Up and down this Spanish highway, some things remain the same

Saturday June 16

We wake up (or at least get out of bed) sore and still tired. But there are many miles before we sleep.

SecretAgentBrother and SecretAgentGirlfriend are still asleep. It is barely 7:00 after all. I trudge out to the street outside the apartments to get our cars. I come back and start the reloading. There’s work to be done and it’s getting hot.

The night before I had emptied the roof carrier because we didn’t want it stolen. So, all the shit had to come down the stairs, across the parking lot and back on the roof.

After over an hour of this, I was hot and sweaty. I also had to poop.

By 9:30, Shmuppie had eaten breakfast and we were ready to go. The 2 lovebirds somehow managed to sleep through all this noise, so God bless them.

We hit the Beltway and were on our way to our new home.

The trip on the Beltway was fine. It actually lulled me into a false sense of confidence about the coming drive.

Then we hit 95.

That was fun.

For the next 35 miles, we were in one huge traffic jam. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason for it other than “because”. There was just traffic all the way sown to Fredericksburg, VA. That was not cool. I had visions of this lasting all the way to Richmond and was getting pissed. But, it broke up and after a while, we stopped to gas up the cars, grab Shmuppie some lunch and set up the DVD player. You have got to love those huge rest stops that they have on 95. Entire communities were built simply to serve out coffee and unsafe gay sex to truckers. Now that I think of it, I think I saw Andy there offering freebies to all the sweaty manfolk. But, this isn’t the time or place to discuss that, is it?

Gassed, fed and Dora’d, we took off. The ride was good from there. We made it to Richmond and got on to 85. 85 took us through southern VA into North Carolina. I’ll admit…as we got within 1 mile of the border, I called JewelrySlut and started crying…again. We were finally in our new state.

We followed 85 to Henderson and picked up Route 1. It would take us to our home for the next few days, Wake Forest, NC. We started seeing things we recognized from the last trip and got all excited. I exited for the hotel and JewelrySlut continued down to the kennel. There was NO WAY we were letting the cats in the room with us. Shmuppie and I unpacked…well, mostly I unpacked and she rode the luggage cart in and out of the hotel. They must have thought we were nuts. We brought in a LOT of shit. We had everything we needed to live for a few days with us. JewelrySlut arrived a little while later, I unpacked her car and then went shopping. We needed rum.

Lots of rum.

We pounded 3 cocktails each and had a nice swim in the hotel pool. Naps followed. Naps are god…except when you wake up at 6:30. Then you’re all fucked up and shit.

Seeing as we were all fucked up and shit, we went down the road to a Mexican place we’d been to last time and used the services of Sr. Tequila to help wake up.

We ate, went back to the room and all passed out. We were too tired to do anything. We knew Sunday was going to be a big day.

Apparently, Jesus didn’t want us resting on His day. No, we had to unload a fucking moving van.

Sunday June 17

I got up at 6:30, grabbed some coffee from the breakfast room and headed to the house. I wanted to see the inside and do some cleaning before the truck arrived.

Upon arrival, I realized that there was NO WAY all of our shit was fitting. This had been choice #3 for a reason. Choice #1 would have fit all of our shit quite nicely. This place is the same size, but it has a lot of wasted space. It was going to be an interesting day. I also realized that the AC was busted. Oh…this was going to be one hell of a day.

The truck was supposed to come from 8-10 again. JewelrySlut was driving down to her brother’s house to drop off Shmuppie and to bring him back to help out.

Finally, a little after 11:00, everyone arrived…a big ass moving van, JewelrySlut and Brother in law. This was the truck we should have had the other day. It was one of those big ass trucks. Out popped the 4 Pepes again. Actually, one of the Pepes had moved us on Thursday. He was surly. HeadPepe did have a grasp of the language, so we were in better shape.

Now it was nervous time. How did all the stuff look? What was broken? How many more tears?

JewelrySlut took one look at the house and was as afraid as I was. We were not going to fit.

The truck kept belching out our shit and we kept ticking items off on our little checklist. It was nice of the NJ crew to NOT label like 50 items. That would prove to be fun later on in the day when it came time to verify that we had all of our stuff.

