Happy 4th people! We had a blast over here, watched the fireworks last night and went to a parade today. It was incredibly hot, but seeing all the men in uniform was worth it… 😉

I am right now looking for the cord to upload my pictures—but it’s looking grim, ’cause I think I packed it. Darn it.

I hate people—all people. Particularly this one prick today. I was parallel-parking, and I LIGHTLY tapped the car in front of me. Lightly, I mean barely, I mean it didn’t even freaking move. But guess what? Yes, the guy was sitting in a chair right there with his wife, both of whom proceeded to yell at me. First of all, I am not a mean person. I did not yell at them or the situation. I have never seen these people in my entire life. But no, they think it’s a freaking personal attack and are mean to me—it was an ACCIDENT. And not even one, at that. I look at his car—NOTHING. And I mean absolutely-not-a-single-freaking-thing. But no, he wants insurance information and he has to go to a body shop.

People, I do not lie. There is NOTHING wrong. I was going less than 1/2 of a mph.

I don’t have my insurance card (because I forgot to put it in my car when it renewed), so I give him a business card with my cell number. Then I go about my day… this was this morning.

I didn’t forget the whole debacle… truthfully I had to perform some breathing exercises in my car because the guy was mean to me, but there wasn’t anything wrong with his car, so I just came home to pack.

He just called. I HATE PEOPLE. He wanted my policy number for my insurance, and I said, “Sure, but I’d prefer to not go through the insurance because NOTHING WAS WRONG WITH YOUR CAR.” (I didn’t yell, I just am now.) And he says, “Well I’m taking it to a bodyshop and I want to call my insurance.”

Please kill me now. As if I’m not already having a shitty time of it, let’s raise my damn car insurance. Jackass.

So I tell him “OK, but call me before you call the insurance because I don’t think they will see anything, and I would really prefer to just not go through insurance anyway… as there was nothing wrong with your car.”

So he’s quiet, then he says, “OK, but I want your policy number [which I gave to him] and they might need to buff it out at the shop, so it might be not that much money, so I guess I will call you for that.”

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME HERE? What did I do in a previous life? Eat people?

So now this is the next great saga in my life… argh mutha@%#%#%$!

Kill me now. Please.

I hate packing.

I hate moving.

I hate hot, muggy weather.

I hate tourists. And bugs. Well, technically they are one in the same, so that’s that.

And what I really, really hate? When all of the things that I hate occur simultaneously. It really sucks.

and avoiding packing… surf the Web and find funny things.

Where would one acquire these? Do people really go to grocery stores, etc. and ask for old ones? Aren’t there bugs and icky goo inside of them?

I ask because I am now out of boxes, suitcases and plastic bins of my own. I figured, “Alright, I’m done, no more packing,” but alas, smarter heads have prevailed and now I am going on a trek to find packing material.

On a Sunday. In the town where I SWEAR TO GOD the 4th of July parade was born. In 90 degree weather. On a holiday weekend.

I can think of no greater joy.

When selecting a location to store what is packed and ready to go, make sure you can lock out any furballs who live with you.

Don’t turn on the TV, as the TNT premiere of “Saving Private Ryan” might be on in honor of the holiday (l-o-v-e this movie), and you will cease to pack to watch the cute boys in uniform.

Don’t pack the tape. It’s a real pain in the ass trying to find it three boxes later.

Don’t stop to read that journal you just found in a back cabinet from a trip you took three years ago… it’s coming with you.

And most importantly, don’t pause to blog about the packing—even if it’s just to share that the said furballs are taking contortionist jumps off the falling boxes and it is truly hilarious to watch.

Yes, it is true.. the apartment hunting has ended (I hope). I found a nicer, bigger place not far from where I am now. It’s the second floor of a three floor nice home, owner-occupied—and they are OK with the furballs.

Mind you this is all thanks to the guest, who should be given kudos and large sides of beef (he likes the meat). Not only did the guest call a realtor, he convinced said realtor that a) I am a perfect tenant (which I am, but I mean, how does he really know), b) that I have perfect cats and they must allow them and c) that she should take me out to look at places on a (very, very crazy in this town) holiday weekend. Yay for the guest! He is the greatest! 🙂 🙂 🙂

In other news, the packing has begun once again. It is not going all that well, as a) it’s bloody hot, b) I don’t have enough boxes (and I’m not buying any.. I mean come on $5 for a $%@% box?) and c) I put too much stuff in the boxes I do have so they’re too heavy to move. LOL.

So the realtor puts in the info on Tuesday, and if all goes well, I can start moving in on Thursday. Fingers crossed, people.

And here is a present for the guest…. 🙂

(Day 4, which, btw, did not go well).

Somehow, I forgot that I have stuff—a bedroom, an office, a living room and a kitchen full of stuff. The crazy thing is that I need these things. Books, pots and pans, hats I haven’t worn since high school—important things, y’know.

But here’s the crazy thing—I DO NOT want to move any of it. Nada. Nunca. None. I want the landlord to walk up the stairs and say, “Sorry dear, changed my mind. You can stay.” I want to drink and party and have a regular 4th of July—matter-of-fact, I wanted to go visit my family. But noooo, here I am attempting to pack my entire world into boxes, all the while contemplating a) who the hell is moving these heavy-ass boxes, b) do I seriously need this furry coat I haven’t worn in years and c) I wonder if I should pack while intoxicated. Excellent questions, mind you.

So for the time being I am blogging about how much this blows (typical) with a slight buzz (late lunch on the deck with vodka.. ahhh), preparing to watch “Anchorman.” 🙂

And I just really, really don’t want to pack. *sniff*

Ahem… look up the names of your friends in Google and see what you find.

I found the guest’s wedding… and his derrier. And the derriers of his groomsmen.

Care to explain, guest?

ROFL

Can’t. stop. laughing. If. I could. I’d call… somebody. Everyone’s probably asleep though.

This is the ONLY time in my life that I actually CANNOT wait to get to work. LOL.

Oh, and your roommate—do you know anyone who isn’t a rocket scientist?

Still laughing. Can’t actually stop at this point. Snorting has commenced.