Listening Skillz

I have to move again. I would say I'm not looking forward to it because I don't like change, but I'm actually split right down the middle. This move is symbolic of SO MANY life changes coming up that I am equally terrified and elated to make this move. If you add in that the new house is just like the one I'm in now - shabby chic - without the "shabby" and maybe it's 51% elated and 49% terrified.

There are some hurdles to get through first, though. Some readers of this blog have been around since the boy and I lived together so they remember the days when this blog was funny. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR THEM!

When I found my tiny house in my new city, I had the following telephone conversation with the boy on May 2nd:

E: Guess what?
B: What?
E: I found a house in Lafayette!
B: Really? That's great news!
E: I know, right? I haven't seen it yet. I'll go see it on May 14th. If it looks as good as the pictures and the neighborhood is nice, I'll definitely snatch it up. The rent is only $5 more per month than what I'm paying now, can you believe it?
B: Awesome.

In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the boy stopped listening after I said "I found a house in Lafayette." Because he put in his two month notice at his apartment complex that day. Which means he has to be out of his apartment on July 1st.

Did I mention that the boy is taking over the lease for my current house? Ah. Well, he is. Which is helpful because I can leave some stuff in the basement, or move it slowly over the course of three months instead of worrying about moving everything in one day. Nice, right?

Oh, and when I went to see the house on May 14th (it was indeed as adorable as the pictures) I found out that it wasn't availabe until August 1st. Which is perfect for my school schedule. So I agreed to this move in date, signed necessary papers, and put down my deposit.

Because I didn't know that the boy had put in his two months notice on May 2nd.

That tidbit of information was shared with me on the ride back to Lafayette.

Oh yes. The boy was present for me signing all the papers and agreeing to a move in date of August 1st. All the while knowing that he didn't have anywhere to live after July 1st unless it was the house that I'm currently in. The "shabby-chic" house that is no more than 750 square feet. The house that I would not be vacating until August 1st as it turns out.

As you can imagine, I was thrilled to get this news. Live with Tyson again? Sure! Why not? It wasn't that traumatic the first time. It wasn't like that devil dog was one of the reasons why I moved out or anything. Psh. This will be fine.

Even with Blue back until July 15th.

So, just to recap, the boy, Casey, Tyson, Blue and I will all be living in a 750 square foot house. Together. At the same time. All of us.

Laney will be on her own with a very generous friend of mine. Because when I found out this totally awesome information about cohabitation round 2, my only rule was that Tyson and Laney would not live together again. We can not crate Tyson, and there are no extra rooms for him to tear up beyond recognition to keep him in, so I was not about to leave both Tyson and Laney roming free without supervision. No way. So the boy was charged with finding a temporary home for Laney. Which, to his credit, he did.

So mark your calendars. July 1st. Plenty of amusing blogs coming your way, I'm sure. After all, what could possibly go wrong with making three pit bulls and two humans live together in 750 square feet? Nothing, right? Awesome. I should contact Fox. Surely this deserves its own reality TV show.

Rankings

I went home to visit the 'rents last weekend. It was a fantastic weekend. I took my mother on a "surprise" outing that included dancing and discussion of that thing you do in the kitchen... I believe it's called cooking? Anyway, she had a ball. I was glad I was able to do that. The timing worked out perfectly.

I also picked up Blue for the next six weeks. I'm still in the honeymoon phase with this dog who adores me so much, but rest assured... I'll be wanting to get back down to a one-dog household asap come mid-July.

So since it was a mom-dominated weekend, I didn't get to see my dad much. We chatted every now and then, but my dad is pretty much a solitary silent figure during the day. He enjoys his books. He enjoys his cigars. But conversation? You have to make an effort to interrupt him to make him talk. Which he does good-naturedly for sure... but when there's swing dancing and roller derby and all sorts of cable channels (Animal Planet FTW!!) to compete with my attention... Well, my dad gets his peace and quiet.

One thing my dad ritualistically does when I come home is send home a care package with me. It's usually filled with some alcoholic beverage, sometimes a snack that I particularly enjoy, one time there was a cool shower curtain that he found, etc. Stuff like that. My dad's love language is acts of service. Gifting me with what I need (and sometimes what he knows I want but do not buy for myself) is what he does.

I'm not going to lie. I love those care packages. Love them.

So when I got home on Sunday and immediately became irritated with the state in which my house was left by the boy (ahem, how hard is it to do ALL the dishes and not just the ones you used?) I dug into the care package eagerly to see what fun things came home with me this time.

In the bag, I found not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR different types of dog treats. And that was all. Four kinds. Dog treats. As in, things I can not use. Gifts for the dog. Not just a dog, apparently... the grandchild that has taken over all tokens of affection.

It's just such a rough life, competing with pit bulls for affection all the time. Or maybe just Blue. Because since he's been back, I've had a person come out of her house and shout to get my attention over the iPod I was listening to - just to tell me Blue is gorgeous. I had some people driving by stop and put their car in reverse to pull up next to me and say the same thing. I have numerous other dog walkers stop to pay Blue homage while ignoring Casey.* It's a rough life, man.

*Although, to be fair, maybe that's the growling.