One of the major things we noticed was that our big wall unit/entertainment center was not going in the basement family room as planned. There was no place for it to go. Looks like we’d be doing our TV watching upstairs in the living room. With that in mind, we wanted our beloved blue couch to be in the living room.


Remember me mentioning the wasted space? I forgot to mention the narrow hallways. The couch wouldn’t fit in the door. So, it was headed to the basement, where the wall unit wasn’t. That’s special.

We had more furniture that just landed where it fit. Our basement is the Land of Misfit Chairs. It’s quite sexy. It also has an odd light fixture and wicked pink carpeting.

At some point, they finished and we had a house of boxen. We decided to call it a day. I drove Brother in law home, kissed Shmuppie good night and drove back to the hotel. We showered tequila’ed and passed out.

I guess we were here. We were here, but we didn’t own the place. That wouldn’t come until Monday morning. For now, we had a sty of a house that had no AC. Things would continue to be fun.

As a postscript: I know some people want to know what I did to the NJ house before we left. Since they FINALLY closed on Tuesday night (that’s Tuesday the 26th for those of you keeping score), I no longer own the place and don’t care what happens to it.

Here’s what I did and why I chose to do this specific thing:

I went into the attic with a canister of oatmeal. I chucked fistfuls of it all over the place. Why? I’ll tell you. From time to time, we’d have mice up there. I’d hear them scurrying about. I’d put out traps, they’d not get caught. So, I figured that the mice up there would need something to eat…I also figured they’d tell all their friends about the buffet that was available at 17 Brookside and they’d have a mouse house party.

It’s fiendish if you think about it. It’s also very hard to see/notice. I was going to throw a steak up there, but that would be too obvious.

Now I make my way on this big board game

Friday June 17, 2005

7:00 AM

We’re both awake. No sense in playing “Are you awake?” this morning. Neither of us really slept. My parents have a double bed in the guest room. We’re used to a Queen and seem to be hanging off the bed at all kinds of odd angles. Plus, we were too exhausted to sleep. Anyone who has ever brought a baby home from the hospital knows how that is.

I stumble to the office and log in for work. I have to get some stuff done before I can even think about the mess in the cars.


I’m about done with work for now. Time to go downstairs and face the cars. As I’d mentioned, we just started chucking shit into them last night. They look about as bad as cars do when moving college kids into dorms. Only problem is that we have to leave room for all the houseplants, 2 cats and 1 kid. This should be fun.

My car will carry me and Shmuppie to Raleigh. JewelrySlut will have the plants, the candles (got to have a nice smelling house…or something) and the cats. The Focus won’t be able to hold that much stuff. What it has takes up a lot of space. However, I bought the most awesomeist thing ever a few weeks back. I found this big roof bag thing somewhere on line. For $59.95, I got 15 cubic feet of cargo space. It’s not aerodynamic, but it holds a lot of shit. It will be used to the hilt.

I start by unloading the cars into the garage. Jesus, that’s a lot of shit. Time to start throwing things out again. Out go some extra garbage cans, some cleaning products, some of this and some of that.

You have to realize that all during this, JewelrySlut is wisely staying away from me. I also am making this difficult by having to crap every 3 minutes. I haven’t eaten in 3 days, but I’m shitting like…well…what shits a lot? Because I’m shitting like that thing.

We want to leave by 11:00 to avoid a lot of traffic, so time is of the essence.


JewelrySlut and NoGoodFather head to the bank. It’s money time. We’re looking at a check for $110,000. I’ve never seen that much money all in one place. The temptation to somehow distract my father, grab the kid, and head for the nearest cruise ship is there. I won’t lie. They head off while I continue assessing the mess.


They’re baaaaack. Guess what? JewelrySlut’s crying again. Not that I can blame her. We just dodged a huge bullet and know we have a few weeks to get our shit together without going broke.

The piles are getting under control and I’m developing a strategy on how to get it all into/onto the cars.

My father has to go to work, so it’s time for goodbyes and more tears. We shouldn’t be crying. It’s just all the shit going on.


We’re packed. The cars are practically dragging the ground, but we’re packed and only a few minutes late. Shmuppie’s running around the driveway playing airplane. Time to strap the kid in and do goodbye again. This one’s easier. My mother refuses to cry, so it’s not all that bad.

