New zip code, same old bullshit

I am not moving again for a very long time. Very long. Like a decade. About a week into packing up all of our belongings, which by the way seem to multiply exponentially while we're not looking, I was ready to quit and hire a pack of movers to finish the job. And there is truth to adage that "real friends are the ones that help you move." This is a shout-out to my sister Kara, her boytoy Veeeektor, my brother-in-law Marcus and the illustrious Vicki and Bobby, the mom-and-dad-in-law super duo. Thanks bunches!

So, after too much takeout and lots of cleaning/painting/unpacking, we're finally settling in. I've made bread at the new house, which I think is a pretty decent indicator that we're moved in (if I'm unpacked enough to bake then we're at least technically moved in!).

We've already been to IKEA twice, which I have to say, is arguably the best furniture store on the planet. I know there are going to be folks that would disagree with this, esp. Liv and Matt, who beyond all their virtues are still British (love ya, I swear!). Why do I have a thing for IKEA? I'm disorganized. Bad. Every time I waste the money to drive up the Dallas North Tollway to Frisco and run screaming like a Beatles fan into that big blue box I always leave hoping to recant my messy ways. Storage boxes, closet organizers, dressing chests, a new bed, glass-door book cases, a TV bench, a new coffee table: all of it is going to make me more organized, less cluttered and substantially easier to deal with. I just know it.

The worst thing about IKEA? The late-night assembly marathon. Dave's parents stuck around until after midnight on Saturday/Sunday to get our chest of drawers and bed put together. It was an awesome experience, mostly because Dave's dad is really handy with a Phillips-head screwdriver and without his help I would have never gotten that damn bed put together. Seriously.

Another highlight: Dave's mom, Vicki, who is an absolute saint, said "Shit!" when she couldn't get the attic fan to turn off in the new house -- she thought she broke it. A-W-E-S-O-M-E! Dave started hyperventhilating, half-yelling at Vicki for turning the fan on in the first place, when Bobby sternly announced, "IF YOU TWO DON'T QUIT THAT YELLING I'LL SEND YOU BOTH TO CHURCH TOMORROW -- TOGETHER!" That got everyone to chill the fuck out!

Now, this marks the greatest difference between Dave's family and mine: You can put money on the fact that someone will drop an f-bomb at a family gathering, whether mom, dad or the Jemison brood. We're extremely laid-back. We drink on all occaisions we are together, even when they aren't technically occaisions. Expect a good 15-year-old scotch to be poured when I'm in town. Cigars may be smoked, but scotch will definitely be consumed. You can also rest assured that meat in some form will be charred over an open fire, someone will fall asleep in a recliner and that a person that no one likes will be referred to as a "cunt." That's just how we roll. (That's also why Brent, my sister's Scottish husband, fits in with our family so well!)

Also, tragedy struck our house not long before we moved. My computer, which I purchased the summer of 2001, went kaput. We're now trying to replace the old bastard, but it's not looking good. Then, shortly after we moved, Dave's battery for his old ThinkPad went on the fritz. Seriously, when it rains, it motherfucking pours. I may only be able to blog intermittently because of the difficulties at home. I hope that this mini treatise holds you folks over until I can post again!

Much love from the 75228, suckers!