pshaw...I can make that.

So, we are in the midst of packing up our kitchen so that we can accomplish step's one and two of the worst moving plan in the history of earth:

1. Get Mobile Attic (this Thursday).
2. Pack most of our stuff into Mobile Attic.
3. Have Mobile Attic moved to Penny's yard.
4. Move rest of stuff into one bedroom apartment for 30 days.
5. Move out of tiny apartment into mom's apartment for 7 days. Repack some stuff and shove into mom's apartment. Throw rest of stuff away.
6. Have Mobile Attic moved to street in front of new old house.
7. Unpack Mobile Attic, paint bedroom Sea Glass (which is the new white, by the way).
8. Have refrigerator delivered.
9. FINALLY BE THE FUCK MOVED after 2 months of horrible, random shuffling around.

Anyways, today is the day I decided I NEEDED one more planter of watermelons, AND that I should find plans online to build my own adirondack chairs while we are staying in the apartment. And a gardening bench. Because of course, a tiny apartment is the perfect setting for an amateur woodworking studio. Also, I spent about an hour researching the cost of a weekend trip to NYC because I feel like I need to jog in Central Park, eat a chicken salad BLT at Carnegie Deli and eat fluffernutter cupcakes and Mr. Misty ice cream cones. All seems very reasonable.

Do you ever make unreasonable or weird plans that you are determined to see through because if you don't, your life might be completely ruined otherwise??

Oh, and I gained 4lbs this week. McDonald's TWICE. Pizza. Wings. Fried Chicken. No jogging. I am so lame, I have got to get my shit together, I am 12 weeks out from our first half marathon of the running season. YIKES.

Hotch Potch of Sucktitudery

The dream of being neighborhood BFF's with my sister was officially crushed today when the flake out lady who owns the house that WE.PAID.A.DEPOSIT. on decided NOT to rent it out afterall.

She called me yesterday and asked for my latest credit report and my tax return (even though I already showed her my W-2). I left her a voicemail saying I wasn't totally comfortable handing all that over to an individual, but call me back so we could work it out. No call back. Mr. P called her this morning. No call back. Mr. P rode by there today to see if she was there and called her. She finally called back and said, yeah, it is too much to hire a management company, and I don't want to EVER come back here, so I am going to sell it. Mr. P said, what are you asking for it? She didn't know. whatever. I feel like I want to push the issue...I gave her a deposit. We had an agreement. YOU MUST RENT IT TO ME. But then again, she is such a flake, I am not sure I even believe she will have moved out by the time I need to move in, so we are probably better off. But I already picked out the furniture. bitch.

Mr. P is on his way to pick me up, there are two other possibilities that we will look into. One has a pool but is more rent than we are paying now, and they aren't sure about pets, so boo to them. The other only has one bathroom, and is already potentially rented to some girl. Super boo to that.

I am still feeling like crap, and I JUST sat through a meeting that started like this:

Professor A: I don't care what anyone says, he is a communist.
Professor B: A terrorist for sure.

Me: (worried something happened this morning while I was watching Friends DVDs and sleeping off my DayQuil) Who?

A&B (in unison): The president.

Me: Of?

A&B: THE U.S.

Me: (in my head) Fuck. Why do I even WANT to live here?

PLUS, I know I am sick, and have a flaky red nose from all the blowing, and watery gooey eyes, but damn, Chick Fil A, I thought you thought I was special.

Won't you be...my neighbor?

About a month or so ago, our college kid was walking to work from campus and saw this cute little white house that she thought Mr. P and I would like to rent for the two years while I either get tenure and we build, or I don't get tenure, try to get tenure again, then build, or try to get tenure two times then move. I tried calling and calling and got no answer and no call backs. Then a few days ago, Mr. P and I decided, you know what? We will just stay put, moving is a pain, blah blah. I was semi-sad because I really, really want to be able to walk to work. Really.

Then today, my sister calls me and asks me to check out a house she found online. I did. I won't steal her posting thunder regarding her new digs, but suffice it to say, I think they are going to really like living there.

While stalking my sister's house, I saw the little house the college kid told me about (that is 1.6 miles from my office without considering the across campus shortcut that would take me right by Starbucks) and I texted Mr. P and he called, and it sounds like it might be a match. We are going to visit it and talk to the owner on April 9th. So my sister and I might both be moving this summer.

Here is the crazy part. I would live 2 minutes from my sister. ON FOOT. LITERALLY. I Google Mapped it.

For the last 9 years we have lived hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. In 5 months we could live .1 miles apart. Right now we are both nearly giddy with the possibilities. If you could, would you want to live .1 miles from your sister? Keep in mind my sister has my (to be) 3 year old nephew!

Oh, thank you all so much for the kind words and pep talks over the last couple of days. What is weird is that today I am basically over the rejection, and still on track for healthy, healthy, healthy with no guilt on that front. I am actually about to go run to help counteract some green beers I will be enjoying this evening. Thanks bloggers!