And it was in such a good neighborhood…

I am sitting here at my computer. The past two weeks have come and gone, thank God. My head is still spinning from the last 5 days. You know, I feel like Dorothy in that old farm house, when the tornado sucked it up and threw it to munchkin land?

We may not have landed in munchkin land, but the house seriously looked like a tornado had whipped through. Crap scattered everywhere. At one point, a body would actually be considered lucky to make it through the down stairs area without losing a big toe to ill placed boxes and unsituated furniture.

I honestly have no idea where all the stuff we have came from. I have little recollection of purchasing it at all. It’s like the “Here, Have Loads of Useless Shit”-Fairy came and did a dance at my old place.

We’re in our new place now. *YAY!* And everything seems to be falling into place and setting up nicely. The new hacienda is a rancher with a fully finished basement. It’s huge, and I get lost in it occassionally if the lights are off. The upstairs is 1150 sq. ft. This would be the area designated for children and midgets under the age of, um let’s say 35.

The downstairs area is the same 1150 sq. ft. area, but is set up to be our lair. How cool is that? It has our bedroom, which is plenty big for the bed and furniture. There is a closet that, if I had to, I could easily live in — I think its 12’x14′. Finally, a space big enough for all of my shoes!!!! There is a bathroom that, truth be told, is a sucky little spot and needs to be bigger. There is the den. It’s a huge space that looks half empty even with the furniture in it.

I’ve decided that since I like to have my share of spirited beverages, that we need a bar in the one corner that makes the room so empty. Liven it up a wee bit. Slap some mirrors behind it, a disco ball…. will go great with the existing stripper pole… hahahaha.

The kiddies haven’t really done shit yet since the move. They have social agendas and activities to tend to, don’t ya know. Amanda has put a few things away, but there is no way to walk through her room unless you are ready to take your life into your own hands. The girl has more stuff than I remember seeing before we moved. Her Beta fish has lived on the bathroom counter for days, and is lucky that kitty is feeling so wimpy. Under normal circumstances said fish would have been a kitty snack quicker than a fat kid could snatch the last chocolate chip cookie from the cookie jar.My kitty, Isis, has been severely traumatized by this whole moving of the residence. By the way, for instance, you’re about to move into a new residence, it’s best to read the list of top 10 out of state movers here at 9kilo.com. She has been hiding inside one of the dressers in my bedroom for 3 days now. When she comes out to eat or piss, she does the low crawl. I’ve not seen her walk like the bad-ass she really is since we did the kitty transport on Friday.

Hopefully she’ll realize she is still queen and act as such instead of mopping the floor with her well fed belly.

My grand-booger, Tyler, adjusted very well to the move. He found his room. He seeked out and destroyed. The Hot-Wheel bomb blew up in his room. He came to stay with his Nana and Papa on Saturday night. He did good. He wandered around the house. The upstairs and the downstairs areas both go in a big circle, so he ran circles round and round with his cars.

He did good until bed time.

Now at the old house, he had a baby jail to sleep in because he didn’t have his own room and there was no room for him a bed. So baby jail it was. And he did well in it. But he’s getting to be a big boy and we decided that he’s gotta have a big boy bed at our pad. Ok, so, the boy kisses everybody goodnight and we go off to bed. I figure I’ll lay with him in his new bed until he falls off to sleep. It’s way after his bed time and he’s bushed so it won’t take long for him to drift off, right? Uh, no.

He keeps saying “My bed, Nana.”

I told him, “Yah, baby. This is your big boy bed.”

“No, Nana. My bed.” He says again.

“Show Nana what you want, boy. It’s late and your ass needs to be asleep.”

So, he gets out of the bed, and drags me by my pinkie finger to the livingroom where his baby jail was neatly piled under half a ton of crap. He stands there tugging at it. And it hits me, he needs his lil bed. So, we dig it out and take it in his room. It was like his little security thing. Him needed to have his familiar bed. Him also got away with filling it up with hot wheels and other random toys. He went right to sleep once he was put in it, fists still holding tight to his cars.

My only request in the choice of new house was that it have a functional, user-friendly kitchen. Diva likes to cook, but cooking in a kitchen that is ill-set is nothing short of a pain in the arse. This kitchen whips ass! The only thing I want to change is simple. I want to slap an island right in the middle. There is plenty of room and I want it. I want it! I want it! I want it! I’m about to break Veruca Salt (you know, that little bitch from Willy Wonka) if I don’t get my island!

We are trying to adjust to having a shower the size of a broom closet in the bathroom in our private, adult only lair. Tony’s a big boy. He’s tall and he’s big. Which means he feels super confined in this thing. He’s actually come out of it fighting mad a couple of times.

My biggest issue is trying to shave my legs in there. Sweet Jesus! I bend over toward the door and I nearly drowned. So I turn around and bend over the other way and I kept knocking the door open with my ass. Something’s gonna have to give there, not sure what or how. Maybe rip the shower out and put a nice, big garden tub in? I vote for that.

