What up, mah children? You might be sick of hearing about moving, but that's tough, because that's my life now, so you gotta listen to me whine.

The sad thing is, as much as I was dreading it before we did it, I still underestimated how terribly much the moving process blows. Hard.

We closed on Friday, a beautiful, sunny, warm (but not terribly hot) day. That went well. Then we went over to the house to get it ready to bring stuff in. As we looked around more and more, it became painfully obvious that the people who preceded us weren't exactly neat freaks. The house wasn't squalid, but it wasn't clean, either. Drawers and cabinets were full of crumbs and covered with everyday grime. The windows clearly had not been washed in the four years since the house was built...in fact, judging from the accumulation of dust on the ledges, we're pretty sure the windows weren't even opened in all that time. I don't even want to talk about the bathrooms.

It's one thing to clean up your own messes, but another thing entirely to clean someone else's filth--especially a whole house's worth, especially when added to the labor of packing, transport, and unpacking. THAT is the work of professionals. So we hired Dan's folks' cleaning people to come in Saturday and clean the empty house all day. To make a very long story short, the house was cleaned Sunday instead of Saturday and cost us twice what was estimated. So, somewhat disappointing, but overall, the peace of mind a clean house gives us is worth a whole lot of money.

Three of the window treatments broke the first time I tried to open them. Too bad I did it after we had closed instead of in the walk-through Thursday night, huh?

It was hot the whole time. I mean, like, Africa hot. Better than rain, but still sucktacular. Kinda galling that this little snap of unseasonably hot weather has coincided exactly with the days we needed to be outdoors doing hard physical labor.

I've been mildly sick and so a little more useless than usual in this process, and Julia's been sick too. Our first night in the house (Saturday) was horrendous, partly because they involved a 1:30 coughing fit and a call to (and callback from) the pediatric nurse. We probably managed a couple of hours of shut-eye...exactly what you need after an exhausting day in preparation for an even more exhausting day.

Oh, and did I mention that the air conditioning doesn't work in the house we moved out of? Yeah.

But now I'm back at work, Julia's back at daycare, Dan goes back to work tomorrow, and our routine will slowly bring some rhythm back to our lives, even if it's a rhythm obnoxiously syncopated by lots and lots of boxes. Dan just now called to tell me that he got the last of our stuff out of our old house this morning, so we're officially out of there.

And the owner of the house happened to be there while Dan moved the last of the stuff out. He asked Dan to mow the lawn this morning. TO MOW THE FREAKING LAWN OF THE HOUSE WE NO LONGER OCCUPY. It isn't even like it was egregiously long--he just mowed it last weekend. He was like, "Yeah, if you could, it'd really help me out--I don't even have a mower, so I'd have to pay somebody to do it." This is truly one of the most galling things I have ever heard, and a pretty crummy close to what had been a good relationship. Once a house pimp always a house pimp, I guess.

So, that's it. We're moved out, but not in. And the moral of the story is, IF we move again...

1. We're arranging for a thorough cleaning the day of the closing.

2. We're hiring movers. The packing and unpacking are exhausting enough--the transport is just too much. I know movers are expensive, and I don't care. We're way too old for this crap, and our parents are REALLY too old for it.

Craptacularity aside, we really are happy to be in the new house. :)

After several weekends dogged by a vague nagging guilt, we finally shaped up this weekend and got some serious packing done. On Sunday, we even pawned the kid off on the grandparents just so we could devote some uninterrupted hours to our work. So that's pretty awesome.

What was NOT awesome was coming back from dropping off Julia to see a bunch of cars parked on the street near our house. We opened the garage door and pulled up into the garage, then got out of the car to see a few random strangers walking up our driveway. Just as we're wondering, WTF?, one of them says, "Is there an open house here today?" Of course, we responded with "Uhhh, no," since, you know, there wasn't. Then someone else said, "Well, it was listed in today's paper as an open house."

Me: WHAT?!

Dan: Are you sure of the address?

Random stranger: Yep, we even double-checked it when we got here...[says our address].

Me: Wow. Well, that's not correct. No one told us anything about it. We don't even own this home--we're renting it, and we're moving out this week.

Dan: Yeah, I don't know what to tell ya. Um, I'm gonna call the owner of the house and see if he knows what's up. [whips out his cell phone and walks a few feet away]

[Insert here an awkward pause as the strangers linger at our garage door, obviously thinking we ought to invite them in to look around.]

