We are here, the movers are not.  And Hermie, who has suddenly become a people lover, is biting me because I’m typing instead of petting her.

Moving sucks a big, rotten one.  We hate living this sparse existence.  Convenience foods (can I just say thank fuck for Kashi and Amy’s?) and fast food, sleeping on an air mattress, granted, it’s a really nice, thick one, but it’s still a fucking air mattress, and not knowing how to find the fucking gas station is all grating on my nerves.  Jat tried to calm my ire and frustration by buying me Spore for the DS.  Thank fuck.  I needed a distraction and since my yarn and dyeing equipment hasn’t gotten here yet, I can’t do any work, between that and living in this dark fucking house, a girl could go crazy.

I tried venturing out yesterday and got lost as fuck.  I had Jat’s GPS, but the fucking whore kept trying to send me down this dead end road that, as it got toward the end, became less and less paved and the trailers on the sides of the road got thicker and thicker.  I kept expecting either or both a shotgun barrel to appear out a window or banjo music to start up.  We are in the sticks, y’all.  The nearest gas station is 15 minutes away and with my useless wandering I’m not entirely sure I have enough gas to make it to the gas station.  I kept driving yesterday thinking I’d hit a gas station eventually.  Ha, we’re not in Ga anymore, babe.  The closest thing I found to a gas station was a car dealership, not quite what I was needing.

We have at least one big fat groundhog that lives in our back yard.  I tried to get pictures of him but he took off before I could.  He’s huge, probably bigger than Spanky.  I had no idea they were cat sized gerbils.  I thought they were slightly larger than your common squirrel.  Whatever, that fucker could take me down.

Rhett has been delightedly eating all the fallen apples and pears on the ground in the backyard.  The fact he hasn’t had an assplosion of shit is a testament to his steel lined stomach.  He usually comes in at night with at least one in his mouth so he can munch in leisure.

Here are pics of the house and the yard.  I can’t get this shithole primed fast enough.  The house is great, but the paint makes me fucking hate it.

We really did.  We made an offer on this one.  It’s perfect for us.  The basement has almost the exact same square footage as the house does.  And a sink, a big one.  I’m going to have one hell of an art studio.

It sits on a little over 2 acres.  On one side is corn.  On the other side is mountains.  The yard has apple and cherry trees and is beautifully landscaped with lots of flowering plants and vines.

I’m going to get to have chickens.

There is a hot tub on the back deck.  Did I mention you can’t see any neighbors from the back and only one neighbor’s yard is visible from the front yard?  Privacy, I haz it.

The house was built in 1982, but I didn’t hear the first creak on any of the floors or on the steps going down to the basement.

The woman who painted it was apparently fucking color blind.  That will be the first thing I do.

Riding around looking at houses is more exhausting than I realized.  I’m still brain dead.  I went to the grocery store today to pick up bachelorette food and couldn’t figure out why the damn place was so fucking crowded.  It wasn’t until I was checking out and heard a cashier wish a customer a ‘good weekend’ that I realized it was Saturday.

Jat is in VA now, he starts his new job Monday.  He’ll be working a 4 on/4 off schedule, which will be nice, because that means he’ll be home more.  I stayed up as late as I could stand it last night because I hated the idea of going to bed alone for the first of many nights.

I miss my husband.  Damnit.

I hope they accept our offer.  I really do.

Vagina is how I will refer to my new home state.  We are moving.  I am simultaneously terrified out of my fucking wits and excited beyond belief.  It’s a strange emotional dichotomy and I don’t recommend it.

The prospect of moving all our STUFF is overwhelming.  I can see a great deal of culling in our future.  I keep telling Jat he’s going to have to sell/trash/give/blow up that damn Super Breakout arcade cabinet he has.  It works, but only when he turns it on, which has been all of twice in the 5+ years we’ve been together, so yeah, despite what he may believe, that shit’s not coming to Vagina with us.

Me?  Oh, I’ve just got about two metric fucking tons of art/craft supplies.  All of which won’t be coming with us.  Which means I’m going to be having one helluva yard sale.  Paula gets to pick over it first and take what she wants, I’ll sell whatever’s left.

We’re leaving the furniture too.  Not all of it, but the living room set, our dining set (Mom’s taking that back, we got it 3rd or 4th hand) and probably a few other things as well.  I’d like to leave the bedroom furniture too and buy a new mattress because we need one desperately. Jat is set on us moving ourselves.  I think he’s insane and hope he plans on doing the loading/unloading because the most I”m willing to do is pack boxes.  I’m being a bratty little bitch and I know it, but I don’t care.  I don’t particularly WANT to move and it’s got me all tied up in anxious knots.  If I have to think about loading/unloading boxes in the middle of fucking August I want to curl up and stick dust in my eyes until it’s over.

I’m trying to have a positive attitude about all this.  I know in the long run it’s going to be great for us both, me especially since I’ve always lived here (at least as long as I can remember).   He’s really excited about this job.  It’s his dream job with great opportunity for advancement and  he already has a dear, old friend who works in the same capacity as Jat would be, so he has it on very good authority that the company is a great one to work for and expanding rapidly.

Can’t I just overdose on Xanax and have someone wake me up when we’re there?  Please?

I’ll likely be moving all the animals by myself.  All that shit, my kiln, my wheel and my lathe, all things I don’t trust to be under anyone’s control but my own, won’t fit in my Honda, not to mention I’m not convinced the poor old bitch could make it there.  So we’ll be renting the biggest SUV we can that can tow my car and moving animals, the car, and my TLC shit that way.  Fun times.  At least the goddamn thing will have AC.