Let the moving (to the east side) begin.
I have been a slack ass about our big move. No I haven't. Who the hell am I kidding? I have just been way the eff to busy to pack my entire house. When I am not parenting, I am working, when I'm not working, I'm writing, not writing, bills, not bills, sleeping, not sleeping, sex, etc. ,fucking, etc.
I have exactly 24 days to pack my house. I would love to use a moving company like Two Men & a Truck or Allied but they are just so g'damn expensive. Can't do it. So I think I'm gonna go PODS crazy. The PODS thing makes sense to me. They park it in my driveway, I add our shit over the next month, they deliver to new house, I unpack. Easy Peasy. Now I just need to order some boxes and the packing can commence.
Fuuuuhhhhhhck. I SO SO SO don't want to do this. Why can't my gypsy blood be quenched? Why in jebus almighty do we constantly feel the need to move. I mean our house is fine. No it's not. It's not small. Yes it is. It's close to the restaurant. No it's not. There is alot of culture here. No there's not. We love the 'burbs. Negatory.
We definitely HAVE to move. I just wish we were Oprah rich & someone else could do it for us because I absolutely abhor the moving process. Almost as much as I hate Pennsylvania. Screw You Dutchmen!
Man I'm snarky this morn. I think this post should have been called How Many Times Can a Chef's Widow say fuck?
*** If you are happy (or at least not as bitchy) as me this morning, I suggest entering my awesome widow giveaway!
****And if anyone has a scan of the Bon Appetit article about our restaurant I would absolutely LOVE it if you could email it to me. I have yet to see it.