Wherever I go here — the post office, a job interview, a social outing — if I tell people I just moved here from Vermont people actually ask me "why?!" They live here, perhaps-probably not originally by choice, or originally by choice, but from a place that was "even worse" than here, so they don't understand why someone would come from country living to city living. I love it here, so I really have no idea what they're talking about in my heart, although intellectually I understand that I just traded a state that has more cows than people (just about 750,000 in the whooooole state) for a city that has more rats than people in it (10 million if you count all the people who would prefer not to be included in the census, thankyouverymuch).

And here, dear readers, is why I prefer to be in smelly, dirty, loud, crazy, crime riddled, drug infested, rat filled, perfectly wonderful to me New York City: I just learned on Facebook that my co-worker's teenage daughter is friends with a man 3 times her age who is friends with my ex-boyfriend from when I was 15. And, one of my other co-workers from my last job who now works with my ex-husband (and the president of the company tried to set her up with my ex [and incidentally originally set me and the ex up 11 years ago] but my ex had already started dating Spice Girlfriend) is friends with both the man my co-worker's daughter is friends with, who used to work at where my ex-husband works (and I used to work there with both of them too!) and my ex-boyfriend.

It's way too tiny there. And probably confusing for you. But very incestuous, anyway. It's a miracle any of us aren't so inbred that we end up looking like The Royal Family. (I can say that because I'm English-American. You cannot. )

Bye-bye, cowpie!

There is a dog outside barking. Which reminds me that every single thing you ever saw on Seinfeld and laughed at because you thought it was just a gag, not real life: It's all true. Really. You name any episode segment to me and I'm betting I can relate a story to you that confirms the validity of the segment. And, reminder: I've only been living here since August 2. And I don't live in Manhattan where the characters lived.

Dawg had mentioned in his France trip recap that I would be telling you more about the visit to Break Boy and HLW's house. I won't be telling you more, except there's nothing to tell because we were there so briefly that nothing really happened. But I did learn after the trip that EZA's favoritest thing to sleep with is Squishy Bunny Fluffball, because he had to draw a picture of his favorite thing to sleep with for school and he drew the bun.

The conclusion to the U-Haul story: When I finally found the U-Haul place in the light of day it was some crack dealer gas station where the attendant told me they were "out of service" for a week so I'd have to go to another location. I told him that since there was only me there I had to leave the truck parked right where it was and handle it later. I was pretty bummed I couldn't take this off The Plate because I knew Dawg had to work overnight that night and I didn't want him to have to come home from his day job, waste his few precious hours off dealing with this shit, then having to run off to do vollies with KC. But, I can't control the entire world, apparently, and that's what we had to do. And OMG I was in some sort of raging PMS moment because remember how I told you I was a cuntyass bitch before? This time Dawg was not pleased with my behavior. Apparently Taco Bell does make everything better, though.

I'd just like to make a small rant and say: I am hormonally controlled so that I don't produce children from all the "hi!!!!"-ing we do. The hormones? THOSE are what make me psychotic. Before I was being controlled I didn't have such terrible mood swings. So when it's time for my "wow, that speculum is really cold!" trip I will mention that even the low dosage of hormones makes me an absolute lunatic and hopefully we can fix this problem, because I like it when I am me, not this weird, psycho version of me, but I also like being responsible. /rant off

After Taco Bell we took a nap, cashed in on the crazy hormone necessity, went back to sleep, then Dawg woke up and went to work. I tried going to sleep, kept thinking to myself, "I'm never gonna get there," then woke up at 5:40am with Georgie mewing her special mew that permeates my 29 decibel earplugs. I fed the kitties, went back to bed but not back to sleep, then Dawg called at 6:30am to say he was on his way home from vollies to pick me up for our big day. (Yep, another.) I got up and dressed, trotted down the stairs, and jumped into Dawg's truck so we could head to the diner for a hearty breakfast. After breakfast was over we got Hot Bagels and headed to the secret batcave location to greet the movers. They put all my stuff on a truck, we all drove back to the apartment, they said "piece of cake" to climbing the broken stairs, then they started. Yah, it's that last set of stairs that does you in, they would always be fine until they thought they were on our floor but realized there was another floor of stairs to go. And, as you perhaps already know, at the conclusion of their visit, the couch wouldn't make the corner turn to go into the living room, so it's in our apartment's hallway, standing on its end, and Ripley keeps climbing up and down it because she enjoys sitting on top of it.

