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Monday, May 7, 2012

Evil Ninja Racoons... and the rest of the moving story

Yep. Pretty accurate.
In case you missed it, we've spent much of the last month moving into the new place. When I started packing, I decided that hell consists of packing boxes over and over again.

For the record, I was way off.

Hell is the actual moving part! It has been a series of headaches that I never want to repeat.

Miss Tate had surgery the morning we were supposed to move, so we didn't get to the new house to check things out until late. Lo and behold... it still hadn't been painted and the painters had left trash tossed all across the house. Unamused does not even begin to cover it.

I was ragey, so we told the painters to take a hike, and we took over the painting. Still not done, by the way. I gave up on the master bathroom. It'll get done eventually. At any rate, we painted all weekend, and started moving in while Tate rested from surgery (she's doing great).

It went something like this:

Moved the bathroom in... found a leak.
Called the plumber.
Moved the laundry room in...found an electrical short.
Called the electrician.
Moved the living room in...discovered that we had not a single cable jack in the entire house.
Called Comcast.
Comcast claims they came out and installed service.
They did not.
Called them again.
They came out, refused to install service.
Called Comcast and fired them for pissing me off.
Continued moving in.
Comcast calls and demands we pay them for the service they never installed. $62.70 for nothing. The heck?!?
Called AT&T and get UVerse installed with no problems.
Go to feed the cat and realize she's missing.
Spend 2 hours walking around the neighborhood looking for her.
Get approached by two drunks who take a liking to Tate (and tell me that the racoons ate my cat).
Tell them she's 14 and to give it a rest.
Listen as they drunkely go from college-aged to 16 years old.
Wonder if they're just naturally idiots or if they really thought I was dumb enough to believe any of that.
Go home, worried my cat has been eaten by racoons, and that my kiddo is going to be forever annoyed by men clearly way too old for her.
Finish moving in.
Leave food out for the cat.
Wake up to find that the racoons stole the food bowl.
Go to retrieve it, get bark thrown at me by the evil ninja racoons.
Call the husband and inform him that the evil ninja racoons can keep the bowl, I quit.
Start unpacking.
Cat reappears 24 hours later, not eaten by evil ninja racoons, thank goodness. (Men too old for Tate are still "Hey, pretty girl"'ing her... The Husbinator's head is going to explode soon).
Turn the stove on, get shocked.
Turn around to run the garbage disposal, pipes under the sink burst.
Call the electrician and the plumber again.
Start doing laundry, washer starts draining into the floor.
Call the plumber again.

Yeah... it's been one hell of a "Why me?!" experience. But we're FINALLY moved in, settled, and the house has more or less decided to cooperate now that we've had the plumber and electrician out to fix everything that could possibly go wrong.

So we took the weekend off from the insanity, and helped the Keeper of the Cheerios install her pool. Virgin margaritas and strawberry shortcake, poolside. Woohoo!

Now to finish painting...

Life does return to normal eventually, right?!

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