Not part of the plan

Number one teen book to never ever read:  Halo, by Alexandra Adornetto.*

"An angel is sent to earth on a mission.  But falling in love is not part of the plan."



*Seriously? Adornetto?  Oookay.

Very exciting post about moving! A must read!!

This move has been a bit of a saga.  As those of you who have been breathlessly following each twist in the story will recall, we were originally supposed to move at the end of the month.  But then last week our hot water heater exploded and died.  Time to move!  We managed to reschedule the movers for this weekend--but alas, they scheduled us for the wrong day.  So there was a lot of standing around amongst packed boxes and sleeping on air mattresses and whatnot.

Finally, by about 6:00 last night, all of our stuff was about three miles north of its previous location.  Currently we are living amongst a bewilderment of boxes.  But I got to watch the sun rise over the Cascades this morning while I unpacked my clothes, so we're cool.

As one of the movers was maneuvering our giant television (not a flat screen--perhaps you've seen one on a historical television series such as The Wonder Years?) out of the van, he asked, "You want this in the house?" I'm sure he figured that our real television was hidden somewhere, and we were just transporting this one to go into Mr. A's Man Cave.

They were also a little bit chagrined by how many records we (and by "we" I mean Mr. A) own.  "Haha I sure am glad most people switched to cds hahaha!"  I think what he really meant was, "CHRIST ALMIGHTY HAVE YOU NOT HEARD OF DIGITAL DOWNLOADS OWWWWWCH."

Have you ever hired movers, though?  Did you know that they are insanely cheap?  They moved all of our stuff--and there was a ton of it, about 80% garbage--for like $430.  That's barely more than a U-Haul, and it took three hours. 

Things I Have Learned in My Adult Life:

1. Hire movers.
2. Don't pick at it.

Aaaaaaaaaand that's about it.

sock sack

I have nothing bad to say about the past week (week!!1!!omg) weather-wise.  It has been 100% gorgeous at all times.  We went to the woods for the long holiday weekend, and I remembered that part of what makes living here tolerable is going into the woods a lot.  I like the trees and the moss and the ferns.  Watching the rain dribble down into the city sewers is just depressing, but in the forest even the rain is okay.  You sort of get the point of it.

So, at the end of this month we are moving.  Into a house with eleven (!!!) closets.  You guys.  There is a broom closet, a coat closet, a linen closet.  There are giant huge closets everywhere.  I understand that being excited about closets is about as bougie as it gets, but I don't care.  I'm sick of keeping my socks in a sack.

Foreign preschool children

The weatherman swears on a stack of holy bibles and his mother's grave and his boyscout honor that starting at the end of this week, it will be sunny.  For like, a while.  If he is lying, I will track him down and give him such a pinch.  SUCH A PINCH.

Because isn't it weird how weather forecasters always take personal credit for good weather?  Like they are weather gods, rather than weather-guessers?  What's pathetic is that the weather they take credit for in Seattle isn't even all that good.  Mr. A.  noted a forecast from a couple weeks ago in which the weatherman bragged that it actually might not rain and "if anything, it would just be like it was spitting on you."  Really?  Just like being spat upon?  My, that is something to look forward to.  Thank you, weatherman.

Are you tired of talking about the weather?  Seriously, this is nothing, I could go on all day.  (Ask anyone.  I'm a super interesting conversationalist!) But okay, fine, new topic.

These days we spend a lot of time filling Soren in on what the animals say.  Have you ever noticed how many things it's possible for the same animal to say? Like, I felt very confident explaining that chicks say "peep peep," until I heard Mr. A. telling him that they say "cheep cheep," which I have to admit is more accurate.  I think we can all agree that ducks quack, but what about birds?  I mean, you can say that they tweet or whatever, but what Soren is mostly spotting are crows saying "AAAAAAAAAAAK AAAAAAAAAK."  And don't even get me started on all of the different things dogs can say, it's hopeless.

I learened all the barnyard animal sounds in French 101, but the only one I remember is the French duck, which says "coin coin."  It actually sounds almost exactly like "quack quack" if you leave off the last hard k sound.  This website concurs, but it also claims that English elephants say "baraag," so maybe the whole thing is an elaborate joke designed to make foreign preschool children feel foolish.

Hoo wee

So, it's almost July. Our heater clicked on three times this morning. THREE TIMES. Soren spent most of last week with a temperature of 104. I've given up wearing a coat every day, because just looking at a coat fills me with rage, so I'm always cold. All the blogs I read are like "Hoo wee can you even stand the heat?!  It's so sunny and warm all day and all of the night!!  I'm dyin' ovah heah!"

Fuck those people.

Excuse me. That kind of language is uncalled for. Make sweet, gentle love to those people. If you must.

At this point, it isn't even a question of waiting for summer to start. It's the panicked feeling that in two months it's going to be OVER, and we've only had about five decent days. How is it that the assholes already have all the warmer climates (in the U.S.) staked out? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be surrounded by Republicans/Nascar fans/Botox victims. Right? If I could just warm up a little tiny bit.

Sometimes being a librarian is okay

Cutest girl ever: Can we hang out over here in the Teen Center? We're, like, pre-teens.

Me: What grade will you be in next year?

Her: Sixth.

Me: Absolutely!

Her: AWESOME. This is the coolest library in the world.

dummies

The fun with our house continues. The thing, as Mr. A. points out, is that we are both stupid AND conscientious. You can be one, or you can be the other, but both is pretty much a disaster. The possibility of us getting smarter seems remote, so I'm thinking we may have to reconcile ourselves to being horrible people. Something's gotta give.

In far better and more important news, Soren is walking all over the place, and he's got a few words down. All he wants to do is be outside. Outside, happy; inside, tears. When we must bring him inside (as we often must because IT NEVER STOPS RAINING HOLY CHRIST THIS WINTER IS KEELING ME), the only way to distract him is with a book. He likes his animal books the best, and seems to be able to identify dogs ("duh!") and owls ("ow!").

Just for the local NPR nerds: this kerfuffle makes me sooo happy. I hope it ends horribly for Steve Scher.