We head off.

We’re DC bound.

We head back to 78 and start east towards our friend The Garden State Parkway. As I’ve mentioned, I hate the strip of that road in and around Union County, NJ. It’s like playing bumper cars. Only this time, we’re loaded down. The Focus ain’t doing so well. It looks to be driving heavily and I’m nervously watching from a safe distance. JewelrySlut gets the hang of driving it and we’re off towards the Turnpike. We plan to stop at the rest stop by Exit 9 because the Focus will need gas.

All is OK. Shmuppie’s in the back and is singing along with something. My cell rings…

Oh look…it’s Barbara from the moving company
Me: Hi Barbara. How are we doing? How’s the stuff look.
Barbara: It looked OK last night. You have a new desk chair. Listen, the truck’s arriving on Sunday.

Me: (Trying not to plow into all the cars around me) WHAT! You said the truck was arriving on Tuesday. We don’t close in Raleigh until Monday. What!
Babs: Well, I know I said Tuesday, but the window for delivery was from Sunday to Wednesday. It will be there on Sunday.
Me: What time? (Trying to wrack my brain to come up an option. Just setting up the furniture in the townhouse parking area is looking pretty damned good right now)
Babs: I don’t know.
Me: Give me an hour. I need to figure something out.


Me: (on the cell again) Hi hon. Guess what?
JewelrySlut: What now?
Me: The truck’s arriving on Monday
JewelrySlut: WHAT!
Me: I have to call Eleanor.

Eleanor: Hello…What now
Me: Hello, Love. Well, it’s getting worse. The truck arrives on Sunday
Eleanor: Fuck. Do you know that you don’t own the house until Monday?
Me: I know. Can we get a form written up or something? I can be there tonight if I need to be.
Eleanor: You’re causing me a lot of paperwork you know. How does anyone do any business up there? It’s no wonder you’re moving.
Me: Whatever you need me to do let me know.

So, here we are…driving down the road in 2 overly heavy cars. Our stuff is arriving 2 days early and we still don’t know if our house in NJ is ever closing. AWESOME!


We stop to gas me up at the last rest stop in NJ. It’s got the cheapest gas for miles and will make a good place to stop for a bathroom and leg stretching break. The girls go potty and I gas up and get the portable DVD player out. We’d held off on getting one of those things until this trip. I didn’t want it on the whole time, but I knew the ugly part of the drive was coming…Delaware and Maryland.

We get going a little after 2:00 and I get on the phone again as we’re leaving NJ. This time, I call “New Jersey’s own radio station. Not New York, not Philadelphia, we’re New Jersey, (Womp womp sound effect) New Jersey 101.5″

The station has a complex…a major complex. Plus, DanegrSpouse does weekend reports for them, so we know they ain’t all right. I wanted to call the afternoon drive show, the Jersey Guys, to say goodbye. About 5 minutes later, as I got to Delaware I got on the air. I bid them my farewell and told them we were headed to NC. They, like everyone else, asked why and I think I almost had them convinced to join us. It was fun being on the radio. I’d been on with one of the hosts a few years back when he was on another station, so I got to give him a hard time about that.

Delaware: Do you live there? If so, I’m sorry. You live in a pathetic little piece of land. Delaware for me = traffic. Know that scene in Blazing Saddles where they put a tollbooth in the middle of the desert? Well, that’s Delaware. They know their state is nothing but a place between NJ/PA and MD, so they charge you $2.50 to go 6 miles through it. PLUS, you give them a portion of the bridge toll. Delaware ROCKS! Needless to say, there’s major traffic going to the toll. Something like 56 highways merge into 95 at that point, so there’s backup for miles.


We leave Delafuck and find ourselves in Maryland. We’re getting close now. The traffic is easing going South and we ca move along at a decent pace. However, Baltimore looms for me. Me and Baltimore not so much. I had my first big car accident in the Harbor Tunnel back when I was in college. I was rear ended by an asshole with no license. My first lawsuit followed and I ended up in court 3 years later trying to settle it. Fortunately, Shmuppie had Dora on in the back seat, so she was oblivious. You could have strapped a BP cuff to me and watched me nearly have a stroke as we went through the tunnel. JewelrySlut called later on to say that she could see how nervous I was from behind me.

