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>