Sorry for the lack of updates here, I’ve been moving. They say moving houses is among the Top Five most stressful things you can do. I understand why. You need to gather every last thing you’ve been hoarding, even the broken neon Corona Beer sign you stole from the trash outside a bar in Corona (meta!), things you wouldn’t even take the time to move to a better location within your house, and then transport them to another place entirely.
Along the way bad things can happen. Like the idiots you hired from Remington Moving damaged your art collection, “protecting” the pieces by applying moving tape directly to the art itself, and managing to ding the parts of the frame that weren’t screwed up by sticky tape. Or like how the same untrained, unskilled mouth-breathers from Remington Moving scraped up your refrigerator, because they dragged it through the hedges around the side of the house and took an hour to figure out how to remove the doors even though it was originally delivered safely through the front door. Or the broken neon Corona sign got even brokener. (I take full blame on the beer sign.)
So when you’re all moved in, does the stress stop? No.
One of my new neighbors asked what my dogs’ names are. More tragedy ensued.
Me: Nala and McLovin.
Him: Nawlin? Like in Louisiana?
Me: No, Nala. Like in the Lion King.
Him: What’s a Lion King?
Me: Are you serious? You have three children under 12. It’s a Disney movie. I’ll let you borrow the DVD.
Him: Is that the one with the talking clock? We hardly watch movies. What’s the other dog’s name?
Him: McWhat? McDonalds? Like the restaurant?
Me: It’s from the movie Superbad. I’ll just let you borrow my Superbad DVD. You can watch that with your kids, too.
Now it’s just a matter of time before I’m likely forced out of this new neighborhood by a posse of semi-deaf, lousy parents who deprive their children of the joy of 90-minute cartoon commercials for Disney merchandise. And then this circle of strife begins anew.