Lately, things have been a little stressful and I’ve been trying to spend as much time as possible concentrating on everything but the search for yet ANOTHER new apartment and somehow finding the means to pay for it. And with the psycho landlord calling and showing up almost daily and Ms. Fat Thighs sitting in her living room downstairs with the lights out waiting for one of us to wear heels and step onto the tile or the wood floors so that she can call someone and get us in more trouble, it hasn’t been easy to ignore the impending move. I want more and more every day to be rid of this place (even though I will have to say goodbye to my freaking office), but I just feel that I shouldn’t have to go through all of this again. And again. And again. And I have said before, if I felt that any of this was justified, it might be easier to accept…but I don’t and it isn’t.
We found a place in our old neighborhood that is within our price range, albeit a lot smaller than this, but at least in a part of the beach that we have already lived in and know will not turn out to be like living in the Twilight Zone. So, we will, again, pack up and move at the end of the month and hope that the next landlord is not insane. (For the love of Cheesus, let her not be insane!) Here we go again.
Over the weekend, despite the lurking of the psycho landlord, JGJ, Thing Two, Spliff and I got hammered and watched movies. At whatever volume we damn well pleased.
Yesterday afternoon, in an attempt to enjoy the perfect weather, we went out to our favorite Sunday afternoon spot to listen to some reggae and drink some beer. It started out normal and then ended with a very early “Power Hour” match (read: war). Spliff was out at 12 minutes, JGJ was out at 20 and Thing Two and I held out to the bitter end (I almost lost my lunch at 51 minutes, but held on). Thing Two finished the 60th shot of Bud Light, high-fived me and then made a beeline for the balcony and threw up over the side. If only Ms. Fat Thighs had been standing below, my life would have been complete. I could have died a happy drunk and not have had a regret in the world. But, you can’t win them all. I did enjoy the time after the Power Hour when Spliff stopped drooling, woke up and turned on some music. Loud. And then we all sang 80s ballads until I could no longer maintain the sitting position. I hope Ms. Fat Thighs likes Journey the way that I like Justin Timberlake at 7am. Because I fully intend to start tonight with Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. Fuck you, Ms. Fat Thighs and your door slamming too. Two can play at this game.