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.

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*

I am selling everything and moving overseas.

Oh, and ABC has pulled the plug for “Welcome to the Neighborhood,” the new reality show I wanted to watch. Fascists.

I think I am going to be homeless. Or insanely poor.

I haven’t gone apartment hunting in two years—and the prices have skyrocketed. I looked at three places today. The first… YECH. The second… YECH. And the third? Well, for an oompah loompah it would be perfect. Third floor, teeny-tiny with incredibly sloping eaves. It costs $100 more a month than my current place—which is at least three times the size and has much higher ceilings.

So it’s looking grim people. I have no idea when I have to be out, but I’m thinking the sooner the better.

Fortunately, there is Craigslist, where I will be selling most of my furniture (because it won’t fit in my teeny-tiny place that I will probably end up in). Oh, and then I’ll have some extra cash to pay the rent.

Damn.

Not going very well at all. Mostly via the phone, but I also looked at one place. Dismal.

Kill me now.

So my day hasn’t gone very well, to say the least.

First, I got up early to take my car into the shop (the Malfunctioning Indicator Light is on.. come on, you’re impressed that I knew that). Last week, the Service Manager told me to come in around 7:30AM and they would look at it—guess what, that’s a lie. They were full. Pisser. So now I have to go in tomorrow and leave the vehicle. Not fun

——OK, the air has been let out of my hate balloon just a litte. There was a commercial for a new reality show, “Welcome to the Neighborhood”… I know I’m seriously stressed when I tear up during commercials—particularly reality show ones.——–

But I digress. Back to my crappy day. So everything I wanted to do today was put off to do a multitude of other jobs for the bosses. And I’m cranky about that, because we publish an issue every Tuesday and it’s only half-way done. That makes me seriously cranky.

Then, I uploaded Tiger onto my computer. Well, first, it took an HOUR (did I mention that I use my computer ALL THE TIME, without fail?). So I went to pick up lunch while this was happening, and my very well-meaning coworker (I love you) put in the wrong set up information—our boss’ name, address, etc. Mind you, it takes until I am installing Tiger on her computer before I realize this has happened….

So I call tech support, and the nice, outsourced help from India tries, but fails at being useful. Apparently I can’t set up Tiger again, without losing all of my information. Say it with me now… ARGHHHHHH!!! @#$%^&%^*%^!

Alright, so the day has gone badly so far.. then we don’t leave the office until after 8. OK, that’s fine. I’ll go home, pour myself some vodka and call it a day.

But wait, no, that would be too easy. Outside my apartment there is a note from my landlord.. she wants to talk. I’m not worried, she’s nice and I’ve lived here for two years without any problems. But is my life nice today? NO. My landlord needs me to move out, because her nephew needs a place to stay. She’s really sorry and feels terrible, etc. OK, I say, I understand—I’ll start looking.

I think this is the pertinent time to tell you that I live in an area that’s not exactly cheap and I pay really cheap rent.. I was blessed. Oh, it’s also key to note that my boss pays me crap.

So I come upstairs to my apartment and start looking online for a new place to live. It’s all expensive and “no pets allowed.” Great, I have two cats.. and they’re DEFINITELY coming with me.

So it’s 10PM and the day is over. No more crap can happen. It’s still bloody hot (and now I can’t buy a new air conditioner.. gotta make a security deposit), but I’m home and I’m now sufficiently buzzed.

*Ping* I have a new email. It’s from the boss. The subject is mysteriously blank, but inside, the first line is… “A few critical errors on the website that must be fixed ASAP.”

Have I mentioned that my life SUCKS. And that this was the most TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD day?

OK, just wanted to be clear.

——small update at 10:30… at least I don’t wear a cow suit for work. lol. dooce is great.

I didn’t wake up until 12… I love Sundays. 🙂 I would’ve stayed in bed longer, except it’s so hot that I couldn’t sleep.

I went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and lo and behold… my refrigerator door is standing wide open. And apparently, it’s been open ALL NIGHT. I know this because the eggs have spoiled, as has the yogurt (holy mother of vomitous smells.. yech) and the hummus. Why not the rest, you ask? Well, that’s it. Aside from mustard, bottled water, diet coke and pickles, my frig is pathetically bare. I was planning to go grocery shopping today, but what if this freak door-opening occurs again?

I think it occurred one of two ways: either my psycho cats, or the frig is just broken. Mind you, I’ve never heard of a frig opening itself, even if it was broken… so it was most definitely the little furballs.

I’m now hungry, and willing to experience the blistering heat to acquire the staples… I’ll worry about shutting the door when I get back.

I think I have duct tape somewhere around here..

My cats won’t leave me alone today. I can’t imagine why—it’s ridiculously hot outside, which means my second floor apartment is just-this-side-of-sweltering—so they should be lying motionless in the bathtub. (The air conditioner is on, but I think even it’s crapping out on me.)

No, they’ve been trying to figure out every way to be TOUCHING me at all times. I’m doing dishes, they’re sitting on my feet; I’m paying bills, they’re sitting on my lap—GET OFF ME, it’s freaking HOT!

I’ve decided it’s all a ruse to convince me to buy air conditioners for every window in the place. Together, their devious little minds have come up with a brilliant plan—raising my body temperature (by using theirs) until I crack.

It’s working. I wonder if Wal-Mart is having a sale…