I totally suck at this blogging thing. I'm so sorry you guys. I know there are a ton of you who were total depressed that I haven't blogged in like two weeks, but, ya know, I've got a life to live (not really).
Seriously, though, maybe if people actually read my blog I'd have some initiative to update it and not just let it sit in cyberspace collecting dust.
So, my family decided a few months ago that we were going to move to South Carolina. Right now we're in the process of sprucing up our house so that by the time we get ready to sell it it'll be all shiny and newish. This whole thing pisses me off, though.
First of all, my grandmother, god bless her sweet little granny heart, has the memory of a fruit fly. And on top of that goes through manic phases, meaning some days she can't find the energy to do anything more than pour herself onto the couch and do her puzzles (Seriously, I do NOT UNDERSTAND why everyone, mostly women though, over the age of 55 fucking LOVES to do puzzles!). On her "good" days you can find her, maybe, running around the house cleaning everything. The only problem is that she kind of doesn't have any method to her madness. For example, she'll start vacuuming the living room and then four and a half minutes later you can find her under the bathroom sink trying to replace a pipe. Then, before you even realize you've blinked, you'll hear the lawn mower start up outside. Yeah, it's like that.
This explains why our house now looks like Delta Burke's after her little obsession with hording everything manufactured since 1972. There are desk drawers, old bills, candles, old Playboys, family photos, dog toys, perfume bottles, etc, scattered throughout our dining room. I'm half expecting a colony of gnomes to move in and stake their claim. And then what would we do? We couldn't clean it then. How can you make a colony of gnomes homeless? Especially if they were all really cute and stuff like that one from the Expedia commercials.