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Oct. 4th, 2009 11:34 pm
Martha Stewart can kiss my ass
Having a difficult few days as we're getting down to the wire on the big move: Pod gets dropped off at the house Saturday, movers show up at the apartment Sunday, and we're still in quite major disarray.
M's feeling some pressure to get all the hacking done before furniture shows up, and I'm feeling pressure to get the apartment all packed up (and relatively clean) before the movers show up and before I put in the move-out notice. I don't want management to show the place in the horrible state it's in right now. And it is really quite horrible. The kitchen and the garage look like Superfund sites and the place smells like cat ass because neither of us has had the time/energy to properly clean the catboxes.
Christ, I'm lousy at all this female stuff.
I mean, really: I'm distinctly unattractive and don't bother trying to change that, I have the fashion sense of a 13-year-old boy, I'm a horrible housekeeper with tacky decorating taste and I'm 38 and don't have kids, yet. I'm married to a guy with a good career, but, well, he's not exactly an alpha male. If it weren't for being a halfway decent cook (when I bother), I'd probably be on the shortlist for being sent off to some sort of Art of Womanhood reeducation camp.
(And I'm not exactly a good man, either, what with being short and crappy at sports and apparently unable to keep a job. Bleh.)
If I can just get through the next few weeks, I'll be golden. But it's beyond insane right now. Even when I was trying to maintain three households (during my internship a few summers ago), it wasn't this crazy.
I know we'll get through it. It's just sort of panic-inducing right now.
M's feeling some pressure to get all the hacking done before furniture shows up, and I'm feeling pressure to get the apartment all packed up (and relatively clean) before the movers show up and before I put in the move-out notice. I don't want management to show the place in the horrible state it's in right now. And it is really quite horrible. The kitchen and the garage look like Superfund sites and the place smells like cat ass because neither of us has had the time/energy to properly clean the catboxes.
Christ, I'm lousy at all this female stuff.
I mean, really: I'm distinctly unattractive and don't bother trying to change that, I have the fashion sense of a 13-year-old boy, I'm a horrible housekeeper with tacky decorating taste and I'm 38 and don't have kids, yet. I'm married to a guy with a good career, but, well, he's not exactly an alpha male. If it weren't for being a halfway decent cook (when I bother), I'd probably be on the shortlist for being sent off to some sort of Art of Womanhood reeducation camp.
(And I'm not exactly a good man, either, what with being short and crappy at sports and apparently unable to keep a job. Bleh.)
If I can just get through the next few weeks, I'll be golden. But it's beyond insane right now. Even when I was trying to maintain three households (during my internship a few summers ago), it wasn't this crazy.
I know we'll get through it. It's just sort of panic-inducing right now.
