Gone, Daddy, Gone, the house is Gone

My apologies to both the Femmes and Gnarls Barkley

It occurred to me this past weekend that The Other House is now the property of the Guy From Out Of Town that couldn’t wait till December to move in and caused me to have to move down the street for six months. I hope that he is enjoying the slightly drafty windows and the mice as much as I’m enjoying my new place…complete with a staircase that would make the machines at the gym shrink back in awe and a backyard that my dogs can actually RUN in, rather than just spin in circles while trying to avoid the concrete and the oddly placed Sandy Spot.

We’re doing well so far, living one block down the road. The dry cleaner next door is an absolute pill, but other than that it’s not so bad. Seriously, who needs their clothes drycleaned at 11pm on a weeknight, and if it’s just what they do as a business why is it only on certain nights? Do they have my house bugged so that they will know when I am having yet another fit of insomnia which causes even the slightest noise to bring me back WIDE AWAKE? I ask because the noise coming out of their building isn’t slight. Seriously, who needs LOUD machinery in a METAL building in this day and age? My favorite part, though, of living next to them has got to be the fellows that blow all of the garbage and leaves out of their parking lot INTO MY YARD at 8am every Monday morning. Seriously. The smell of the gasoline from the blowers is intoxicating.

Mills has adjusted to the new house…he now runs the Feline 500 up and down the stairs rather than by running from the office to the kitchen and ending up clinging to the side of my bed like a tiny furry mountain climber. I just wish he wouldn’t do it at 4am because it makes me think Hunky has taken the fast track to the downstairs. And I wonder why I can’t sleep?

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