long Beach Lodge Resort, and the Wickaninnish Inn. We were surprised that even the two priciest locations in Tofino were completely sold out for the week – but they’re both gorgeous and we do have plans to go back.

    And we’ll definitely remember to call first next time!

    Vacation Lessons #1 – Dogged Determination

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    I know a blow-by-blow breakdown of things that I did on my luxurious week of unemployment/vacation isn’t really interesting to anyone except those who were there – so I won’t torture you.

    However, there are a few very important lessons I learned while on my “fly by the seat of your pants” whirlwind tour of the Sunshine Coast & Vancouver Island. And I’d love to share one of them with you:

    First off, Travelling with no schedule, planned destnation, accommodations booked or firm dates for anything in mind is a good idea… in principle. In reality, it’s a great way to see things you hadn’t expected, but a challenging way to conduct a vacation. The stress of hunting down a place to lay our weary heads each night took away significantly from the “relaxation” factor we’d been striving for.

    Compounding this is the realization we came to that one should never, EVER, travel with a dog without having accommodations booked ahead of time. I don’t want to sound like one of those people who feels their dog should be allowed everywhere they go so far as into restaurants, stores, etc. but the complete lack of pet-friendly accommodations available is pretty astounding. Hotels that allow dogs seem to only have about 5-7% of their rooms available for the furry beasties, and even if they do have rooms available, the pet rooms go quickly.

    Someone actually asked us on our travels “Why’d you bring your dog on vacation anyway?” I just sat dumbfounded with my mouth agape, though Neil was quick in responding (loudly, over the questioner’s screaming, unruly brats running amok through the Tim Hortons – as our dog laid quietly outside the window we were sitting next to) “Why’d you bring your kids on vacation?” and the question-asker was left speechless. And really, that’s what it’s all about. Not everyone likes kids, or dogs, or your drunk Uncle Bob who pinches the waitresses ass and spills his dinner and pukes in the flowerbeds more often than not. But for whatever reason, people enjoy travelling with them and would like to spend their vacation with their family and companions.

    The biggest anti-pet justification I heard was “allergies” – and sure, people’s allergies to pet-hair are a valid concern. But really? Don’t hotels vacuum the rooms and change the sheets and towels between guests anyway? And I’d argue that there are more dog owners than those severely allergic to pet dander in this world. And I’d bet that those who are so allergic to pet dander that they can’t be in a room that a dog has been in, ever, are probably allergic to a lot of other things as well. Why not book 5-7% of your rooms as “allergen-free” rooms and outlaw pets, plants, perfumes and peanut products in them.

    Most responsible dog owners are generally happy to pay the nominal pet-fee that’s usually tacked onto the regular room rate already, and nobody I know would balk at agreeing to have a pet-charge added to their bill after checkout for any damage their animal may cause. In addition to this, 99% of places already have rules in place that you can’t leave your pet in the room alone anyway – so the risk of any pet damage (save for an indoor accident – and really… have you seen a baby diaper malfunction lately? not much matches the foulness of that) is really, really minimal.

    Then there are the places who specify that they only take “small pets.” I’d bet anyone any amount of money that my 70lb cross-breed is better behaved than most of the purebread calf-high hatebeasts you throw at it. Just because you can put your dog in your purse when it starts causing trouble, doesn’t mean you don’t have to train it.

    Uhm…. wow, that got ranty.

    But really, what’s so wrong with wanting to bring the 4-legged member of my family along with me when I take a road trip? I’m not putting her in a crate on a plane, or asking for her to sit in a restaurant, or go on an amusement park ride, or wag her hairy tail through your racks of clothes or souvenirs, or terrorize your pets in your home. I just want her to have a safe place to sleep at night after we’ve wandered around enjoying the scenery and contributing to bottom line of your business and the economy of your town.

    I suppose I have become one of those people who expects the rest of the world to accommodate my child dog when I choose to take her out with me in what I would think are appropriate situations. But really – considering my dog is cleaner, better behaved, and frankly better looking than most people’s children… is that such a bad thing?

    Blargh

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    I am nonspecifically cranky.

    Perhaps it’s the mountain of unfolded laundry.

    Perhaps it’s the state of mess this place is in (a product, I should note, significantly of my own doing).

    Perhaps it’s stress from the amount of change I’ve experienced over the past few weeks.

    Perhaps it’s a side effect of the headache I’ve had for a couple days with no discernable cause or cure (so far it doesn’t respond to treatments for hangover, dehydration, eye strain or musculoskeletal ailments – or Advil for that matter).

    Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m pretty damn hungry, and totally uninspired by and uninterested in eating any food that’s readily accessible (read: in the fridge or cupboards) or procuring more.

    Perhaps it’s because the level of dog hair in my world surpassed what I’d call critical mass a looooooong time ago.

    Whatever it is, I’d certainly like it to go away now, or at least come up with a clear direction so I could stop with the nonspecific ramblings.

    At least so far it’s provided me with another day of content.

    Tomorrow: either more bitching, or something nice about lessons learned while I was on vacation.

    Which would you prefer?

    Bullet

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    Hello. My you look lovely today! Your hair is so shiny, and have you lost weight?

