Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Personal Drivel, or "Where the Hell Has She Been?"

I figure it's high time I poke my head in here and at least pretend I have something to do with the goings on of this blog, eh?

Things at Casa Bitch have been moving at something of a fever pitch for the last couple of weeks thanks to some stellar news: Mr. Bitch has accepted an offer he (we) couldn't refuse in lovely Colorado and we have to effect our transplant in a mere two weeks (er, 10 days, now). Thankfully, Big Company is paying for the move and coordinating the beefy mover dudes, but all other logistics fall to moi, Domestic Engineer of the Bitch household.

I'm of two minds over this task allocation: my anal retentive half is perfectly content to have my fingers in nearly all the pies, since "if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself". (Yes, I have trouble delegating in a corporate environment. You have a problem with that?!?) My lazy hippie half wants to whine about not having it all magically attended by the moving fairy and is steering my packing procrastination a bit starboard. No doubt this schizophrenic approach to such an upheaval is more interesting to actually watch than read about, but should any particularly comic results manifest while I crumble into a pile of panic and sloth, I'll be sure to pass them along to you, kind and loyal readers.

The end-of-the-rainbow element of this move means that after nearly 7 years, Mr. Bitch will finally stop traveling for a living and be home every night of the week. This is of increasing importance as Baby Bitch enters his 2nd year and is a heartbeat away from pleas of "Daddy, don't go". As my husband so delicately put it, however, the Elephant in the Living Room is "what happens if we don't actually LIKE seeing each other every day?" In my mind, this leaves us with a few interesting options.

A.) Banal hobbies. He might find some belching poker party to attend or I might try to explore some Cassarole-of-the-Month Club or something. Green beans and peanut butter, anyone?

B.) The night shift. I was a stellar bar tender. Charming, witty, flirtatious. I can seduce you into buying far more drinks than you intended to consume and then kick you out at closing in a way that makes you feel like I can hardly wait for your return. My tendency to linger after closing and get sloshed might be a downside at this point, however.

C.) Back yard burial. Mr. Bitch is insured. I know where he sleeps. And the silly man lets me feed him all the time. Hey, accidents happen. People disappear all the time.

Chances are good we'd opt for A in the event claustrophobia sets in, but in all seriousness, the good news is this: Mr. Bitch and our devil-spawn are pretty much the center of my universe and for good reason; their company is impossible to beat and most days, I love them so much it's hard to breathe.

I'll do my best to pop in here over the next couple-three weeks and regale you with amusing moving tales (assuming such animals exist), but if I don't, I trust you'll understand. I've only been half-watching the news/reading the blogs and all the State of the Nation garners is an eye-roll and a surge of bile. Commentary is plentiful on my blog roll. Please avail yourselves of it if you haven't yet. My continual thanks to Lily for keeping the cobwebs at bay...

I'll resume the regularly scheduled snark once we're settled in Colorado. It's a red state, you know. Thankfully, blue counties are plentiful and Boulder (Hippie Heaven) is less than an hour away from our would-be abode. <whew>



Lily said...

Well CB I have three things to say:
Delete the backyard plan. No trails!

Glad to see you, and will check in once in awhile when I take a break from my own blog's perpetual juvenilia (I'll post an example for your amusement later)

And lastly- you will be proud to know I finally figured out your fullpost/continued thing. So I will cease to bump the blogspan. I have improved my etiquette considerably in your absence.
Further, I can now better appreciate your frustration about FUCKING THUMPERS, DAMNED WINGNUTS, RAPTURISTS, AND GENERAL MORONS as I have been sifting through blog hate mail. "You spoiled little brat liberals can write this filth because of our military, you are unpatriotic and unamerican... blah blah blah. Ugh. Talk to the finger.

Cantankerous Bitch said...

Uh oh. Getting trolls, are you? Well, I won't envy your traffic, since so far (knock-on-wood) they seem inclined to leave me alone.
No worries on the spanning. My "plan", however sloppily administered, is to leave the full length entries as they appear for the first day or so, then concatenate as they age.
You'll forgive my continual post-entry insertion of paragraph breaks though, right? Ha ha.
Love & Kisses,
The Anal One

Lily said...

Oh yeah, Paragraphs. Shit.
The trolls come because of Lew, not me. He likes to antagonize with his 'heresy ring of hell' style musings. I like him because he is hilarious to me, and because he is such an unrestrained free fuck-arounder with your favorite demographic. I wish I could be as forthcoming with my prude self.
He contributes now, and we have lightened up some since we started to embrace the juvenilia that is our blog collective. I mean, who wants to write a well crafted thesis every day? Hell no. Not when we can defer to the serious in punditry. Sadly, Lose The Noose feels more like a bar than a blog nowadays.
We are what we are, I guess.

Bill Ziemer said...

There is always mind blowing sex to bring you two nuts together again. Yes, I know that is hard being Mom, but nothing makes a man more compliant than post-coital buzz.

Cantankerous Bitch said...

Indeed. That's otherwise known as the "Magical Consent Hour". :)~