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Dr. Malibu just asked me why he wasn’t mentioned for his efforts in trapping my upstairs neighbor.
I responded that if Dr. Malibu had actually caught something, there would have been a starring hero role.
Dr. Malibu then pointed out that they build statues of guys that only hit the ball 1/3 of the time.
Despite my almost fanatical obsession with sports I was completely unaware of this fact.
Unwilling to post any information that is absolutely not the near truth I asked him, “Who?”
Dr. Malibu then cited the following sources and asked me if he should keep going….
Willy Mays has a statue of him at AT&T park in San Fran he batted .302 lifetime
Albert Pujols has a statue of him and he batted a career .325 and still plays today in Anaheim
Stan The Man Musial batted a career .331 and he has many statues….
Let’s review the scores:
Dr. Malibu 0
But since he’s citing baseball statistics – and we all know – THERE’S NO TIME LIMIT IN BASEBALL – the game is still not over. It’s tied up and we’re in extra innings.
There could be a statue in Dr. Malibu’s future….
You know what I hated most about living in my old apartment? Having someone living right over me. Never bothered me during the day, but at night, when I was trying to sleep, my old neighbor walked around like he had bricks tied to his feet. I could hear every drawer open and every closet door close. And some other details I could have lived without…. But he was a nice man who once gave me a Christmas tree and so I’m glad I never said a word.
Seven months into my move at the Bungalow I see I have a new neighbor. I hear him at night, right above my bed. He walks a lot lighter but I can still hear his little feet, and the scraping or chewing that is taking place. (probably another detail I can live without knowing) He’s not paying rent so he’s going to have to go.
The question is – how the hell is he getting in? I’ve walked around the house several times, inspecting every tiny nook and cranny. I crawled up on the roof to see where there’s a chink in the amour of my fortress. It’s killing me that the rat is smarter than I am. He obviously figured out a way to get in. He’s also been smart enough to avoid the allure of peanut butter baited trap.
Lately – he’s been quiet. Maybe he met his demise by a neighbors cat. Or maybe a neighborhood owl. I can only hope.
I had it all planned out to move over the Memorial Day weekend – (making it the most memorial Memorial Day ever)
Move on Day 1,
Clean Apartment on Day 2,
Unpack on Day 3,
Utility Hook ups Day 4.
That was the plan. Then it changed. Then it changed again.
Home Buying – it’s an agonizing process. You wait, like a small child on Dec 24th, for every crucial piece of the puzzle to fall into place. And they sometimes don’t happen when they’re supposed to…. And your best laid plans crumble like a cheap shortbread cookie. Then, you have to reschedule four utility companies, and frantically search for a moving company that is not already booked because now you’re moving at the end of the month…. Yeah. And subject the kids to living in box city for another few days.
I had my moment. Tears were shed. But sometimes things work out for the better.
I didn’t have four days to move/unpack/clean the apartment….
I was able to attend a BBQ that I would have missed at the Geary House of Fun. And it was really nice in the midst of packing to take a break, sit on my butt and enjoy some R&R with my friends. I also was able to help out a girl friend with her mega garage sale. And, as luck with have it, my GF Brandy came down to visit me amongst my boxes. She got to see the new space, meet Dr. Malibu and sample his cooking. Her dog Scout taught his dog Booker the finer points of fetching. In between all this I was able to prime the wall in the apartment that was painted Vegas Gold – (bye bye Vegas, I hit another jackpot), strip the window film from my front window (not as tedious as I thought it would be) and took down all the pictures (I have far too much artwork) and patch the holes.
It was great having an extra day off to remember the people who have served our country. My great grandfather, grandfather, father, uncle, brother and now my nephew have served this nation of ours. The kids (and furry child too) spent a great afternoon at the Barker Ranch.
The last night my children will stayed in the apartment was bitter sweet. My daughter and I will no longer be sharing a room. I’m going to miss our time together – getting ready for school or work or powering down for the night – we had a lot of good talks before sleep. It really makes me sad that I’m losing that.
Going through the final walkthrough I was reminded of the many different projects that would need to be done. This house would need some love and hard work. The rooms seemed smaller than I remembered.
But excitement won me over at dinner. Dr. Malibu and I celebrated over a lovely bottle of Sea Smoke that he gave me. The next morning – as I finished signing my papers – I was elated. My home. My new home. I felt empowered, and fortunate and blessed. I took a moment and a big breath to cherish this dream come to fruition.
The Lake Balboa Bungalow
The word came, last minute – everything was a go! A month of sleepless nights, anxiety and endless waiting, like a slow, crank by crank ride to the very top of a roller coaster, and now I’m in the final, adrenaline drop, a fast twisty, turny rush to the bottom, with only 11 days to close the loan.
And 11 days to finish packing. Officially that means “packing in every spare second mode”.
Working full time takes me away from home – 11 hours out of the day. That leaves 2 hours in the morning to get up (not an easy task), make lunches, get the kids off to school and get ready). I have 2.5, maybe 3 hours, in the evening to get home, pick up kids if necessary, sometimes get groceries, make dinner (rarely) help with homework, clean up the kitchen and pass out.
In between all this glamour, I’ve been packing (and sneaking in a breath or two).
I’m worried that I’m not going to get it all packed. I want everything in a box, ready to go so all the movers have to do is say, “step aside little lady, we’ll take it from here”.
You KNOW how it goes. Time gets away from you. The movers show up early. You still have random crap lying around helter skelter. The stuff that isn’t packed gets left behind, leaving you to make multiple trips, back and forth to clear out the old space. (Wasn’t as big as an issue when I drove a minivan…. but the compact hybrid makes this task foreboding).
Normally, I would say, the only thing worse than packing, is unpacking. Without xray vision you can’t see inside the boxes. So you have to cut the tape, open them up, pull some things out to look and see. This is where it starts to get messy.
Unpacking is also challenging because it means you have to make a decision about where things go. How do you make best use of a space when you haven’t lived in the space before? Especially when half the stuff is still in boxes? Yeah, those coffee mugs look great where you just put them, but oh, crap, here are the baking dishes. Where the F* am I going to put those now!?
Last night, as I packed a GINOURMOUS box full of shoes, I realized I was going to have to dramatically scale down in the kicks department. My friend Wilma was helping me. As soon as she spied the contents of the box , she gave me the come to Jesus look that said, “you are seriously going to have to scale down. SERIOUSLY”. I knew this but seeing that big box holding only shoes and not boots kinda drove it home.
I’m not afraid to purge. Anything that doesn’t fit is going to live in the garage until I have a massive garage sale. My garage sale rule is that anything that survives the garage sale is donated. It makes me feel like I’ve won. Since I’m also a professional garage saler, (oh yeah, I’ve got a wing man and even a backup wing man) a lot of what you find in my house has been gained highly discounted. Shedding something that you bought for a dollar is easier than selling something that you paid for at retail prices. The chili peppers wrote a song about it so it must be true (Look up “Give It Away”). But first, I really need to pack.