Last night Way too early this morning, as I was lying in bed trying desperately to fall back to sleep (at 3-freakin’-30), I realized that Shortman and I are down to our final nights in this house, on this street. (Mr. Hot has a few extra days before he joins us.) We’d planned to live here for the rest of our lives – until real life intervened.

I’ll miss watching things turn green, hearing the mules that live behind us braying, running out to the garden to pick a fresh tomato or an ear of corn, but I know there will be many new places to explore and new adventures to be had. Rather than the white bread existence we’ve lived for the past four years, we’ll be surrounded by different languages and people – in one of the most diverse neighborhoods in the United States. THAT, my friends, is an awesome thing.

Like counting sheep, though, last night, I wanted to see if I could figure out all of the streets I’ve lived on in my life. Amazingly enough, even in my advanced state of Can’t.Remember.Shit, I got through the list.

1. Middlesex – No, not the one in the Jeffrey Eugenides novel, but being that our Middlesex was in Dearborn, and that one was in Detroit, it could have been an offshoot.
2. Ternes – My brother The Golden Child was born while we were renting the upper flat.
3. Birchwood – Until I was 13.
4. Lilley – MomandDad still live here.
5. John C. Holmes Hall – at Michigan State. But only for a year.
6. Kanawha Terrace – My first out of state home, it’s where I lived with Practice for a year.
7. Route 2 – Yes, really. A Rural Route road out in the middle of nowhere. Practice and I lasted six months in that place.
8. Lower Falls – The first mortgage in my name. I left Practice to sell it after we split.
9. 20th – The honeymoon apartment for me and Mr. Hot. Shortman was conceived here. One of my favorites, for certain.
10. Buffington – Shortman was born while we were in this house. It was our last home in West-by-gawd-Virginia. It’s been replaced with a parking lot.
11. Brooke Park – My least favorite apartment ever. It felt like a motel, but with gross-er carpeting.
12. Mansfield – Our longest tenure anyplace, we lasted nine years in this little spot. Had our upstairs neighbors not been douchebags, we probably would have stayed even longer.
13. Mansfield – No, not a typo. We moved from one end of Mansfield to the other. Our townhouse was bright, shiny and sun-filled. Then it was converted into a condo – and we had no interest in buying from the developer.
14. Maplewood – Next door to the Best Neighbors in the World.
15. Iris – It’s where I’m sitting now. At least for another 24 hours, it’s home.

—- Two flowers and two tree references. A couple of Great Britain references. A dorm named after a hairy porn star. A couple water references. I’ve left memories in each and every one. —-

• Shortman finishing his freshman year.
• Lilacs blooming in the neighborhood.
• Address change cards.
• A family for our house – their new home.
• The return of the songbirds.

—- Spring is all about new beginnings. —-

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things. Thanks to Schmutzie, as always.

Thank you all so very much for the well wishing and the congratulations. We’re still way too busy trying to get out of one house and into the other; coordinating Shortman’s move out of the dorm (and storing his stuff at MomandDad’s for the summer); convincing the U.S. Census Bureau that yes, indeed, we did complete the forms you sent – for three different addresses even!; and figuring out WHERE.THE.FUCK. we are going to put all of our furniture, clothing, Christmas decorations and miscellaneous junk.

I won’t even get into the fact that moving from one state to another brings its own unique challenges – where DOES ONE get a driver’s license?

The boy cat hasn’t come out of the bedroom since we arrived. Of course, the fact that he’s completely hoarse from crying the entire 265 miles does mean that I’m fine with not hearing him for a few days – as long as he’s using his litter box (and that does seem to be the case). His sister – the brave one – comes out from under the couch when I get home from work, as long as I lure her with her favorite sound: the sound of a cheese stick wrapper being peeled back.

Poopy the Puppy was here for the weekend, but went back to Ann Arbor with Mr. Hot to finish up his duties as official greeter of all of the inspectors and repairmen traipsing through his home. He learned quickly that walking the city streets can be fun, but hearing people walking overhead? Not.so.much.

Annnnyyyywayyyyyy.

All of that to say that I’m still around (oh Hai!) and once we get internet back and I’m not working off an aircard (seriously? sucky.), I hope that posting won’t be so painfully slow. In fact, I may actually get to talk to y’all again. (And by talk, I mean…y’know, respond to your wonderful, generous, hilarious comments.)

