What’s the difference between the worst of days and the best of days?

My morning started off with an argument with my wife. We’re getting divorced so this isn’t anything new on the scene. I’ll spare you the details but in short she’s pissed at me and yes it is my fault.

I went to work. Things aren’t working. Broken things on websites with many customers. But hey, before I knew it, lunch was here. Lunch is my favorite part of the day, except for dinner or snacktime or — I can’t choose. (You get the idea)

I did lunch with my dad today. He wanted to do lunch with me to explain why I’m screwing my life up and why people should never ever get divorced. Apparently I need to be fixed. (I think he meant in the head but your guess is as good as mine).

I get back to the office.

More broken stuff and meetings. I remember that I have to call my mortgage company (I just sold a house) to figure out how to get my prepayment penalty waived. I’ll again spare you the details but I do not like it when my closing is 20 days late because my mortgage company (on a daily basis) fails to send my payoff statement. Then they charge me an additional 20 days of interest and stick me with a “prepayment” penalty because it’s a terrible thing to repay a loan.

I went to visit one of my rental properties. I convinced the previous tenant to move out after she decided to use the entire unit as a toilet for her and her cats. I found out today that removing the carpeting was a very good decision because it had maggots and fleas (and cat urine). She managed to take most of the drugs with her but left enough defiled crap to fill an entire 30 foot dumpster (rolloff) with no room to spare.

Now I’m sitting alone at home and I finally have time to really reflect.

Why does today seem like it was actually really great?

a) I learned that my cat can polish off an entire turkey sandwich while I’m not looking
b) I ate six times today
c) Ham was nominated as its own food group
d) The insider told me I’m going to receive a whole cow (and I just got my grill working)
e) Other

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.

So joy! I found the cord. It only took about an hour of searching through three boxes and two suitcases to find it. 😛 Of course, then I had to upload the pics from my camera (there were 292.. I’m trigger happy) and then choose the winners.

—The fireworks are from last night; the parade was earlier this morning.

So this is Papi, my friend Jen’s 4-month-old teacup chihuahua. We friggin’ love this dog. He comes to visit me on weekends occasionally… and whenever his momma needs some male lovin’.. ahem. (Her one “friend” was annoyed by Papi’s constant need to be in the same bed with them. LOL)

What we didn’t know about Papi? He attracts the men in uniform like crazy!

This one was Jen’s personal favorite… he willingly put his hat back on so we could take his pic.

This is why I enjoy these events..

Of course, I spent half the morning looking for this… stupid open container laws. These parades should be like a baseball game, a) they have vendors walking to you to sell you food and b) they serve liquor in open containers!

This was a really interesting float… Iwo Jima and 911.

Um, Santa showed up..

And the “Mummas,” a string band that dressed up!

For the guest… it was like you were there! 😉

Fireworks from last night…

We had a great time… lots of uniformed men to check out and an entire stand of cotton candy just for me. 🙂

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.