Warning… do not move!

Warning… DO NOT MOVE!

It’s just too hard.  These are the top eight reasons not to move, in no particular order:

8)  You have to talk to the cable company.  I tried to cancel AT&T because Julie already had a great deal with Spectrum that would transfer to the new house.  They would not let me.  I called six times, S-I-X.  They kept texting to tell me about the appointment to set up my new service at the new house.  HOLY SMOKES!  I cancelled for garden seeds… don’t they understand that word?

7)  Boxes.  You have to collect them.  You have to tape them together.  You have to pack them.  You have to move them.  You have to unpack them.  You have to break them down.  You have to get rid of them.  My relationship with boxes is very odd at this point. I feel as if I know them, personally.

6)  The damn packing tape dispenser – how many times did the tape stick back on the roll and cause me to dig it off with my pointer fingernail?  About six hundred.  So frustrating and time consuming. There must be a better way.

5)  The movers.  Mine lost a mirror and the footboard of a wooden bed.  I moved three miles from my last house.  How do you lose a bed in three miles?

4)  Discovering how nasty the house you’ve been living in for 30 years is.  It was unreal the gunk that was living in the top cupboards, under rugs and under beds.  Ew.

3)  You will pull your back out.

2)  Spending entirely too much time at Goodwill – I bet between Julie and me we have taken 30+ trips to Goodwill in Raleigh or Charlotte.  We even found other places to donate because Goodwill can be a bit picky about what they take – no old treadmills… seriously I hauled that thing over there for no reason at all.  Same with the city dump and mattresses.  It costs $100 to dump a mattress!  My guest room mattress was at least thirty years old.  The dust mites could have walked it to the dump without me.

1)  It takes some time to get your mojo.  It is extremely disconcerting not to be able to find the garlic press in the new digs.  The search is on!  For everything.

Actually, it is worth moving to me because I get to be with the woman I love, full-time and in the same city!  But next I move, it will be to the funeral home.  And hard as I’ve worked over the past few weeks, that may be sooner than later.

Somethin’ going down in the Dais

AT Speaker of the House

What do you do with a 15-year-old in the summer?  I’m not sure what Michelle would choose – maybe 13 weeks of watching The Office reruns on Netflix.

Nah.  Not in the Tanner house!  She can do that on the weekends.  I have her fanny busy Monday – Friday, and she is actually enjoying the activity.

Week 1 was exciting!  She served as a Page in the NC House of Representatives.  It was not an easy feat getting into that program.  Apparently it is fairly competitive.  But she’s a cool kid with a lot to offer.  I’m not surprised she got in!

One day she was helping two younger legislative staff members prep one of the committee rooms for the day’s meetings.  It was budget time in North Carolina so the work was abundant that week.  As they were prepping, Michelle asked the staff members if there was anything else she could do to help.  They said, with very serious faces, “Yes.  We need someone to open the meeting with the Star Spangled Banner.  Do you sing?”

“Seriously?” She inquired thinking they really should have considered this earlier.

“Yep.  It’s House protocol.”

She asked if she could practice.  After belting it out, rather strongly I would imagine – she has a very good voice – they informed her they were kidding.

At least something fun is happening in our government.

On the last day of her service, she spent the day in the House Chambers as the Representatives debated the budget bill.  She told me that she felt sorry for the Democrats because they knew they were going to lose, but, she explained, “they just kept talking.”

Apparently, the Speaker of the House, several staff members and two Pages are situated in the front of the room in an area called the Dais.  it is a large desk structure elevated, sort of like where a judge sits.  Michelle’s peer, Allison, was assigned to the Dais that morning.  According to my daughter, Allison is VERY southern.  She is form a small town in eastern North Carolina, and her accent is rich.

At lunch break, the Pages gathered to eat.  As they sat down at a table, Allison ran out of the House about to bust with the news:

“Y’all,” Allison exclaimed in her country accent.  “Someone farted in the Dais.”

Now I’m not sure of the culprit, most likely the male Page standing on the opposite side from Allison.  But the prospect of the Speaker of the House stinkin’ up the Dais during budget negotiations for the State of North Carolina brings me a little chuckle.  Michelle says it sounds like something I’d do at a Y Board meeting.

She’s probably right.

 

Beep.

photo (2)

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

It starts.  The damn beeps start.

And I can’t figure out which alarm has the dead battery.  It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone.  Like someone’s gas lighting me.

I stand under the one in my bedroom.  The noise is so loud, it’s got to be coming from close by.

Nothing.  I’m there for two, three minutes, although it feels like an hour.  Nothing.  Crickets.

I go back to the bed.  Lay down.  Shut my eyes.   I start to relax.  Visions of sugar plums and crap like that.

Beep.

YOU BASTARD!

I take the alarm in my bedroom down.

How do you get this damn battery out of here?  You sac-o-wheat.  I can’t get it out!  Good lord.  It’s childproof.  I could break into the Alamo more easily than this.  Where’s the frickin’ screw driver?

Back to bed.  I’m so dang tired.

Mmmm.  It’s cold.  My teeth are chattering.

Zzzzz.

Beep.

I wish I had a gun.  I’d blow every stinkin’ one of them off of the ceiling. 

I begin picturing myself, Bruce Willis style, machine gun out, blasting the plaster off of my ceiling.  Oh, oh how good it feels.

As I stand, quietly, under the one in the kitchen, I glance at the clock on the stove.  The green neon lights are bright because the rest of the house is pitch black.

It’s 4:13 AM, and I am in my underwear standing in the middle of the kitchen waiting for a beep!  This is un-believable.

I hear it again.

The dining room!  Ahh.

I grab a chair and yank the damn thing down.  I remove the batteries and set it on the kitchen counter.

Finally.  Peace.

I head back to bed and set the empty alarm on my bedside table.

It’s 4:26.

I’m so, so tired.

Beep.

There’s no battery in here and it’s still beeping!  How can that be?  It has become a living being!  You son-of-a-.

I turn off the burglar alarm and stomp to the back door.  It’s got to be 20 degrees out here.  I walk out on the porch and heave it as far as I possibly can.

“Beep all you want you good for nothing piece of crap.”  I wonder if the neighbors can hear.

I lay back down.  It’s 4:44.  I have breakfast meeting starting in 2 and a half hours.

I turn over on my sleeping side, my comfy pillow between my knees to keep them from knocking together.

Beep.

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