Tuck and Roll

We are a clumsy people. And by we, I mean my family. My dad used to bang his head on low hanging things all the time. Old age shrinkage finally gave him relief from that. My sister  Peggy was famous for slamming her toes into things. She probably learned to wear shoes and slippers as she has gotten older.

Here in my sister Lisa's house, we feed the dogs on different levels. Her dogs eat in the kitchen and I feed my dogs on the lower level, which I call her basement. It keeps any misunderstanding between the dogs as to who's food is who's, to a minimum. So Saturday I gathered together the needed tools and food for Chandler and Bette, and I proceeded to head to the basement. Six steps down and I was there. Only there are seven steps going to that basement. On that seventh stair I stepped out into space, immediately aware that I was in trouble.  In slow motion I lurched forward while dry dog food sprayed upwards. In one moment I was splayed out on the basement floor surrounded by dog food, with Bette and Chandler standing there confused about this new method of feeding them. Lisa immediately ran down and tried to pick my fat ass off of the floor, but I didn't need help. I was fine. Although I hit the ground hard I was not hurt, because I have learned something after falling many, many times in my life. Tuck and roll. Don't throw those arms out to try and catch yourself, no hands spread out to stop the fall. Those things will snap like twigs. Nope, you tuck and roll. So I was not hurt other than my pride, and the dogs are still finding random bits of dog food down there. Much to their delight.

Let's Make a Deal

I told Mark not to worry, that we'd find a home. We walked into the very first place we looked at and Mark fell in love with it. It's a big, solid brick building, with intact architectural elements from the time it was built in 1922. It did smell like an antique store when we walked in, and there was a strange and creepy room in the basement, but all in all it checked most of our boxes. The fact that I promised Mark that we'd gut the kitchen and give him an all new gourmet kitchen helped seal the deal. There are still a lot of hurdles. Inspections, bank assessor, that sort of thing, but we have a contract and we'll soon be Chicagoans. Just click this link to see the place.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Rants

Mark and I are homeless, at least that's what Mark keeps reminding me. I have to point out to him that we have a nice home, in a bedroom in my sister's house. But yes, I do miss walking around my house in my underwear. The funny thing is that I moved out of my parent's house when my sister Lisa was only nine years old, so I never really knew her as anything other than a little girl. She is not nine years old anymore, and the good thing about that is we can go out for a drink together. What I was not ready for was how she and Mark would interact, and they interact just fine. They both like to talk, they both like to have a drink, and they both can be loud. In fact, when Lisa and Mark get going I literally cannot get a word in sideways. I have tried to join in to numerous conversations, only to realize that it was like walking into a hundred mile an hour headwind. So I have given in and for the most part just sit and nod as they gab away. As for Lisa's house, it's fine. It's clean and cheery. My only complaint is that I am sitting in a undersized office chair while typing this. So yes, I do miss my big fluffy chair and that underwear thing.

The Trip

Around noon last Friday, after the buyer's bank finally wired me my money, I loaded up the PT Cruiser with seven suitcases, various dog accessories, two dogs, Dennis, and myself. I'm always amazed at how much crap that car can hold. As we set off for Chicago in the 85 degree heat and the high humidity, I was sorry that I hadn't had the mechanic fix the air conditioning. The humidity and heat followed us all the way up to Georgia where it started to rain. So we called it a day when we reached Atlanta and got a room at the airport La Quinta, my go-to dog friendly hotel chain. Apparently this La Quinta is also prostitute friendly by the appearance of the room. It looked like a whore house. Lots of red, and very dated. Early the next morning Dennis, the dogs, and I set out for Chicago in beautiful weather. One thing, although the weather was clear and the temperature was perfect, it was windy. In fact by the time we hit Illinois it was very windy. We saw no less than ten semi trucks and motor homes upside down in the ditches between Paducah and Kankakee. Also, around Mattoon, Illinois, the temperature started dropping. As it got colder and colder outside I realized that not only was the air conditioning not working in the PT Cruiser, neither was the heat. I rode the last hundred miles wrapped in a blanket with a shivering schnauzer on my lap.

One last thing about the long drive. Because of the fast food diet and motel breakfasts, I find that I tend to get a bit... shall we say, clogged up. So you can imagine my joy yesterday when I finally returned to normal. In fact I'm sure I saw that blueberry muffin from the Fort Lauderdale La Quinta again, yesterday morning.

The Closing

The experiences of the last week have been the most trying time I have ever experienced in my life... and I've had cancer. Twelve weeks of chemo was nothing compared to the anxiety of waiting for the closing of our house in Florida. Nothing compared to movers in my house, dismantling everything I own and taking it away. Oh, and that's another thing. Whatever the "estimate" is for your move, add a few thousand more. "Sir, your estimate was for a thousand cubic feet. Obviously you have almost twice that amount here."  As bad as that information was to me, I was not surprised. I saw it on the faces of the movers as I led them from room to room, and then out to the shed. With each room the idea of it being an easy day for them was quickly dispelled. Soon the house was filled with the sound of packing tape being vigorously dispensed as the movers "fixed" all the boxes I had packed up over the last month. It sounded as if it were a Velcro testing facility. They must have used over a hundred rolls of packing tape.

And then there was the closing. I did it "remotely", meaning I signed everything the night before and sent it over with my lawyer. As soon as the closing was complete, the proceeds would be wired into my bank account. That is unless there were a glitch, and there was. "The buyer's agent guarantees that the money will be in your account tomorrow morning." I was promised. It wasn't. After many phone calls it was determined that it would be there "for sure" on the very next morning. Again, it wasn't. The buyer's bank thought there was something suspicious about me and refused to wire the money. Of course I'm suspicious. Everybody knows that, but it's still my money. I'm also perverted, and I smell sometimes, but it's my money.