Hello, one and all! I realize, of course, that between its being summer and the fact that I haven't blogged since the Bronze Age, the more appropriate greeting might be "Hello, one and ... the other one."
But hope springs eternal, and right now I hope that you've given up on that "meaningful enrichment" summer plan for your kids, and have turned them over to the professionals - Phineas and Ferb - so you might have a few minutes to catch up on your blog reading.
Our march toward the Big Move soldiers on. We expect to have large, stinky men here on Monday the 15th, tossing all our precious belongings into boxes and hurling them onto their large, stinky truck. I'm especially looking forward to seeing just how they fold and stuff my six foot grand piano into a 4x4 cardboard box and then mark it "misc yard tools."
I'll be tossing an unarmed grenade into the air and catching it during that process, you can be assured. One "twang" or "plink" and the pin comes out, boys.
Close on the house (see above, and envy the golf course directly behind it, please) on Friday the 19th, take delivery on the boxes of multi-colored dust once known as our "household goods" on Monday the 22nd, et voila! We'll be official Utahns again.
My sisters and me, standing on my new Utah porch.
I'm the one with the Diet Coke can wrapped up in her sausage roll bangs.
Not that moving has been all stress and hair appointments in Colorado City. There's been our new favorite game, "Explaining why we only show up as 'taxpayer' on the county rolls."
When the first appraiser called last week to schedule a visit, she asked quite primly if I could tell her just why, exactly, our names and even our house and plat number have been wiped off all official rosters. Hmm? Why is that, Mrs. Backorder? What possible explanation could there be? I've been in this business a long time, Mrs. Backorder, and this just looks fishy to me. Fishy, fishy, fishy.
It was so clear she needed a little intrigue in her life, I told her we were fugitives from the law because of our long association with Mexican drug cartels.
My new favorite song is "Stunned Real Estate Appraiser." These are the lyrics:
"Silence. Silence. Loooooong, drawn out silence.
"Erm ... could you repeat that, please?"
That's all. It's a very short song. But it's got a really great beat, and you can dance to it.
(Of course, she'll get the last laugh when she values our house at $6.97. But it was totally worth it.)
So now you're updated.
OH, and by the way, now that I'm a Utahn, I'm officially offended by any Utah jokes not perpetrated by me.
Like, the fact that Salt Lake City was just ranked #8 of the top 15 most dangerous U.S. cities in which to drive? That's not funny, people. Until you've seen a twenty handcart pileup on the interstate, you don't know what traffic congestion is.
At seventeen pounds of personal items per cart, you're looking at 340 pounds of flour, buffalo chips, and sausage rollers, just scattered higglety-pigglety all over the highway.
No laughing matter, folks.
Anyway, the next few weeks are going to continue to be crazy, so the blogging will remain sporadic. I know, I know, it's a hardship.
Tell you what: To keep yourselves entertained, try finding my house on the Las Vegas plat maps.
Just don't mention my name. That drug cartel is seriously frosted that I ran off with all the Diet Coke stuck in my hair.