Monday, September 1, 2008


So. With today being LABOR Day and it being the unofficial end of summer…and the official end to the long weekend, I have the following facts to report:

  • My knees hurt
  • I’ve lost all feeling in my tushie
  • I have a new favorite expression for those times when nothing else will quite do

All of the above are thanks to one extremely talented hostess extraordinaire…the tireless, endlessly amusing and imaginative Margarete.


Now, I suppose you’ll be wanting some sort of explanation…being the inquiring readers that ya’all are….(thinly veiled shout-out to my two favorite J’s, both presently down south).

And so, we begin.

This is the story of a yummy, fun-filled, liquor-soaked weekend. It is generously peppered with many, many boxes and lots of bubble-wrap…which may (or may not) be related to packing and moving.

I can hear you snickering…..stop that.

Friday, we found a house to rent. (Applause, applause, whistle, whistle.) Nothing like waiting till the last minute, as school begins on Wednesday and Connor’s new middle school is not as yet aware that they will have him gracing their humble hallways. I fear someone will not be too happy with me tomorrow…but, am I worried?

Do I look worried??

(Takes sip of Cloudy.)

Connor believes there’s a possibility that they may offer him a “stay” from the “execution” of beginning middle school. No amount of logic can dissuade him from this, so I am allowing him this small smidgen of hope. What the hell.


Tonia and Jack were meeting us at the Money Pit (aka Moving-central) for dinner…which they were cooking, so we knew everyone would actually eat it.

My only responsibility was to:

  • Be here.
  • Buy broccoli.

I didn’t know when anyone was expected here, as I was using all my limited brain power to juggle the mountains of paperwork, checks, boys and 1 Cavalier King Charles Spaniel…all of which needed to be present at the rental at 6pm on Friday for a “meet-and-greet” with the owners of said property. And did I mention that my real estate broker had just called to announce she had a case of possible walking pneumonia? I knew she didn’t sound well earlier in the day….good times.

At 5pm, I still couldn’t decide what to wear. Actually, I was already dressed….in a jean skirt and black tank, a pair of matching flippies on my feet. I swear, I heard a very-annoyed Clinton in my head: “You are NOT going out for something as important as THIS…in THAT.” He then went into a long dissertation about the value of the first impression…yada, yada. A heated argument ensued…all in my head, of course. In the end, he won and I changed.

Sometimes, there’s no arguing with an IV, especially when it’s such an opinionated one.


By 6:10, I was walking through the door of my soon-to-be-new-humble-abode…boys scattering in all directions after a quick “hello”, Metro yanking me hard on his leash, his gasping and hacking like an 80-year-old man with serious mucus issues once again reminding me that he'd failed part deux of puppy-obedience by a serious mile.

The owners loved him. They’re evidently very good judges of canine breed, which is a good thing, as I was convinced he’d pick the most inopportune moment to pee on their newly-cleaned carpet. After the prerequisite kisses and sniffing, I sent him outside with one of the boys, which relieved my stress level by about half a percent.

Around this time, I spot Tonia’s little red convertible roaring up the drive and I know I’m golden. She sweeps into the room, charms the pants off everyone, papers are signed…kiss-kiss, hug-hug and we’re outta there…albeit about an hour later than I’d predicted.

Are you surprised by this?

Would you be surprised to learn that I’d completely forgotten to pick up the broccoli?


Taylor and Metro went back to the Money Pit with Tonia in the little red convertible, where Jack was undoubtedly waiting and wondering where the hell everyone was….the rest of us headed to the store to pick up:

  • Broccoli
  • Milk
  • Seltzer
  • Chicken bouillon (or was it chicken broth? I forget.)

Okay, so there were three things I was responsible for. So far, I was batting 3 for 3…or zero for three…or, whatever is the one that’s not the good one...

When I picked up the broccoli crown, it literally flopped over in my hand. I’d never seen limpy raw broccoli before, but I was pretty sure this was not a good sign. Knowing I was already super-duper late, I almost bought them anyway, but good sense prevailed and I bought the less expensive, but decidedly “stiffer” version.

You are so immature, I can’t stand it. (giggle)

And it is on this note that I will leave this story to be continued….as it’s late and I’m sure you’ve got work to do.

Now you can spend the rest of the day wondering what stiff broccoli and KABOOM have in common.

Anonymous said...

Major Congratulations dear,. The only really stinky thing about moving is that I won't be able to picture you in your new house. You must video tape it dahling, you must! Hmmm, if Seekay is reading this you'll know it's ALWAY broth & never bouillion. Exploding broccoli threw you at the rate of a sound wave onto your butt?

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