The Way Things Are



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Just for fun
2005-09-27, 1:18 p.m.

Just for fun, and you KNOW itís going to be fun, hereís a copy of an email that I was copied on yesterday by Mike here in my office. Itís not written to me Ė donít worry Ė Iím not procrastinating and making people nervous. Well, making myself nervous, but not other people. Not usually. Anyway, the man canNOT type.

ďWher3e are we on this. Somebody Important at Big Organization is getting very nervous. He has to have this deal wrapped up by the first of the year and says htat he has not heard from you for some time. If this is not going to work with your group, we need to know now so that there is still time to find alternate funding.

I need to hear from you SAP.

ThanksĒ

My favorite part? Calling the guy SAP at the end. Yo, whuddup, SAP?

Friggin SAP.

The other day, Mike sent an email to an official at HUD to ask that they correct our mailing address, and luckily, he copied me on that one, too, because he typoíd our address. I had to send out a correction email, correcting the incorrect address correction.

So do you wanna hear the story of the move? I said DO YOU WANNA HEAR THE STORY OF THE MOVE? I canít heeeeeear youuuuuuuu.

Here it is: I took Thursday and Friday off work to pack. And the plan was to move our shit on Saturday and spend our first night in the new house Saturday night.

There I am, peacefully packing and drinking some coffee and watching TV Thursday morning, and DW calls.

::Ring ring!::

DW: Hey! Letís move today!
Me: Wha---?
DW: Letís spend our first night there tonight. Don and I will be by later to break down the beds and move them.
Me: Wha---?

I made the mistake of going out to run the ubiquitous Home Despot errand, and when I returned, sure Ďnuff, beds are gone. Wild, frenzied packing ensues. In-laws show up with truck and trailer, and our shit gets almost literally shoveled out of the house into the trailer. No, letís not sort it and box it. Letís just do a bucket brigade of handfuls of crap out the door, to the trailer, to the new house, where we will just drop this stuff wherever the spirit moves us.

Oh. My. God.

Thursday is a bit of a blur. All I really distinctly remember is that after all the ďhelpĒ left, I packed at the old house as long as I could stand the silence (they took the freaking TV), moved what I could in my little vehicle myself, and then made my way to the new house, alone, to make the bed and try to sleep. After taking some Motrin because I was in ovulatory pain HELL, which made it all so much more special.

Alone? Why were you alone, Laura?

BECAUSE DW PLAYED FOOTBALL THURSDAY NIGHT. I canít believe you even had to ask. The guys needed him, you see. They needed him, and when the team needs him, everybody elseís needs fly out the window.

Oh come on! The man has been building a house for two years. He needs a break to play football. I hold no grudges, but I was a bit bewildered, nay Ė FLUMMOXED --- when he announced that he was going to San Antonio to play football.

Itís probably best that we had that time apart, anyway. I do tend to get overwhelmed amidst great upheaval, and my neurons were firing all offbeat, causing my mouth to emit these jarring snapping noises. Snap! Snap snap!

We moved into a house where I could not put things away in the kitchen cabinets, bathroom cabinets, or closets. Because those household features werenít finished yet. Oh sure, they could have been finished on Thursday and Friday while I packed, so that when we moved on Saturday, we would have the use of cabinets and closets. But no. Sadly, no.

All is well now. We live there. Itís really super nice, and neither of us can believe that (1) the house is finished (well, almost) and (2) that we live somewhere so nice. Lil Guy has what I call his empire (itís bigger than a room, and bigger than a country, even) upstairs, and with us not all being on top of each other and all up in each otherís bidness all the time, he has agreed to take on some self-responsibility. And thatís good, because once he goes to college, his roommates are NOT going to want to gently wake him by patting him on the be-hind, nor will they offer to trim his nasty toenails for him.

I have got one big-ass mother lode (load? lode? load? huh?) of chores facing me, which is to cull through the crap, and get the useless stuff out of our lives forever and ever, and just hang onto the good stuff.

So it had a stressful beginning: even more stressful than your average move, but it all ended up OK. And we had lots and lots of visitors on Saturday, because all of our Houston relatives came to town to escape the wrath of Rita, and we got to have them ooooh and aaaaah over our spectacular kick-ass house.

Here are some really good things this morning:

1. The sulfur in the well water seems to be dissipating, so the house doesnít stink of rotten egg farts quite so often, with much less intensity than before.
2. The air conditioning, which crapped out on the Official Hottest Day of the Year on Sunday, has been repaired. How does an a/c freeze up in 106 degree weather? I find that mildly ironic.
3. If you skip enough meals while moving, you will lose a bit of weight. My pants are not intentionally hurting me in my private parts today, and thatís always a good thing.

So do you see how sketchy and discombobulated my writing is? Do you see how I focus on seemingly unimportant details (pants), and skip major plot points in the story (the whole weekend post-move)? Thatís my brain these days. Iím sure Iíll get better. Pictures tomorrow, I think.

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