After the movers left we still had a bunch of things to do. We had to drop our laundry off at the cleaner's so we had clean laundry (yes, we really do that), go to BJ's to get a new microwave (two strikes against the old one: the burnt popcorn smell, and the glass carousel broke during the move, yaaaaaaY! [I mean booooooooo. :( ]), stop back home to drop off the stuff we got at BJ's (we got a Cheesecake Factory cheesecake, so we needed to refrigerate that), then we went back out to AC Moore (for picture hooks), the wine store (for wine, DUH), and Super Stop and Shop (for kitty litter, among other things I don't remember because I don't have the receipt and I had to peeeeeeeeeeee when we got to the checkout because at some point in the journey we also went to 7-11 and I got a Big Gulp). After that we came home, put stuff away, ate some food, and crashed in bed. It was 5pm and we actually had to be at a party for The Steff at 11pm, but at 9:15pm I woke Dawg up to ask him if he was able to go, and he said something to the effect of, "I'm torn, because I am still in the middle of being completely wrecked" and then I heard snoring again. I know he wanted to go see her but he had just worked Friday into Saturday morning, done allllll the stuff above, then gotten 4 hours of sleep, so I made the executive decision that I was going to listen to him, then I went back to sleep.

At 4:30am Dawg woke up and realized that we had not seen The Steff last night, then he patiently waited for me to wake up at 8:00am so that he could make us cinnamon rolls for breakfast.

I love my boyfriend. He bakes me food.

After cinnamon rolls he took my desk which had previously been in boxes and assembled it for four hours while I unpacked boxes into the kitchen.

I love my boyfriend. He puts my Legos together. Oh, and look! Before, during, and after!

Each box is over 70 lbs. (His tongue perpetually amuses me.) Look! It's Allie! And flirty eyes Ripley!

After putting the desk together Georgie wanted to enjoy the sunshine behind Dawg's desk chair while he was sitting in it. This is her doing that:

And then we had more errands to run: Get a Happy Meal, visit the cemetery, pick up the laundry, eat pizza, pick up rubbing alcohol and a Big Gulp, pick up Chinese food to eat with True Blood, then go home. At home we hung pictures. Now, here's the thing about hanging pictures: I love them, but I have no idea where to put them, so by the end of the time of me telling Dawg where I wanted my pictures he was pretty frustrated. He kept asking about a certain piece of wall real estate in the living room and I honestly had no idea what he was getting at, but I finally learned that him asking that many times meant that he wanted to put one of his pictures there. From my POV I had asked him many times where he wanted to put that exact picture but he would never say. So we're both being polite? I? guess? to each other and then at the end it just results in confusion and misunderstanding and being annoyed for a minute. News flash: Being too polite results in disagreement on the other end. We're working on this not being so polite thing, it's really fucking frustrating sometimes.

While Dawg was nailing the holder into the wall for that picture he got a phone call that made him have to run into Manhattan for work. While he was away I continued to fix up the kitchen then I put away the laundry (35 lbs of it! we had some extra from back at the last place), then I set up the cushions on the floor and put the coffee table in front of the TV for dinner. I pulled the Chinese food out of the fridge because my Spidey sense told me to, then (literally) two minutes later Dawg walked in the door. We microwaved the food, grabbed the wine, and sat down to watch True Blood.

(and then we said some extra fantastic hi, watched Entourage, and went to sleep, the end)

Ok, well, that was really long. Happy Monday!