And about that aircard? It took me 15 minutes to find the movie clip I wanted to show you for Anonymous Boxer’s Movie-Clip-Wednesday (see? the title on this post does make a little bit of sense) only to find out after watching the first 88 seconds (which also took 15 additional minutes) that embedding was disabled. During that time, I completely lost my signal. Twice.

It’s Viggo Mortenson playing Aragorn and Liv Tyler as Arwen in The Lord of the Rings. I remember when we first saw the movie – Mr. Hot and I were sitting there with Shortman. Y’know how hard it is to get all mushy with your date when there’s a 13(?) year old sitting between you in the theater? Yea. Kinda like that. It’s how I feel about our relationship though – like I waited an entire lifetime for him (and dammit, I’m sitting here STILL waiting for him to get his cute ass to Chicago).

Favorite Movie Kiss ever.

—- Nearly twenty years later and I still feel like wet noodles when we kiss. —-

Monday:

• Found out that the branch manager at my bank (who I’ve been talking to for the past year) is the same guy that hit on me while we were both in college. He was married. I was engaged. I turned him down, btw.
• Put the “For Sale” sign in the front yard of the Ann Arbor house.

Tuesday:

• Mooned 60 people.

Wednesday:

• Stayed up WAY TOO LATE drinking wine. And watching “Chicago Hope” on Hulu. By myself.
• I think that’s probably 17 kinds of wrong, but I don’t give a damn.

Thursday:

• Talked to my 29-year-old Realtor (at 8 a.m.) because his dad had died, he hates his step-mom, and he “thinks of me as a favorite Aunt”. Realized I am old.
• Closed on our condo. No, really. I mean it. 31 days from seeing it for the first time to owning it. We’re fast that way.
• Flew back to Michigan for the second-to-last time. Fuck you American Eagle and your sparrow-sized airplanes.
Friday:
• Picked up a 15-foot rental truck so we can drive back to Chicago tomorrow and I can sleep in the new home from now on. With the cats.
• Accepted a full-price offer on the Ann Arbor house. Full.Price. Seriously. Four days after we put it up for sale. Now, pray their loan goes through.
• Clinked glasses with Mr. Hot. Several times. Plan to do unspeakable things to with him tonight.

Tomorrow:

• Drive back to Chicago … to our new home … begin living normally again.

—- One of these days – soon – my life is going to be spent in one city and I’ll be able to respond to all of your wonderful comments. Thanks for seeing me through the last 14 months. There’s no way I could have gotten through it without y’all. —-

Generally, I’m pretty good at speaking in public. I can even answer impromptu questions and sound reasonably intelligent. Today, however, I should have sat down, kept my mouth shut, and well…it wasn’t pretty.

The Setting:
A large conference room with about 60 people waiting to hear all about the contracts we just signed and how the terms of said contracts would change the way they do their jobs.

The Participants:
Leaders from my company. Managers, MY BOSS, my team, clients.

The Timeframe:
Between 9:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. today.

The Story:

Ehem.

So, one of my team was standing at the podium, very eloquently walking through the 20-page document we’ve spent the last three weeks developing. The room’s attention was on him. I was sitting in front of his podium, taking notes, preparing for my part of the presentation when someone decided to ask a question. He nodded at me and said, “The Hotfessional can probably explain that better, she’s been closer to that part of the negotiation process.”

I thanked him kindly, picked up the portable microphone that was laying on the table in front of me and turned to look at the crowd – which was, of course, all behind me. As I sat swiveling in my chair to make eye contact, I realized that I probably needed to stand up and turn around to actually, y’know, face the people trying to listen.

So I did.

I stood up, (with my back to 60 people), turned around, and sat daintily on the table. I answered the question, smiled, and sat back down in my seat.

As I did, my team member, the guy at the podium, slipped a piece of paper down onto the table in front of me.

What did it say?

Ree. The zipper on your skirt is wide open.

The Horror:
The zipper on my skirt was in the back. I was wearing black tights, but the control top part? VERY SHEER. Also, no panties under said tights.

—- I mooned 60 people today. —-