It's About Time!

This past weekend I finally moved. Finally! I live 22 miles from work but it only takes an extra 12 minutes to get there. Probably because I was confined to driving 35 mph before and I'm breezing along the highway now. The good news is that I live so close to my mom that I can see her 3, 4 sometimes even 7 days a week! That's me being an ass, in case you weren't sure. She is ecstatic. Even my little sisters who are no longer little at ages 9 and 12 are completely stoked and have spent the night twice. I had lived here for 3 days.

There's not much I don't love about my little place. It saves me money, is well lit, and suits me and my dog just fine. The neighborhood is extremely quiet and there's a nice mix amongst the residents. There are the elderly, the newly emancipated, the low-income, and the I-work-two-blocks-away-and-this-place-is-super-cheap crowds. There's also several very attractive men living amongst me. One I saw while picking up dog poop and the other I saw this morning. I looked a damned, hot mess. My hair was uncombed, my clothes disheveled and my breath was rank. It was 6:22 in the morning! But of course he was all gelled and pressed in his black polo, creased jeans and loafers. Puuuuuurrrrrrrrrr!!!!!! Yes, I was staring that hard. He probably thinks I'm the creepy cat lady. Or dog lady. Whatever.

I've decided that once I get the apartment in order, I'll restart the P90X regimen. Not because I want to but because I'm wearing a $100 pair of jeans that I can't bend forward in. Plus, there's a pair of $110 jeans that I've never put my butt in and that's unacceptable. And I shouldn't tell you that the two pairs of jeans that kinda, almost fit are worn in the thigh area and soon I'll begin chafing. I would go to Old Navy but my booty has felt the luxurious fit of expensive jeans. I don't care what you say about wasted money, my ass looks fabulous even when it's fat. There's no gaping, slouching, bunching, or unfortunate pocket placement. I can't go back to that. Well, I could but I won't.

Don't even try to say these aren't fantastic!

This is what we call a crossroads boys and girls. And no, it's not the unfortunate kind where you find out that Kim Cattrall is your mother but this is the kind that you can actually do something about. And that's where the fitness regimen comes in. Plus there's that whole thing about being healthy and shit.

Oh! So, why does Big Poppa think he can come and visit me because I live off a bus line?!? This is why I never did city living before. People wanna drop in on you and all other sorts of craziness. Even CBS111 gave the *fool, please* look. You know that look. It's the one you give your kids when they act out at a birthday party or ask you for something that's 3 parts corn syrup, 2 parts cane sugar, and rolled in sprinkles. It's the same look I gave the phone when my dad said he couldn't come through with the money he promised.

I'm frustrated with him for sure but this is nothing short of what I expected. So I penned this short note.

Dear Daddy that doesn't pay rent and lives with my Aunt,

How are you? I'm well. Listen. I know that we're in a recession. Money is tight and times are hard. That's why I want you to buy my new furniture. Or at least half. I don't really care how you come up with the money and if it's illegal would prefer never to know. But what I'm trying to say is... I will love you less if you don't buy my couch.

Love you! (Maybe)

J Hyphen Bird

P.S. - Don't let me forget to print of pictures for the FIFTEEN frames that I own. I mean, the classy people that the factory put in them are rather attractive but I'm over making up stories about how I know them.

Of course, I'm not going to send it. I've decided to cry on the phone instead. And if Christmas rolls around and I've bought my own furniture, then I will shun him... Amish style.