My wishes include being taller and, but not limited to, being a baller
We have about three weeks before we close and we can start moving out of our hovel here at Crackhouse & Where's-My-Money-Woman-I'll-Cut-You.
We drive by our new place every day, sometimes two or three times. I wish I could go in there now to measure windows and cabinets. But really I just want to sit on the clean hardwood floor and call it mine, mine, mine.
We're not going to give our official notice until next month on the 20-day deadline. I guess it would be nice to let them know that we're on our way out but I need to stick it to The Man. The Man who owns these apartments along with several other complexes in Washington also collects vintage cars and has opened up a winery in the Eastern part of the state.
I need to stick it to him because thanks to my years of stuffing money into his pockets, he has a bottle of Merlot with his name on it. Also, his money-hungry minions OK'd the removal of the large recycling dumpster and so now you have to empty your garbage at one end of the complex and drive to the other end to unload your recyclables. And who's going to do that?
And as liberating as our upcoming home ownership will be, I'm dreading this long torturous ordeal of moving. I spent this weekend filling up our living room with boxes I procured from craigslist scavaging thinking that their cardboard presence would motivate me into expediting the process. But no, my laziness prevailed. Once again, you have defeated me, Insatiable-Need-to-Watch-VH1-repeats! You slay me! I am too weak against the forces that bind me to Hollywood's Hottest Hookups 2!
The weekend manager also caught me in the parking lot lugging boxes and said, "Hey, are you moving?"
And what was my grand, college-educated, Phi Beta Kappa answer? "No! I just...love...boxes...the shape...its boxy essence..." Well, it didn't sink down to that level of stupidity, but I'm not going to include the anecdote in the alumni updates. I offered a mumbled errm, no, um, and yeah-look-over-there-something-shiny before continuing to transform my living room into a depository for the largest fort ever.
Did you know Home Depot sold playpens? Yeah, I didn't either.
We drive by our new place every day, sometimes two or three times. I wish I could go in there now to measure windows and cabinets. But really I just want to sit on the clean hardwood floor and call it mine, mine, mine.
We're not going to give our official notice until next month on the 20-day deadline. I guess it would be nice to let them know that we're on our way out but I need to stick it to The Man. The Man who owns these apartments along with several other complexes in Washington also collects vintage cars and has opened up a winery in the Eastern part of the state.
I need to stick it to him because thanks to my years of stuffing money into his pockets, he has a bottle of Merlot with his name on it. Also, his money-hungry minions OK'd the removal of the large recycling dumpster and so now you have to empty your garbage at one end of the complex and drive to the other end to unload your recyclables. And who's going to do that?
And as liberating as our upcoming home ownership will be, I'm dreading this long torturous ordeal of moving. I spent this weekend filling up our living room with boxes I procured from craigslist scavaging thinking that their cardboard presence would motivate me into expediting the process. But no, my laziness prevailed. Once again, you have defeated me, Insatiable-Need-to-Watch-VH1-repeats! You slay me! I am too weak against the forces that bind me to Hollywood's Hottest Hookups 2!
The weekend manager also caught me in the parking lot lugging boxes and said, "Hey, are you moving?"
And what was my grand, college-educated, Phi Beta Kappa answer? "No! I just...love...boxes...the shape...its boxy essence..." Well, it didn't sink down to that level of stupidity, but I'm not going to include the anecdote in the alumni updates. I offered a mumbled errm, no, um, and yeah-look-over-there-something-shiny before continuing to transform my living room into a depository for the largest fort ever.
Did you know Home Depot sold playpens? Yeah, I didn't either.
9 Comments:
I can always count on a good read from you; you are hilarious.
The kiddie fort is the perfect ruse until you stick it to the man!
Moving does indeed bite. But babies in boxes? Excellent.
I never give notice until I have to, even if I have a good landlord, and I'm not sure I've ever in fact had one of those. For one thing, then they start the hasslin'. "We need to show your place, so have it clean please and we'll be there in 20 minutes." And of course they have no motivation to come fix things, not that they would have done it anyway. And one landlord asked if we could get out sooner than the notice we gave, because he'd found a new tenant, and even after we said no he kept asking. Ug.
How exciting! You know, you're probably going to need to do some shopping, too. If you can't pack, might as well get some other stuff done, eh? :)
I have been known to go out and drag home large refrigerator boxes just to let my kids have a gigantic box fort. That excuse'll hold him off for sure!
Congratulations! You're almost there!
I think that James and I packed a day before we moved out of our apartment. We packed on the first day, rented a truck and took our stuff to the shippers then stayed at a hotel on the second (last) day. In the morning we drove to LAX and I said goodbye. (He came out a month later, of course.)
It's nice to see that Nathan has the same I-love-hanging-out-in-boxes gene as me and Katelyn. :-)
It's odd. We must be on similar frequencies or something. I've had the song "I Wish" running through my head all morning and then I pop over here to read up on your life and the first post title that catches my eye... wish I was a little bit taller, which I was a baller... wicked.
Joe, I know all the words to that song. That and "Baby Got Back."
nothing like a little revenge on your landlord. ps: i didn't they had that neighborhood in seattle, too. it's like a franchise.
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