If You Can’t Say Anything Nice, Then Read My Blog

Because misery loves company.

Okay, calling it misery is an overstatement.  I’m not miserable.  But I don’t have anything particularly nice to say right now (though I get there about half way through the post).

You know, all this moving crap wouldn’t be such crap if it didn’t involve sooooo many people.  Because?  The problem with involving soooo many people is that statistically speaking most people are incompetent boobs.   So, because sooooo many people are involved in this process, the chances of my stressful, life-changing event going as smoothly as possible are about nil.  Incompetent boobs can’t make things go smoothly.

What I’m saying is that I really don’t like dealing with idiots, and I like it even less when I’m paying them and doing their job for them.  Know what I mean?

Though I shouldn’t complain.  McH is actually doing most of their work for them while I play good cop to his bad cop and then curse them behind their backs.

Not one of my more endearing qualities, I know, but I learned from the best and old habits are hard to break.  At least I don’t have voodoo dolls.  Though it’s tempting . . .

Without boring you with all the details, let me just give you a brief boob rundown:

Our buying agent:  Who knew apathy was such a lucrative career?
Our Selling agent:  Okay, she’s actually good as far as I can tell.
Our Selling agent’s secretary: Needs to pull her head out of whatever orifice in which it is stuck.
Home inspector for our current home:  Makes that fringe liberal idea of euthanizing old people look almost sensible.
Relocation Rep.:  May he burn a thousand deaths in the fiery pits of Hades while being forced to search for his mythical “relocation company standards” that must be met before a house can be bought out.  I suspect he’ll find them in an orifice similar to the one where the selling agent’s secretary’s head is.
Appraiser who appraised the wrong house:  I greatly appreciated the comic relief of that whole situation.

Whew!  Glad that is (mostly) out of my system.

We have had some good, non-idiots through here as well.  For instance, two friends from church have come over to do some electrical and HVAC work for us on a barter basis (we have/had lots of extra fence posts and lumber), and the neighbor who built the house knew how to fix the height of the front stoop without ripping the whole thing out and re-pouring the concrete.  Thank goodness.

And I guess those are really the only non-idiots.  I’ll let you know about the radon abatement system installation guys after they come out and do their thing tomorrow.  Which reminds me, I have to take shelves off the garage wall so they can cut out some drywall.  That really sounds like a man job to me, don’t you agree?  Yes, well, unfortunately . . .

Also?  We are getting the same moving company and at least one of the same movers we had last time.  Those guys rocked.  I mean, they really impressed the snot out of me (which would be very helpful right now, given that my head is currently and entirely compacted with mucus).  So there are some non-idiots to look forward to.

I know I just ended that sentence with a preposition and I. don’t. care.

In other news, today all the girls in L~’s class are watching the traditional 5th grade, you’re-about-to-get-your-period movie and all the moms were encouraged to come and watch it with them.  Guess who isn’t there?

Right, that would be me.  Something about being sick, having to have the house ready for the Parade of Realtors this morning, having three little kids at home (who really don’t need to see the you’re-about-to-get-your-period movie), being a single parent all week again, and having absolutely no freaking help from anyone led me to decide to skip it.

I’m a bad mom, I know.  But yesterday Tank Boy got all huffy and foot stompy when I told him watermelons wouldn’t be in season for at least another month or two.  I can only imagine his reaction to the you’re-about-to-get-your-period movie.

And yes, I just blogged about the fact that my husband is out of town, which I don’t normally do because I’m all paranoid about that kind of stuff.  But you know what? I have about 200 lbs. worth of dog, and guns.  And right now?  I think it might even feel good to shoot an idiot.

And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt is going to find some DayQuil.

5 thoughts on “If You Can’t Say Anything Nice, Then Read My Blog

  1. Gosh, way too much fun. Doesn’t it make you want to go ahead and move, oh say, every two years?

    Hope it starts to fall into place for you – especially that the buyout piece turns into a good thing, since then some of the rest won’t be nearly so annoying.

    And I say no, not a bad mom at all for skipping the video at school – I think a very good call there!

    Like

  2. metaphase

    Well, aaaall righty. Sounds like too much fun going on in the Looking For George household. Wish was there to help, and by help, I mean play with your dogs and horses..
    Seriously, I know you’ll get through it and hopefully you won’t have to shoot anyone. (Ok, I know I said seriously when I opened that sentence, it was just a kind of funny post to me and I can’t help myself:)

    Like

  3. Christina

    I’ve never gone in to preview the sex ed stuff. Which clearly makes me a horrible mother. But my kids would’t let me opt them out anyway because gawd forbid they stand out from their classmates like that! I just quiz the heck out of them when they get home from school. And pray a lot.

    I hate moving. With a passion. Dealing with all that while the hubby is away? I think you deserve some sort of medal. Or better yet, an all expense paid trip to someplace tropical, sans kids. 🙂

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s