Holy moly, people. There's something so weird about paraylsis when it comes to this blog. I love NOTHING MORE than to connect with you guys. (Well, that's not true. I love doingthe tuck dance. I feel so pretty. I also really enjoy poking Catherine with a stick. And cooking a nice souffle.) But sometimes, somehow, I get into ruts where I can't bring myself to update. I look at my comments (even the weird SPAM ones and the strange people who can't figure out how not to triple-post!) and read all my favorite blogs and I think of entries to compose. Sometimes I even read them out loud to Catherine, but she always tells me I'm a shitty writer and I shoul quit and then I get really frantic like when everything is slowed down adn whirring really loud in my ears like an ocean and I start screaming and pulling my shirt out like I have boobs and then Precious starts barking adn Catherine starts screaming and oh boy! Must we three be a sight. I call these tantrums my Googlies. Whenever I feel a Googly coming on, I try to lock myself in the closet because I don't want to hurt Catherine or Precious or myself, but sometimes it's impossible. That bitch does it on purpose, too. I know she does. Christ, who am I kidding? I'll never kill Catherine. I'm a failure. But I ACCEPT that :)
OOh, speaking of Christ. I saw the best movie on Netflix. The Passion of the Christ! So gory and really kind of sexy. That Jim guy with the name I can't spell is dishy. And he sure knows how to take a flogging. Catherine could learn sommethign from him.
LOL.
But aside from the weird paraloysis thing, the real reason I haven't written is that... Me and Catherine have been searching for a new house to buy!
I know.
IJ know.
Well, Catherine hasn't really been looking, but I have to admit it that she's coming with me. So it's like we're looking together. Alos, I've been telling allt he real estate people that I have a wife named Catherine. Makes me a better candidate. Gosh, you should see me. It's really funny. I get all butched up. I wear a suit and take out my earrings and make-up. I even untuck and sometimes put a sock in there so I'm real hung! (It makes me feel like that guy from Led Zeeplin! "Been a long time since I rock and rolled. Hoo-way!")
Now that I've done it twice (but it's been a LONG Time since teh first time and I was SUCH a different man. No, literally.) Let me tell you soemthing about house hunting. It is not easy to find something. But for me, it's triply hard, because not only do I Have a dog. But I need a place with a basement not directly built into granite, because I need to DIG the WELL. I must have spent 8 weekends in a row goingto open houses. The free cookies the real estate people always cook to make the houses more homey-feeling were starting to SHOW ON MY HIPS, too! Let me tell you. (There was one particularly real estate agent who makes the BEST oatmeal-molasses cookies [no, i will NOT tell you who it is, FBI-holes. YOu can't fool me that easily, so don't even try to email me and find out!!!]. I used to go to her open houses just to eat a few, but eventually she caught on and stopped letting me in. (I'm going to find that bitch and force feed her her own cookies until she explodes! I'll do it too. I'm just that mad.)
But why are you so mad, Jame? You might ask...
Well.
I finally found a house!!! It was the cutest little thing with white shutters perfect for peering with my NIGHT VISION GOGGLES out of, and a great litle backyard with a koi pond! plus there was the best basement witht he softest foundation. I swear I could have hired a handful of those Mexican cuties from outsid e the HOME DEPOT and have Catherine's new home dug and rock-lined in two weeks!
My agent showed me the place ("No, Catherine is at her book club and can't come today either. Shoot." Hee hee.) on a Monday, the day it went on the market. The couple was great nad I shook hands with the husband forcefully, pretending I was gripping my DEATH STICK in pprepartation for a flaying, and I even talked about baseball game scores for our local team (shut up, FBI. I could be talking about a minor league OR major league team!!! Face!) that I had boned up on. The house took my breath away. I went home and immediately sat down and wrote the most heartfelt letter I could. I talke dabout how my wife and I were planning on having a baby and we would have loved NOTHING MORE than to raise our children in that house that the y had so lovingly made bueatiful during their time there. And then I wrote my bid on the bottom of the paper. It was 5,000 dollars OVER their asking price. I wrote my bicycle over and dropped it into the mailbox.
Well, woudln't you know, sometimes, dear readers, taking the BULL BY THE HORNS works! Because the next day, my agent called me and said that they had accepted my offer! They weren't even going to wait until teh open house. It was mine. I was SOOOOOOOOOO happy. I even bought a cake at the store (vanilla with strawberries, yum!) and bucketed some down to Catherine (not like she needs it, ha ha. She's fat.) and watched my DVD of Season Five of Buffy and was SOOOOOO happy.
The escrow period started (what is Escrow? I'm STILL not sure! Ha) and I had begun the long process of packing things up and taking things to Good will. I even had a garage sale where I netted 600 dolalrs! (I sold a Constance McMiller skin purse for 5 dollars! Sad to see it go but as a book I read said, "Clutter of the House is Clutter of the Mind!")
We were a week away from the end of the escrow period and I'd designed the interior f my new house on paper with samples and paint chips pasted on, like a big beatufiul collage. My house was going to so beautfiul. And it was going to be MINE!!!
And then I got a call from my agent. The couple was pulling out. They'd decided they loved the house too much to leave and that was that.
If I told you I lay in bed for five days straight would you believe me?
Well, you shouldn't, because it's been eight days. And I'm still lying in bed. (Laptops are amazing things.) Catherine is very very hungry so I suppose I'll have to get up to feed her soon (Precious has a Sharper IMage time-release food feeder I bought her for Yom Kippur last year. Oh yeah, Precious is jewish. Don't know why but I thought it would be funny to make her jewish!). But when, when will the pain end?!
I guess it's a good sign that I decide to blog, and that I've been having a lot of fantasties about killing the couple with a chain saw (not my usual M.O.!), but I'm still beyond depressed.
So, tkae it from me, people. House hunting is hell.
how will we take blogging to the next level? i am a serial killer (allegedly), so i like pushing buttons, getting intimate with someone who'd like nothing to do with me, forcing myself on complete strangers, ripping their skin off with sewing tools, buring their discarded limbs and wearing their hair as a knit bikini. That's just me. I know who I am and I'm comfortable with it. But now that we have this communication thing going, you and i, with my blog and your eyeballs (which are completely useless to me, by the way. fuck your eyeballs. they roll all over the place and creep me out. UGH! Why do they have to be so round and stare-y?).