Through Baltimore, we head into the insanity that is 95 heading to DC. Jesus, they make NJ drivers look tame. We just stuck to the right and plowed ahead. The Gods were finally on our side because there was traffic everywhere on the northbound side. We were lucking out.

Next stop: Bethesda, MD and SecertAgentBrother’s place.

This was an event in the making. I had emailed him about 3 weeks in advance asking if we could sleep over. I made sure to say that it was the 3 of us AND the cats. E was less than keen about it, especially the cat part. Only after promising to clean up his downstairs bathroom, did he agree to let them be locked in there all night. We went through the same thing the night before with my parents. As of Thursday afternoon, it looked like we’d need to stay in a hotel because they didn’t want the cats locked in a spare bathroom all night.

So we arrived and met…..

Bom Bom Bom

The SecretAgentGirlfriend. Seems that now that SecretAgentWife is out of the picture, he’s got himself a new woman. Ok…whatever. I could care less. SecretAgentGirlfriend was cool but I think she thought I was insane. I wasn’t making much sense and kept asking too many questions that were usually met by an icy stare. I don’t know the rules about what you can and can’t ask your SecertAgentBrother’s SecretAgentGirlfriend. Nobody ever filled me in on all that.

The evening was painless. We got some Chinese, I pooped another 47 times and the 3 of us tried to get some sleep. I had to go find a fax machine to send Eleanor papers about taking possession of the house in advance of purchase or something, but that was it. By the way, Kinko’s is scary.

We thought the double bed was bad.

He has a trundle bed made up of 2 singles. We haven’t slept in a single bed since college. Shmuppie was on the lower bed (on the floor, not underneath us). After a little while, I abandoned the upper bed and went down to sleep with the kid. The 2 adults were not fitting. Well, over the course of the next 4 hours, I had the shit beat out of me. Shmuppie’s a violent sleeper. She kicked, punched, elbowed, pulled, grabbed, etc. At about 3:00 or so, I got up, threw JewelrySlut out of bed and sent her down for her beating. I needed SOME sleep before we left. Not good. My back was killing me.

So, that’s Friday. Not as bad as Thursday y any means, but the whole “Truck arriving early” thing was not planned nor was it pleasant. Our Sunday of relaxation was not meant to be. But, we were halfway to freedom. What’s next?

On the threshold of adventure, God, I do love this job so

Thursday June 16


We’re both lying in bed, awake, but neither will tell the other. Too much lies ahead for us. Finally, I did the old “You awake?” thing.

I stumbled downstairs and logged on for work. I had a few things to do before the insanity struck.

The truck was due to arrive between 8 and 10. We were hoping closer to 8 so we could be done sooner.


The truck rolls up. It’s not big. It’s not a big moving van. It’s one of those all 1 piece 40 footers.
Hmmm….wonder if it all will fit inside that thing?

Out jump the 4 Pepes. Among them, there are maybe 17 words of passable English. And since Shmuppie has the best Spanish of us all, we’re in trouble. I walk HeadPepe through the house and point to things and say things like “Truck”, “Garbage”, “We take”. That goes undeniably well.


The truck is being loaded and things are getting tagged and numbered. It’s controlled chaos in the house. We’re still packing boxen up with things that we needed until the very end.
The phone rings:

Me: Hello?
Voice: Hi, NoGoodDaddy, it’s MaryAnn from your lawyer’s office
Me: Hey. What’s going on? How are you doing?
MaryAnn: Well…things aren’t good and once I get done telling you, you’re not going to be doing so good either.

At that instant, the knife jabbed into me. The phone call that I knew has been coming had come. From the day we signed the contract, I KNEW…fucking KNEW that this call was coming.

Me: Just tell me
MaryAnn: Well, the Vasquez’s buyer can’t close until June 28. (See…the Vasquez family is buying our house and their buyer just got hinky on us all)
Me: MaryAnn, I have a truck in my driveway and a closing in Raleigh in 3 days. What the fuck, pardon my French, am I supposed to do?
MaryAnn: Can you stop them from loading the truck?
Me: NO! They’re here and we have to go. What’s going on? Where’s LawyerBob?
MaryAnn: Bob won’t be in for a while. Oh…I don’t know what’s going on. This is so bad for you.
Me: I have to go. Bye.