Me: Well, there's no open house here today. It's in no condition to show--we've got boxes everywhere and I'm in the middle of like seven loads of laundry. And there's not even any realtor here to show the house.

Dan: [closing his cell phone and walking back] Yeah, the owner doesn't know anything about it either--he's calling his realtor. Sorry about that, folks--looks like it was an error on the real estate office's part.

So the strangers shuffled away and we quietly went into the house, at which point we began describing our feelings about this particular situation and house pimps in general in somewhat loud and profane ways.

"Un-effing-BELIEVABLE!"

"I HATE HOUSE PIMPS SO MUCH!"

"Can you believe those people still thought we were going to let them in?!"

Of course, at this point it was about 2:30, so we still had a good 90 minutes left to expect more random strangers to want to roam around in our house. So, we quickly manufactured a sign for the door that indicated there was no open house, then put it up and closed our blinds (which were open because it was a beautiful, sunny day).

A bit later the owner's house pimp, who wasn't even in the state at the time, called us to apologize. Apparently, they just goofed in the front office. We figured it had to be that--she obviously had not planned for an open house since she wasn't even there.

Well, at least I got the opportunity to joke, "Sorry folks, the house is closed...moose out front should've told you."

I can't believe we are moving in a week. I didn't know it was possible to dread and look forward to something just about equally, but I'd say that describes my take on this adventure. I guess I really only dread one thing, and that's the actual *process* of moving. I think I'd feel better if we were farther along in packing and/or had some kind of plan for how we're going to do the actual moving. I dunno, even though it's one thing, it's a big thing.

Even so, it'll all be worth it to not have to entertain constant calls and visits from house pimps. The owner of the house we're moving out of is trying to sell or rent it, so every day our cell phones are ringing with people wanting to show the house. That would suck even if it was our house we were selling...dealing this much with house pimps, I can't help but feel that I'm always covered in this thin layer of grime generated by their self-promoting dumbness. But it's easier to tolerate that when you want to sell your house. This isn't our house, so we get nothing out of doing all this invisible entertaining.

Whenever we come home after a showing, it's always interesting to see what traces some strangers left as they viewed our personal belongings. It's really charming how they leave lights on instead of turning them off when they leave...I like how we get to pay for their wastefulness, especially when it doesn't matter jack diddly to us if they buy this house or not. One set of people even left a freaking toilet lid up. WTF?! First of all, do you really have to go THAT bad that it can't wait ten minutes? Second, OK, fine, maybe you really do have to go THAT bad, but if so, what's so difficult about putting the lid back the way you found it? Third, if you didn't use it but just lifted the lid to see inside the toilet, (a) why? and (b) eeeewww!

Eh, that's enough ranting about that. Besides, I gotta go...my cell phone's ringing again. *roll eyes*

Thanks for the anniversary wishes, peeps! We went to Kamakura last night to celebrate...choppy table!!!! I also tried sushi with actual raw fish. (Always before I pansied out and ordered the kinds without fish.) It had salmon, chile, tempura crab, carrot, and avocado. YUM! Our choppy chef dished me up some vegetarian stir-fry. My favorite part of the meal was probably the seaweed salad, as usual. And I really enjoyed the sake.

Anyhoo, so now we embark on our fifteenth year of wedded bliss. Sheesh, we're old.

Happy Anniversary to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! (And Dan, too. :))

Wow, 1992 was a long time ago. We had no clue what the Internets was, and certainly didn't feel the need to have it in our homes. We were buying CDs exclusively, but had not yet thrown away all our cassette tapes. Mobile phones existed only in the movies and in rich people's cars. Barry Bonds was a star but less roid-y, and the Bulls didn't suck. Bette Midler serenaded Johnny Carson gentle into that good night (not THAT good night) and Rush Limbaugh was just becoming a household name. The Simpsons was still a new show, as was Seinfeld. As a nation pondered the promises of Bush I, Bill Clinton, and Ross Perot, Rodney King was out on the field pleading for some kind of sanity.


And on a Friday evening, with 200 of our favorite people at the time (and family, too) and a whole lotta candles, a couple of 22-year-old kids tied their futures together. Fourteen years later, I realize that we didn't have a clue what we were doing. But I also realize that we knew then what we know now, and what we seemed to know from the time we met: just that we should be together.

I've a confession to make!

I often laugh so hard at Hot Chicks with Douchebags that I cry.

I think I have a problem.