O Brave New World!


We're here.

It's hot.

I don't think I've ever been so hot in my life. It is, um, a dry heat, but this only means I feel mummified after a briefish nap. My mucus membranes are not liking it one bit.

We got in about seven in the morning. Getting out of town proved to be difficult and complicated and expensive, and I'll go into detail eventually when I have time, but suffice it to say that anything which could become harder and costlier, did just that.

Here's an example. Did you know that airlines now have a weight limit of fifty pounds per checked bag? As of about a year ago when I last flew, it was seventy. I had no clue about the change. Ergo I was stuck redistributing the contents of my carefully-packed suitcases on the floor of the airport, right after the ag inspection station, so that the heavies were lighter and the lights absorbed the heavies' excess.

During this process we discovered that Rob's shampoo had leaked (a full bottle was now an empty bottle; he cheerfully announced that hey, we could just spray the whole suitcase with a hose and it'd be clean), as had my bottle of tequila (brought along because I'm too much of a cheapskate to throw away two fingers of hooch, and the movers wouldn't pack it). Onto my shoes. It's going to smell like you walked to Mardi Gras, Mom! said Alex.

I have to say, though, that my kids were good as gold on the plane. They entertained themselves the entire time (I sat behind the three of them, in the comparatively luxurious, if ass-squeezing, exit row), spoke up politely and assertively when they needed water, juice or the location of the bathroom, and didn't engage in any arm-punching or name-calling or other tomfoolery.

In a perfect example of move-related irony, as I was waiting in the carport for the movers to show up to take the last of our stuff (in a nutshell, we had to be out of the house by lunchtime, and assumed the movers would get here, as they'd promised, by nine-ish; they didn't come till after three and then had to return to their warehouse to get more stuff, since they were out of packing materials and crates, the bastages ... we finally got to the hotel by around six), we checked the mail.

Guess what we received, that last day, as we were waiting for the movers?

An eviction notice.

Bwah.

They're tearing our house down in 120 days.

Needless to say, this made my maid expenditure all the more fruitless, although they did check the appliances pretty carefully when we checked out.

So yeah. We're here, we're queer, get used to it ... wait ... wrong slogan.

I'll update as often as possible.