I hang up and nearly pass out. JewelrySlut looks like she’s got no blood in her face. She didn’t have to hear the call to know what just happened. We had just entered the 8th circle of moving hell.

I grabbed my cell, headed outside and dialed up Eleanor. I got her voicemail and left a half-screaming message asking how much cash she thought we’d need for Monday and if she could start looking for a mortgage for us.

I then made the call that I knew I’d have to make all along but didn’t want to.

Voice: Hello?
Me: Hey Dad. How liquid are you?
NoGoodFather: What’s wrong?
Me: (Spews out a 200 word per minute account of the last 3 minutes, culminating with) Can I borrow $100,000?
NoGoodFather: Sure

Now…as a parent, I know how this works. Your kid is in trouble, you just do what you have to do. For all the things I’ve said about the NoGoodParents in past entries, my father always knows how to compartmentalize and get to the task at hand. He can see black and white when needed and “just get it done” at those times. I’m a lot like him in that way. I can put aside a lot of emotion at times and just get the job done and then return later to the wreckage that is left on the side of the Road of Life.

NoGoodFather: Now calm down. The money’s fine. Call me back when you know more, but until then, take care of the house and get more details.

From time to time, it helps to have rich parents. He just, without batting an eye, lent me $110,000. That’s a lot of fucking money.

I call Roxanne the Ninny and bellow into her voicemail to call us. She calls back 5 minutes later and I’m going insane at her. At one point, I tell her to “Start earning your $17000 and do something for us” I then hang up on her.

Eleanor calls back and is amazed. She must have said “fuck” 100 times in 2 minutes. She can’t believe what’s happening to us now. She tells me to calm down and that we’ll get it all fixed once we get to Raleigh.

Eleanor rocks.

So, here we are, a half-hour into the packing and already, things have gone to shit and a half. We don’t know if we have a buyer for our house and are about to…almost..own 2 houses in 2 states. Oh…things are going GREAT!


I go to HeadPepe and ask if he thinks it’s all going to fit on the truck. It looks already like it won’t. He just smiles at me, shakes his head and starts frantically jabbering to Miguel over his Nextel.

Great…thins continue to be fun. We’re looking at the truck and the piles of boxen in the garage, not to mention all the furniture in the house, and we know we’re in big trouble. There’s no way on God’s good Earth that this is all fitting on the truck. We start adding to the garbage pile.


The rain starts. And when I say rain, I mean fucking thunderstorm pouring. JewelrySlut and I run out to the street where our cars are parked. We need to get the windows up. I hop I her car, she in mine. ***remember that detail, folks, it will be vital to the rest of the story*** We get the windows up and head back to the driveway, where boxen are being thrown around to get them out of the wet. While it pours, HeadPepe continues to Nextel Miguel and things don’t sound good. I may not speak Spanish, but I know panic in any language when I hear it. The truck is very full and there’s a lot of stuff left.

At this point, the Fire Marshall shows up. Seems that when Roxanne the Ninny said “I’ll handle the smoke detector inspection” she meant “I won’t do anything about it and will find another way to fuck you”. We had been told just a week before that it needed to get done and we couldn’t close without it (like that matters at this point). The fat slob shows up with a broom handle. He’s poking the detectors to make them start chirping. He gets upstairs and announces that the main smoke detector is in the wrong spot AND that it’s broken.


We try to explain that the local fire dept told us to put it there. We also said that we had a spare battery and could go get one. I ask for 2 minutes to pop in a new battery and move the thing. It’s 2 screws after all and will take all of 1 minute to re-hang. He starts in with the whole “I’m a very busy man and have a lot to do” speech. I ask, again, for 2 minutes so I can fix it. He comes back with “I don’t have to wait for people like you. You should have been ready for me”. While doing this, he rattles a big fistful of paper at me. I get right in his fat, smelly face and tell him to “Get the fuck out of my house”

With a happy little grin, he leaves.

Now, because we still lives in Podunkville, NJ, they don’t do inspections on Fridays. I call Roxanne and tell her that we failed because the inspector was an asshole and that she’s better figure something out.

