Send a Masseuse

Oy. My back is killing me, but for the most part, we're done. I swear, I don't know where I accumulated all of the junk I own, but believe me, I'm going to be having one giant yard sale soon.

My appliances won't be here until next week. Wednesday, now. Home Depot (they had the best prices) called last night and told me, "the refrigerator you ordered last night won't be delivered until April 30th; will that be a problem?" WHAT?!?!?! I wasn't home to take the call--a good thing, because I wasn't exactly feeling benevolent at the time, and I really hate to waste good swear words on people I don't know. I waited an hour to call them back. What I got for my composed politeness and thinly veiled threat to cancel the whole order was an upgrade to a fancy-shmancy fridge worth $300 more.

A few of our moving high points:

1. My new house is overhauled, but still 84 years old.
2. People must have been little 84 years ago, and so were their belongings--I can tell because the doorways are small.
3. It isn't the best business practice to select a moving company because they come up first in the phone book. Ours quoted us one price, but when they showed up, the first words out of their mouths were that they had underquoted us by $350. I know that someone in this house picked them first out of the phone book because their company name began with the letter A. I won't name names. I should however issue all All Pointes bulletin on these thugs. They bent the frame of my Tempur-Pedic bed, and we all know that if I have a prized position that rates one step below my yarn, this is it.
4. The movers had great difficulty moving the family room furniture into what has been dubbed, The Man Cave. They smudged the freshly painted walls all the way down the stairwell. The men installing the cable lines were so annoyed, they pointed this out to me.
5. Everywhere the cable guys drilled, they left a pile of sawdust for me to clean. In my world, we say that's the pot calling the kettle black--they turned out to be slobs, too.
6. Last night, we finally sat down to celebrate my birthday with dinner at a local Irish pub. Everyone had the corned beef. I practically licked the plate clean, but the rest of the family was disappointed. They said it wasn't as good as my corned beef dinners. I loved it, either because I wasn't the cook, or because I had chugged a beer to impress my children that although 53, I can still put a beer away and this made my dinner taste better.
7. I am secretly VERY worried that my appliances are NOT going to fit into the kitchen. Very. Worried. I have 6 days to figure it out, and I don't think New Math is going to help.

Although I've taken photos, I can't find the transfer cord. If you could see what I see right now, you'd know why I can't find anything. I have to unpack my way out of every single room.

The place looks like a bomb hit it, we've become the Bickersons overnight and my husband told the man who does repair work for us that he'd like to have a shoot out with me right now. I couldn't imagine why. He said, "don't worry, my gun won't have real bullets." Hmm. Mine probably will.

Start raising that bond.