What's "wrong" with blogging...

So, I'm sitting here. Staring at my screen... and I'm not even talking hypothetically. Staring. As in seriously vegetative state. Yup, I'm exhausted. That's not my point though.

Blogging. What's wrong with it? Facebook. Yes, Facebook. If my blogical nonsense was a movie of me, Facebook would be the trailer that ruins it all. Like a movie of me isn't ruin enough... har har har.

SIGH.

So, without entirely retelling the status updates of days gone by, here goes nothing.

Status on the new place: I'm here, aren't I? And by "here" I'm refering to the dungeon-o-dad... surrounded by teetering towers of dresser drawers, some awkwardly placed chairs, and my lamp and alarm clock that now sit ghetto-ishly on my floor.

We decided to have our living room floor refinished. Not that the aging carpet was anything less than lovely. In fact, it held all the charm of going to Value Villiage to buy underwear. That said, the discovery of original hardwood sparked this flurry of excitement of choosing stain and what not... and yes, living in a slightly "updated" home. 1970s... you've been good to me.

SIDE NOTE: If any of you creepers ever experience the beauty of my completely not updated washroom, crack open the medicine cabinet and check the date - that's right - 1970s... I'll keep a part of you with me. You're singing, aren't you? It's okay. It's a good song. Better movie.

So, sand-master-funk, also known as neighbour down the street, will be BEGINNING to stain the floor tomorrow. He's been sanding since Monday. He's actually crazy hard at it. Apparently our floor is just an epic fail. Scratch that. APPARENTLY, we should've just sunk the time and effort into clickity-clackity laminate. Lesson learned. Check, check!

Tomorrow I'm scheduling myself some downtime. I hear the fumes at the house will be intense. I mean, I was thinking of taking the kids for some rain day indoor fun, but it turns out it's more toxic than sleep-inducing. FOILED! It's back to the good old laundry-pack-repeat for me. Yes, it really is a relief. I'm a creature of habit... I'm also a creature of crankiness when morning rolls around. As they say, "all good things must come to an end" [snicker].

Moving Up, Moving Out!

So, I've had this blog for awhile... and exhausted my efforts on the catchy title (which, for the record, I'm no longer lovin').

POINT: We're moving... and what's more amusing than my misery, right? WRITE.

Home. Sweet. Home.

Moving: It's not so bad. Moving with kids: Wow, I just discovered my own personal hell. Bamboo shoots under finger nails has NOTHING on moving with kids. Thanks for the reality check, jerks.

Mind you, I scored some kid-free time this lervly afternoon, so what better than to do but push a beastly steam vac around an A/C-free sunroom for an hour and a half? That's what I'm sayin'! For the record, convinced I might be making a difference I did 3 round trips of the sunroom despite being pretty certain that it's not working properly. That sweaty glaze? I work hard and purposelessly for it.

The cherry on my lactose-intolerant ice cream day? Discovering my EI benefits are up. I was quite enjoying basking in the ignorant glow. Sigh. All things must come to an end... including this fastastic entry.

QOTD:

"Gah. I'm not discriminating against a race, I'm discriminating against stupidity!"