3:30 PM

A few weeks back, I had called a trash hauler to come in to get all of our larger garbage items. They rolled up to the house. I met them at the street and told them that the truck still had a ways to go. Could they back across the yard? The woman says she can and they start doing so.

And get stuck in the mud.

Really stuck in the mud.

Really. Stuck

They’re churning holes in my yard with their big ass tires and mud is flying everywhere.

It starts really pouring again.

So, let’s recap where we are:

No closing on Friday
No idea when they will close
Too small truck
Garbage truck stuck in the mud
Pouring rain

Ring…goes my cell phone. It’s MaryAnn again. We have a reason for the delay.

Strap in folks because this is good.

It seems that the attorney for the Vasquez’s buyer doesn’t work past noon on Fridays. He scheduled a 2:00 closing. He then decided that it would cramp his style. He’s not available again until the 28th.

You must be fucking kidding me. This fuck wants to get a jump on his weekend and that’s why we’re delayed!

I was ready to kill someone at this point. We’d now crossed into the 9th circle of moving hell.

So, we’re watching the rain. The garbage lady and her son come to the house. I’m apologizing over and over again. This lovely woman blames herself for not testing the ground beforehand. She says she’s called a tow truck and will wait it out with us. The 4 of us stand there and watch the Pepes start shoving boxen on the truck. The Italian boxen (you know, the ones marked Fragile???) are going on in every which direction and getting kicked. At this point, JewelrySlut bursts into tears. She can no longer handle it. She’s there in our garage crying her eyes out. I’m pissed. I call our moving lady and start yelling at her about things. She apologizes and doesn’t understand why they sent us such a small truck.


The tow truck arrives and extracts the mudmobile. They continue to wait with us as we all stare at the truck. They’re now leaning against the doors to get them closed. They close the doors to the truck.

It’s still pouring.

There’s still a LOT of stuff to go on the truck.

They start loading the lift gate on the truck.

With furniture.

In the rain.

JewelrySlut’s still crying. The garbage lady is aghast. I’m asking HeadPepe what, exactly, they’re doing. He just smiles and nods and wanders off. At one point, he grabs my desk chair, says “Garbage” throws it on the pile and tells me that Miguel (who may live in side the Nextel for all I know) will handle it.

Oh yea…things suck.


They finish with the truck and, mercifully, leave.

They move the trash hauler in and we start chucking things. We fill the shit out of that thing. They go to leave and I grab the $100 that I owe them. I go to the cab of the truck and Theresa hands me a bill. I hand her the $100 and she refuses it. She won’t take our money. She says that we’ve been through enough and that it’s on her. Well, now I join JewelrySlut in crying. This is the nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for us. We’re standing there, covered in filth, crying because the garbage lady was nice to us.

Plugola time! If you live in Warren County, NJ or Easton, PA, please call Theresa at Women at Work. Her number is 908-689-6538. This woman is a saint. Her son is maybe 18 or so. He was such a nice kid. He was a prefect gentleman and is living proof of his mother’s sainthood.

Oh…did I mention that their family also owns a large farm in town? We buy all our produce there. She tells us that her son and some of the farm boys will be out in a day or 2 to resod the yard where they chewed it up.

A saint. She’s a saint.
I go out to the street to move the cars to the driveway and load them up for the trip to my parent’s house. I get in my car and notice that the key’s in the wrong position. I turn it…nothing. The battery’s dead. Someone had let it run all afternoon. Hmmm…who was that?


So, I hop in the Focus and turn it around. I pop the hoods just as JewelrySlut’s coming out of the house. She figures out what’s happening and looks terrified. Now I have to jump my car. Fortunately, a neighbor came by and helped. It took almost 15 minutes to get my car started, but it finally did.

We’re in the 11th circle now, folks and it still gets worse.


I move both cars and JewelrySlut goes inside to load the cats into their carriers. She emerges bloody. Great.

We run through the house, gathering up what’s left and throw it in the cars. The cars are disasters. We’re vacuuming and sweeping the house. I’m in full-blown stroke mode. I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. As we wrap up, and I’m standing in an empty house, it hits me.