    I know. I haven’t updated in a while, so here’s a summation life in recent days, in bullet points, since nothing has been exciting enough to write about on its own:

  • Unpacking is FINALLY finished. We’ve purged and scrubbed and hung pictures and finally made the place really feel like home. About frickin’ time, considering we moved in on May 1st. I started taking pictures of the spanky new digs, however the camera battery died, and in the time it took to charge, the apartment once again looks like a bomb of dirty laundry, dishes and dog hair went off.
  • While dropping off my keys to my old landlord, I stopped off at the mall in the former ‘hood and who did I run into but my ex-boyfriend. This marks the 2nd time I’ve seen him in as many years since we broke up. The first time I saw him, about a year ago, he looked like he’d gotten his shit together. This time, he’s resumed being a big fat (literally – oy) sack of messy whose life still isn’t really in order, and I took a (probably unhealthily) large amount of pleasure in the fact that my decision to end our four year relationship was validated in the 5 minutes we spent catching up.
  • The wedding Neil and I went to on the weekend was lovely and gorgeous and fabulous. For those keeping track, I wore the existing black dress – not because I decided to forego buying a new one, but because despite multiple shopping trips, I found NOTHING suitable that was any sort of flattering. Pictures forthcoming here. Being at such a pretty and romantic wedding also revived my excitement for participating in Brigette & Markus’s ceremony at the end of the month. Doubly so now that I know with the new job I won’t be worked into the ground and/or too stressed to enjoy it!
  • About that work thing – my last day at the Spelunking Club is this Friday. It’s been a little over a year of much on-the-job as well as personal growth. That said, I’m glad to be moving on to something that’s more in line with the direction of what I’d rather be doing with my time, and of a slightly less solitary nature. The new job holds the exciting title of “Business Consultant,” which is ubiquitous enough that I’m not afraid the google-bots will pick up my new employer (which was the reason for identifying my previous job as a coordinator of Spelunkers). That said, I still probably won’t write about it much.
  • I’m taking a much-needed week of Vacation between jobs, so from the 12th through the 18th, Neil and I will be taking a circle tour up the sunshine coast, across to Vancouver Island, up to Sayward, over to Tofino, and perhaps home through the gulf islands if we have time. Recommendations of stuff to see, things to do, and places to stay are welcome and encouraged. We will have the dog with us. No, we have not booked accommodation in Tofino (or anywhere) yet. We plan on “playing it by ear” and stopping to sleep whenever and wherever we are tired, and staying places as long or short as we feel is warranted at the time. Yes, we are stupid. No, we don’t care.
  • My long weekend was nice, even though I’ve felt like a sack of nasty for most of it. I’m not sure what I ate or drank, or where I went wrong, but the 2:30am attack of nausea every night for the past four nights can feel free to fuck right off any time now. I’m hoping it can just be atributed to stress, and that the vacation will help things – though feel free to leave any home remedies in the comments. Bonus points for suggestions that include eating Kraft Dinner and having my feet massaged.

    • And that’s pretty much got you caught up. Anything you think I forgot? How are all of you doing?

    Mooooooooovin on up

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    Today is finally (FINALLY!) the last day I’m going to move my things out of my Burnaby apartment and into the new place. The gorgeous new place in Kitsilano, mere blocks from the beach, with the gigantic deck and the friendly neighbours and the fact that nearly everyone in the building owns a dog, including us. Oh, and the fact that I get to share it all with that boy I love (/end schmoop).

    However, if there is one truth that anyone ever needed to know about me, it is this: I. HATE. MOVING.

    I do somewhat enjoy unpacking, as well as the fun of setting up a new place exactly how I like it, and how shiny everything is when the new abode is freshly painted and scrubbed, and my stuff gets cleaned and rediscovered as it’s unpacked and put in its official place.

    Everything else though, is torture. Finding a place is hellish. Dragging my possessions across town (including renting a truck and bribing friends) is a nightmare. Cleaning the old place for the new tenants is a completely unfulfilling chore – I hate cleaning for myself, why would I want to do it for anyone else? The time it all takes is just time I’ll never get back.

    But the worst part, by far, is the packing. There is a special hell reserved for the rapists and child murderers in this world – and that hell is packing up my belongings. Comedian Dane Cook has a bit about how everyone has a sound (nails on a chalkboard, car alarms, etc.) that affects them so much, it makes them feel violent enough to want to punch a baby. That is how I feel about packing.

    I’m not really a packrat in that I hang on to things because I’m afraid I will need them again someday, or think they may be useful at some point. It’s just that it’s so much easier to toss them into a cupboard or closet than actually get rid of them. I’ve been doing that for four years in the apartment I’m leaving, and I’m guessing that in the process of this latest move I’ve thrown out or given away nearly 40% of my possessions – some of which I never actually even unpacked after I moved in back in 2002.

    I also foolishly thought that with the trip to Korea, and the crazy work schedule I was under, packing in time to move everything all in one day would be too much, so I’ve been doing it slowly over the past month.

    Of course, doing it slowly in my world amounts to doing absolutely nothing for 3 weeks, then panicking for a week, and dragging boxes over carload by tiny carload.

    But today the very last of the belongings that I’m moving with me are being put in the back of the J’Lo and toodling their way into Kits.

    I’ve hired a cleaner to deal with the rest of the cruft, and I hand over the keys sometime in early August (my landlord lives out of town). Then begins the (only slightly) less torturous task of finding spaces and places for it all. Fitting over 2500 square feet of two people’s belongings into 2/5 of that space is not an easy undertaking.

    At least it’s all over soon you say? At least I’ll be settled and can get on with another long stint in the place that I call home? I wish. We get to do it all over again in a year when this is finished.

    I’m already saving for professional movers AND PACKERS to deal with it the next time around. That is, if in the meantime, the thought of it all doesn’t drive me screaming into the ocean that I moved to be closer to, never to be seen again.