Stressballhead, part one

MOVING PACKING TRUCKING WHATEVERING

We have many boxes in the house right now, and are getting less picky about where we pack and put them, since it looks as though our showing/prettifying is over until closing. (Fingers crossed, of course. Contracts fall through all the time, and the house-buying process here is heavily weighted toward the buyer’s favor, but I’m hoping karma is done with us for a while. The bad karma, anyway.) Our nearest neighbor is unhappy we’re leaving, and regularly lets me know about this when we pass each other outside. She has also informed me that we are not — ha ha! — to sell our house to:

A) People from Wyoming

B) College Kids!

C) People with big trucks/people who work in the oilfield.

I like this neighbor a lot, but these lovely and bizarre passive-aggressive conversations are trying my patience. She was upset when we put up the fence (because there had never been a fence there before) and she gets upset if she doesn’t see E regularly, because she loves him. But she’s generous and kind and going through her own awful stress party right now (divorce at a very late age), so I’m inclined to give her a pass.

Besides, once she sees that we’ve sold the house to drunkass Wyoming kids who are planning to attend college part-time while they work up in Dickinson, we’ll be long gone to Minnesota.

STUFF THAT SUCKS

The dog spent most of Saturday throwing up everything she tried to eat. She’s always been a bit of a barfer, but this was bad even for her: she ate rice, and up it came. Dog food with a side of grass? Nice pile of grassy kibble upchuck. Water? Water back up. Got a not-so-good tentative diagnosis from the vet. They think she has cancer in her stomach. They’ll let us know for sure tomorrow, when we go back for an ultrasound, and also what options are available to her. Needless to say, it’s been a long shitty weekend.

Got Crocodile Dundee at the library because nothing helps you relax from portentous awful dog-health news like Paul Fucking Hogan, and the librarian put the disc for Crocodile Dundee II in the case instead. But the switch made for some interesting arguments between A. and me.

Me: He’s dynamiting fish! This is a thing? Is this why the Australian miner guys actually had dynamite in Django Unchained, because that’s what Australians do? Or maybe I’m thinking of someone from Due South, wait…

A: No, that’s the second movie.

Me: Nuh-uh, I got the first one. He’s in a boat, dynamiting fish —

A: Yeah, in the bay outside New York City, right?

Me: Hey, yeah! But this is part one, I specifically got part one. Oh, look, the cops are coming to arrest him and he’s all surprised.

A: I could’ve sworn this was part two, but I guess

[on the screen rolls up CROCODILE DUNDEE II]

Me: Um.

STUFF THAT DOESN’T SUCK SO MUCH 

Drove into the canyon this weekend and ate delicious pie. The pup got to sniff her sniffs and drink out of the creek, and E got to be fussy in the car seat and giggly in the great outdoors.

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