I find myself standing in our empty living room wracked with sobs. It’s not just the day that we’d had. It’s 7 years of memories. This was our first house. We turned an utter shithole into one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood. We brought Shmuppie here after she was born. I’d never lived in a house for longer. I lived here with the 2 most important people in my life and we were leaving it.

I was crying like a retard.

We finally get all our stuff and head out. We have about a 1-hour drive to my parent’s house.

As we leave town, I’m still crying.

Good bye, Shoprite.

Good bye Poor Boys Pizza.

Good bye Home…

(background on the ride to my parent’s house. We have to take a winding road for almost ½ hour to get to the highway. From there, it’s 12 miles East on 78 and then maybe 15 minutes from there)


We get to 78 and it hits me:

Where’s my toiletry case? Oh fuck.

It’s in the house.

Now, I could press on and just deal with not having my stuff, but, know what? I WANT my stuff. I call JewelrySlut (who, by the way, did the final sweep of the bathroom) and tell her. She sounds like she could cry again. I call my father. He laughs and hangs up.

I turn around in a cutout on 78 and head home(?!?!?!)

I drive like a man possessed, make it to the house (which I now hate). I tear upstairs and lookie there…my stuff. I grab it…and drop it. Shit all over the floor.

I gather it up and head to the car. I set the land speed record from Hackettstown, NJ to Gillette NJ and arrive.


I’m exhausted, sick to my stomach, hungry and filthy. I shower. I have a beer. I mercifully pass out.

We just made it through the 2nd longest day of our lives. The day Shmuppie was born seemed longer.

Tomorrow is a new adventure. If I knew then what would happen, I would have thrown myself in front of a train.

My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus

We’re here.

It ain’t pretty and I don’t have a lot of strenggth left, but, when I do, the mother of all entries is coming. Let’s put it this way, if it COULD go wrong, it did…a few times.

But, we’re here and there are less boxen than a few minutes ago. We almost have something that resembles a house at this point.

If anyone’s been saying little sanity prayers, thanks. If someone’s been poking a NoGoodDaddy voodoo doll, please stop doing so, my back is sore enough as it is and I need a break.

It’s hot and our AC is busted.

So won’t you kick it in second wind we got two more hours to go.

I may shit myself. I hope not to, but it may be beyond my control. I may just have another stroke instead.

Life’s full of boxen at the NoGoodHouse. Boxen everywhere. Like a bajillion boxen.

We have too much shit.

I’m at work today for a few hours. I’d rather be at home with the girls helping out with the packing. However, we’re now at the stage where all the boxen are labeled “Misc-upstairs”

I can’t wait to open those up next week. It will be like Christmas…only it will be June, there will be no elves and it will be hot. Other than that, just like Christmas. Just like it.

Have I missed any bad TV lately? I don’t remember the last time I sat in front of one?

I swear someone just said “Where is that tab in the toilet that points to the COB”

I really need to get out of here. I can’t even guess what she really said or what that could have meant. Anyone want to guess?

We have only what we need to exist at this point. Like 2 plates, 1 fork and a towel. I think we still have a bed.

Moving is not fun…at least not the packing part.

I feel bad for Shmuppie. I think she’s feeling it too. She’s normally very cool with everything, but she’s taken to flipping the hell out at the drop of a hat. She can sense the stress and it’s getting to her too. I feel bad. She doesn’t need that.

So, it’s Tuesday. I don’t want to come here tomorrow. Hopefully, I have like 90 minutes more to go. Thursday the truck arrives. Friday we close up here (but we’re not going) and drive to DC to stay with SecretAgentBrother. Saturday we drive to NC. We have the day off on Sunday. Maybe we’ll all sleep in and sit by the Awesome Hampton Inn’s pool. Monday we close on our new house. Tuesday, the truck arrives. It should be a fun 7 days.

So, if I don’t update, please forgive me.

And, I have to say: Big Props to DangerSpouse. I asked for, and got, a personalized traffic report for JewelrySlut last Friday on her last day at LittleBlueBox company. He is the man. (Despite the Bette Midler music).

Oh…I left the new people their present today. It’s great because it can’t be found until it manifests itself. I‘m evil. No details until after they own the place.