All in all, this has been an easy move. The lead up to it sucked a big ass, but now that I’m able to go into cruise mode, it’s not so bad. I’m hoping to have the feeling back in my hands soon. Painting over the eccentric colors I just had to have in the old place proved to be an arm/hand killer.

Hopefully once it’s unpacked and perfecto I can take some pictures of the stripper pole and other noteworthy spots in the house.

So, after the boy’s football game Friday night, I’m tired and I feel just nasty. I was full of Italian Ice, as I had engulfed like 5 during the game trying to cool of. I’d had sweat running from my neck, down my back, directly down my butt crack.

That, my friends, is not a nice feeling.

Even with feeling grody and tired, I still hoped to go home and get a little lovin’ after a nice cold shower. Know what I mean? I think ya do.

But, no.

Why is it that I can never seem to get rid of both of teen-aged-mutants at the same time?

Amanda, my girl, was spending the weekend at Jessie’s (the child that claims me as her other mother).  But, the boy couldn’t stand it; he had to stay home.  Worse yet, he had to stay awake.  So, we get home, I go take a shower and I go to bed…. to sleep.

Hell if I didn’t wake up early, before the boy.  So, I poke Anthony and told him wake up and GET ‘R DUN!!!

Door was closed and I was under the blanket.  I got too hot, so I go and throw/kick/pitch/toss the blanket in the floor.

Well, Anthony’s cell phone was in the livingroom.  His phone rang.  Matthew decided to answer it.  Matthew decided that he would just bust into MY bedroom to tell his dad that Mario was on the phone.

BUSTED!

Sweet Jesus.  Now up until that point in life, I don’t believe anything has ever both made me absolutely furious and at the same time nearly given me a heart attack.

This non-knocking problem we are having is getting a little bit on my nerves.
Admittedly, I am most likely the most sexually natured person I know. I dig it.  I want it.  I just can’t help it.

But even my horns are nipped in the bud, knowing that kid is in the house lurking.  There have been numerous times I’ve just decided to forego play time just because I’d hate to think about anybody else in the house knowing.

GRRR!!!!  Can we say frustrated???

I mean, I swear, I think he has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing if and when we may be even considering having sex.  It’s like he goes that extra mile to keep trying to drive a wedge of any kind between me and Anthony.

Makes me nervous to have anything in my room, let alone my happy drawer.

Then this happened:

So, I get started to get over getting busted by the boy.  And I go outside to start working on the cleaning out of the shed.  This shed is barely a shanty.  It is missing the bottom boards on the walls, so it’s wide open to anything and everything that wants in.

Ok, now there is a reason that shed was in the shape it was in.  I don’t dig going in it and flat refused to go in it for three years.  Not to mention the fact that I’d seen various critters and rodents zipping in and out of there.  *shiver*.

But, the time had come.  We have a week to be getting all of my crap up and out of the house, which means the shed had to be cleaned too.  I get the broom (yes, I wish I had something like the iRobot Roomba vacuums but alas I will have to cope with just a broom for today) , the hair spray and my lighter and head out back where the shed stands.

I stand outside, looking to see what sort of arachnid may be lurking up above my head or down below my feet.  Ewwww!  Dark, scary and spider infested.

So, I finally take the broom, poke it inside the shed and start swingin like a wild woman at whatever might be in my path.  When I didn’t feel that was enough, I took the hairspray and lighter and started blow torching anything that appeared to be an insect of any sort.  The smell of sizzling spiderwebs is a lovely one.

My spider problem apparently taken care of, I forged ahead.  Looking at the piles of shit that were tossed into this shed nearly three years ago when I moved into the house, I decided that if it had been there for damn near three years and not missed, that it wasn’t ever going to be missed.  Rahter than digging through the boxes, I hauled them right out to the bed of the truck.  Locked and loaded for the Knox County dump.

I had gotten most of the crap out, when I thought I heard something.  It was a rustling around sound.  I stopped and assessed what it might be.  I didn’t see anything.  So, I turned around to get another box and IT ran over my foot.

Well, I’ll swear I thought it was a two-foot rat.  After nearly having the second heart attack of the day and hearing IT run into a window thinking it was a way out of the shed, I saw it.  A baby rabbit.

Still when I’m confined in an icky space where I’m already paranoid, I don’t even want the cutest of furry woodland creatures hippity-hopping over my foot.

Time for an interesting photo blog…

One day I woke up and said, “I don’t want to work here anymore.  Why don’t I just move.”  So I finally did it.  I relocated.  Let me tell ya, I am quite a bit happier.  Not that I don’t love my friends and family that I have left behind, but I needed change.

Of all the things with this move I wish I could change, I think the one I could do without is all of the driving.  Then again, I could just be saying that because I just heard the Frank Sinatra redition of “Fly Away.”  If only I could simply go to Peru or to have a drink in an exotic local just for kicks.  For that matter, wouldn’t it just be nice to take a sabbatical just to make whoopie? 

 I don’t think that I am the only person who is guilty of not taking enough time for themselves. 

 Oh well, with this relocation I have become not only a photographer, but I am also the ice cream delivery guy.  Just remember if you let me cool ya one time you’ll be my regular stop.