Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Throwback Almost Thursday.

Perhaps I am showing my age, but old school works. Today I was at a bit of a technology seminar and I glanced about to all the laptops and felt a little silly with my pen and paper. Then I pulled out my flip phone. And read from a book with physical pages. You could touch. Yeah, I still roll like that. Like a stone wheel chiseled by hand.

And then technology bit me in the ass. I rushed home to go to a school fair...that I never made it to. Instead I took a two hour tour of the county. In the rain. During rush hour. Whoop Whoop. Guess what day it is? It's okay I heard the camel was furloughed. It's almost Throwback Thurs-DAAY.

I made the mistake of googling the address. When I arrived it didn't feel right. So I consulted GPS, which confirmed I was at the right place. I mean the sign in front of the school said Hoover Middle School, which was my destination. It had to be right. But it's not where I needed to be.

I now firmly believe this was the old Hoover Middle. What I needed was the new Hoover Middle. I had no idea. The internet didn't tell me that. To confuse the situation I found yet another Hoover Middle on the other side of the county. THREE Hoover Middles? Are you freaking kidding me??

Here's a thought, when you invite me to the fair how about giving me an actual address? And a contact number??  Silly me, I thought I could just check the internet and get there no problem. And in case the jury was still out, everything on the internet is NOT true.

Oh hey, just the other day I was on Google and searched for map. Sometimes I search for translate when I need Google translate. So I searched for map to get Google maps. Know what the number one search result was on Google? MapQuest. Go figure. And I should have stuck with it...they know where the right Hoover Middle is.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Up a Really Big Creek Without a Paddle

Okay, so the move to meld the mouses, both country and city, is a bit like shopping for a sofa. Seems like it should be a fun activity; turns out it's not. And I feel a bit like I'm up shit creek.

Doesn't help that the girl is right there with the creek we'll call, de Nile.

So it's no secret I'm thrilled with the situation. Although she might be surprised to learn I'm sad about leaving the country. I'm going to miss it. But I try to keep it all to myself.

See, I'm not sure she is thrilled. And I don't want to rub it in her face. I'm sure she feels like she is giving up a lot to come to me. I, on the other hand, can't wait for her to see what she's gonna gain. I think she's keeping a secret calendar marking off the time until she can return to paradise.

In the meantime, we don't talk about it. And if we do, we fight. I'm told this is normal. I don't love it. She says I act like I'm not excited about it. --the move, not the fighting. Yes, that is kinda what I was going for. On the inside I'm pink with delight.

I say, you also don't seem excited about it. She says she is. But you see how she packs right? Keeps saying she's not moving anything. I'm like, you realize you are MOVING to the city. It's where you live now little mouse. Yeah, but all I need is some pants. Some pants, 'that's all I need... And these matches. - The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball... And this lamp. And I don't need one other thing, except my dog.' Jerk.

I feel like she doesn't expect to stay long. Like she is uprooting her life for the next 6 months and that's all. Then we move back. You see my trunk right? Just some random pieces from her life packed piece by piece in the Civic. This picture, my mug, chapstick, and some pants, that's all I need.  Baby, I don't love boxes stored in the attic, but I'm not opposed to them whilst physically moving. And you're not The Jerk. Maybe we could try actually packing something next time?