Look!
Right?! Fewer boxes! Lots fewer! Also...
Squeeee! I mean, I still have stuff to do to those shelves, seeing as I got rid of 14,000 books when I moved, took my year abroad. I think I'll move the top shelves down and put old-'50s-lady knicknacks up. Sure hope I can find some. BAH.
Those two books standing up are some of my favorite childhood books. Let's ruminate on June as a child. You know how I am now? That's basically it. It was this personality with a tad less bitterness.
I'll tell you about Bitchy Resting Face Alex coming over, but then I have to stampede to the moving man calling me a fucking whore. You won't BELIEVE what happens next. Click here!
Poor BRF Alex wasted another entire weekend day, over here, assisting me with the paint and the brushes and the Jello Pudding. We painted my beige room white, kept the blue ceiling. So now I have a four blue-and-white rooms in my house. Say, June. I enjoy your mental disorder.
We could NOT get the white to work. In fact, right here you can see a little streak action in the middle. We painted THREE FULL COATS and it was still streaky. This resulted in BRF Alex hating Sherwin Williams, and my back hating me.
wut ant bitchy doing? Why she make teefs look like dat? ...wate...
Since we had to wait between coats, I figured what better way to thank BRF Alex than to make her look at my Norma and Vern photos!
SHE LIKED THEM, okay? Because my Norma and Vern albums are riveting. The first person to ignore the link above and ask me who Norma and Vern are has to come paint walls at my house.
So anyway, that's done, albeit a tad streakily. "I just want you to know, that's it. I'm done painting for you now," BRF Alex said, and what a jerk. God. You spend a mere 12 hours of your Sunday with a person and all of a sudden you get testy.
But the OTHER thing that happened, well, other than TALLULAH MIGHT HAVE CANCER NO SHE DOESN'T THAT CAN'T BE TRUE, is the moving company drama. I'm actually afraid of this guy now, but they have three sevens in their company name. We used them when I moved into my last house, my house abroad (it kills me when I say that, because it's five minutes between my old house and my current one) (maybe that's what it's like to live in Europe. Five minutes and you're in another country), and they were great last year. Courteous, efficient. So I called them again this year.
Again, they got there early, which annoyed me, actually, and since I don't LIVE at the house, they called to see where I was. "Well, on my way, Because IT ISN'T NINE YET," I said. But still, they were friendly to me and did a lot for me, which I appreciated and tipped them.
But the thing is, the last load? The cable guy was here, and "an adult must be here at all times," he said, and has he MET me? An adult. "Well, maybe you should come back tomorrow," I told him. "Ma'am, we can just go back to the house. We know what all needs to go." The moving guy listed everything. So that's what they did. But when I returned to my old house to get the pets, they'd left behind a secretary (Mrs. Wiggins), a bookshelf, a rocking chair, SEVERAL BOXES, and they hadn't moved Ned's wardrobe downstairs as I'd asked. I'd even called over there to remind them of that.
I had to haul all that shit myself, IN A VW BUG, so that annoyed.
Then, they broke my hutch and didn't reduce the price of the move. PLUS, they took apart the dog gate and didn't put it back together. Same with my shoe rack.
The final blow was Saturday afternoon, when I realized they'd taken apart my vanity (and what a chore THAT is, taking apart all THIS vanity), and put it back together wrong. I was going to have to take it all apart myself and it weighs a ton. So I texted the owner, finally. Told him all I told you. "I just want someone to come help me put this vanity together right," I wrote.
He called soon after. "What happened?" That's how he started the call. "Is this...the moving guy?" I asked. "You know it is," he said.
I'm serious. That's what he said. "My guys are telling me a different story," he said, obviously a great proponent of The Customer is Always Right. "Why didn't you call me sooner? It's been 10 days."
"Because I was gonna let it go till I discovered the glass missing from the vanity," I said. "...Are you trying to make this my fault?"
"Bitch, fuck you. Don't ever call me again," he said. I was still gasping when he hung up on me.
He hung up on me!
I texted him to tell him his unprofessionalism was staggering and that I was reporting him to the BBB, which I did.
"Fuck you, whore," he texted back. (!!!!!) "You're a fucking liar. You should get your ass beaten."
He texted me a few more times, telling me to suck his dick (no, thanks) and calling me a fucking bitch and a whore again. I mean, maybe he knew me in college, I don't know.
I didn't answer this nutbar, but what I did do is call the police. Can you believe this guy? All his reviews online are positive. I wonder how many other women he's harassed this way. I wasn't even asking for money! Of course I saved all his texts, which I thought maybe I'd read off at the Thanksgiving table, when I'm saying what I'm grateful for.
And finally, about my Lu. We all went to the vet for our regular shots, hello 9 million hundred dollars, and while we were there I asked them to take a look at Talu's foot, which had a bump on it. They took both dogs back into the torture chamber or whatever they do back there. The vet returned, with bounding Edsel and sloping Talu.
"Edsel's great!" she said brightly. Yes, Ima have Edsel for a long, long time. Perfect health! No problems there!
God hates me. Mostly he hates me because I'm a fucking whore.
And by the way, right then I knew. I knew when she went on and on about Edsel's tip-tip shape that something was up with Talu. Turns out, the bump on her foot? Will either clear up with antibiotics, or it's some kind of inoperable sarcoma that'll kill her. So that's relaxing. I just have to wait TWO WEEKS to see what's gonna happen. But to tell you the truth, that bump is already smaller from where they aspirated it, so I hope that's a good sign. Because you listen here, God. I'm grabbing you by the robe. YOU LISTEN HERE. I may be a fucking bitch who's a liar, but I NEED MY DOG. You got this? I NEED MY LU.
dat make one of us.
P.S. So you don't have a fit, here's my Purple Clover for the week.
