It sucked. The movers ripped my couch, my air conditioner isn’t installed and it’s INSANELY hot.

Oh, the old landlord.. the woman who kicked me out? She wants one week of rent… for last week. Is no one nice anymore? I mean, come on, you asked me to move out and I did… quite quickly, I might add—spot me one week of rent! Grrrr.

Whatever. I have to go back there to clean and pick up the cats. Her nephew’s coming over tonight—he’s going to paint before he moves in. I think I got hosed—nephew has problems my ass. :I

More later..

It’s hot.

It’s the middle of the damn year, which means I’m half a year older and I still have six months until Christmas.

The bugs come out.. nasty little suckers.

It’s muggy.

It’s hot, really, really hot.

The only things on TV are: reruns, weird reality shows and movies that were so bad they never made it to the theatre.

It’s not the fall… I love the fall.

Most book publishers don’t publish until the fall, leaving the summer (particularly July) devoid of any new literature.

The last time I moved it was.. wait for it… JULY. And now I am moving again. So I hate July; I hate July a lot.

Moving just sucks people—ESPECIALLY in July.

Blech.

The problem with the perfect dream house? It’s perfect for more than one person. 🙁

I just called to see about it, and it was rented to another woman—one with cancer, the lady made sure to note. Which, of course, I understand.

What I wanted to say was.. considering my genetic history, I’ll probably get cancer too! (How sick is that?)

So sad…

Update @ 4 PM: Fortunately, Dooce just published (and I’ve managed to drink half a bottle of wine at work….)

…Is having to make the big decisions.

I just heard from the smaller, less expensive place and they are OK with the washer and dryer now. This is also the place that I can move into now. ARGH.

I won’t hear from the more expensive dream place until Monday or Tuesday… and I won’t be able to move in until August.

This is seriously annoying.

Just wanted to share.. 😉

Alright, so I am now going to pose a question to everyone. I have looked at many places, most scary and expensive. I have talked with realtors, I have looked far outside of where I want to be, I have done it all. I am waiting to see about one place that doesn’t want me to keep my washer and dryer (portable), and that is on the second floor of a three story, owner-occupied.

BUT, today I found my dream place. It’s a cottage in the woods (seriously, not kidding), very near the water. The woods—like back home in Washington. It’s pretty big—1 bedroom, a huge living room that goes into a kitchen, big bathroom, clawfoot tub… and a big deck with an outdoor fire pit. Off-street parking and a yard here, people. So I love this place. A lot. The porch also has two sliding glass doors, one into the bedroom and one into the living room, so security might be an issue. But then again, we live in a really small town with very few problems.

But it’s $150 more than the other (which I haven’t heard back from re: the washer and dryer), and it won’t be ready (new carpets, etc…. so nice) until August 1st. In addition, they are waiting to see about a couple that wants to come see it (on Saturday) and then they (the owners) will make their decision. They said I’m on the top of the list (being single and with a good, stable job), and I will find out by Monday or Tuesday of next week.

What would you do? Seriously.

Then I read what was going on in London in the first RSS feed I read this morning… plasticbag.org.

A Flickr pool has been set up here.

And the Londonist blog has good coverage, as does the Guardian’s blog, although both are experiencing heavy traffic and might be slow.

Our thoughts and prayers to everyone in England.

So here’s something fun. I’ve been posting about my recent soon-to-be-homeless status, i.e., my landlord sold the house to his daughter and now she wants to give my apartment to her nephew. Fortunately, J found a realtor, convinced them I was fabulous and found me a place to live (love him).

Still with me? If not, read this.

Anyway, the real estate people did the credit and background check today—called my work and called my landlord. Here’s where this gets fun.

Apparently, the landlord’s daughter (the new landlord who is evicting me) hasn’t told her dad (the old landlord who LOVED me) that she asked me to move out. So he gets the call and is like, “She’s moving? Why?” Then he proceeds to tell them to call his daughter because she is the new landlord.

(BTW, I’m hearing about this from the landlord’s daughter, at 9 PM when I got home from work.)

So then he calls his daughter to ask “WTF?” (I’m only guessing…) And guess what.. she flat out lied to him. Told him I wanted to move closer to work and blah, blah, blah. Now I’m thinking “WTF?!”

THEN she says, “Oh, and he asked Zack [her son] and Zack lied too. He told him that since he [her dad] wasn’t the landlord anymore you didn’t want to be here… or something like that.”

People, I do not lie—she’s actually telling me all this, proud that her son lied to his grandfather, blah, blah, blah.

Now I’m freaking a little… what do the real estate people think of me? Do they think I didn’t tell my landlord I was moving out? Did my landlord get mad when they called him? Is his daughter insane or something?

Argh MF. (BTW, I try not to cuss too much—or not to use the f-word—in deference to my parents, who might one day stumble across this—yeah right but whatever—and know it’s me and yell at me for swearing.)

OK, anyway, here’s the kicker. My landlord’s daughter? The new landlord? Who asked me to move out and who lied to her dad?

She’s freaking 45 years old! What, do people never grow up?!

No, really, it is. It’s slow today… monstrously, disasterously slow. Babies crawl faster, snails creep quicker. I’m going to kill my laptop—toss it out the window and let it shatter and see if that freakin’ helps.

OK, I feel better now.

But since this is probably not the best thing, does anyone have any suggestions here? It’s a Mac, Powerbook G4… and apparently it hates me today.

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.