This is a strange time for us. We're now sleeping in the new house in Anaheim, with Esther the chihuahua, and a bunch of boxes and basic daily necessities. But most of our furniture is still at the rental in Orange.
     Since the bed isn't there yet, Anthony and I are trading off between the new couch and a camping mattress thingie we borrowed from my mom and stepdad. It's a very small price to pay to be sleeping in our own house, which is beautiful and a lot bigger, and most importantly OURS.
     Professional movers are scheduled for Saturday. Hopefully by the end of the weekend, or very soon after, we'll be FULLY moved out of the rental and not hovering between places. I cannot WAIT until we never have to go back there. I didn't hate living there or anything, and anyplace with Anthony is Home, but I just want to be settled in and through with our stupid (former) landlord forever.
     Our rent is paid through the end of October, so we don't technically have to be out until then. But the landlord is a real douche. He's already demanded that we let him in to see the place, then he had a painter come out and do an estimate. (Which is annoying, considering the landlord never painted for us in the whole 18 years we lived there) Now we're supposed to be there this evening to let the landlord and a prospective tenant in. He actually went as far as to ask if we could make ourselves "available to show the place" for about 4 hours on Saturday, even though he himself would be out of town! My husband took that call and said NO. Especially since that's our big moving day. It's like he thinks we're his assistants, and expects us to hold an "Open House" for him! Like we give a shit whether he finds a new tenant or not.
     When he came by last week with his daughter (seemed to be "showing her the ropes") to check the place out, he asked if everything was working. I said, "Well, for starters the air conditioner hasn't worked in YEARS."
     His daughter gasped and seemed (at least superficially) appropriately dismayed. The landlord pretended to be dismayed, and said, "Oh, that's terrible! Why didn't you tell me?"
     "We DID tell you," I replied immediately. "SEVERAL TIMES."
     Said the douche, "Oh, ha-ha! I guess the Alzheimer's must be setting in early!"
     I glared at him, grunted, "Mm-hm," and walked away.
     Our new house has new air-conditioning AND a ceiling fan in the dining area. And all-new dual-pane windows. So there.

CONTENTS: Winnebago, bear, pony, towels

     It's pretty chaotic and exhausting, trying to box up 18 years worth of living in one place. You accumulate so much stuff, and it's hard to organize it in a way that makes sense.
     When we first started packing things up in preparation for the move, I was trying to keep like things together, with labels such as, "SHEETS AND BLANKETS," or, "FAMILY PHOTOS & MEMORABILIA." But after a while I just kept dragging more and more stuff out of cupboards and drawers and closets, and it seemed to make less and less sense, organizationally speaking.
     Which is how I ended up with this box:


     My husband and I just moved from a rental condo in Orange to a house we can call our own in Anaheim. 4 bedroom, 2 bath, about 1,350 square feet, air-conditioning, new paint and carpeting and tile, nice big back yard...
My handsome husband standing in the front yard waving, with a halo/nimbus of saintly light above his head. (Actually the porch light)

Here's me in the kitchen which has obviously been newly remodeled. The house is a flip, which is nice. But I am totally unworthy of that nice kitchen.

This is a wall in the dining nook, and that little brick cubby is a witch-burning oven. (Actually the realtor said it's a pizza oven, but that's not scandalous enough.)

These are the first things things I brought to the new house when it was officially ours: an avatar for each of us. The robot is Anthony, the okapi is me.