The closing is scheduled for tomorrow and the move is slated for Friday, so this week is being spent on the phone and somewhere in the vicinity of a nervous breakdown. My version of packing is throwing random crap I want to keep into open plastic containers, so it’s safe to say that nearly all of the dishes will break and my panties will fall out all over the street as the boxes are hauled up five flights of stairs. Lock me in a room with a bunch of adults, some of them lawyers, and tell me to act like a "grown up," and you can rest assured that I’ll giggle with anxiety the whole time and probably make a nipple joke. All of this said, cable (meaning Internet) needs to be disconnected, so my ability to document the inevitable follies is compromised. Be sure that I’ll be spewing acid from my mouth and fingers in a post next week, until then I’m going to try my best to be positive. Last move involved Baptists, the move before was punctuated by hipsters getting me drunk as I tried to figure out which zipper compartment held my keys. This one will be just fine.
