The Weight of Suckage is 55.4 Pounds

While most good patriotic Americans spent the long holiday weekend eating burgers (mmmm yummy juicy bacony goodness), I have been experiencing the joy that is home ownership. I closed on my first house a few days ago, which was even more awesome than I had expected. When the title agent held up the keys, I hopped. And squealed. In front of people.

And wow. Houses are a money pit. Property taxes in Texas are HOW MUCH? Closing costs are HOW MUCH?! A five gallon bucket of paint costs HOW MUCH?!! And also–do you know how much a five gallon bucket of paint weighs, especially when all you’ve been doing for the last two and a half days is cleaning, going to Home Depot, going back to Home Depot, and doing all that crap that I really wish I had a boyfriend for right now?

Yeah. Suckage.

Anyhoodley-doo. Just wanted to let you know I’m not dead. I’m exhausted. But it’s cool, because the cute gnome I bought a month ago that has been living in my fridge (photo ops, not a case a Crazy, you close-minded dipshit WHERE IS YOUR SENSE OF FUN) has finally moved to the tiny little garden at my new house where I can see him from the kitchen and dining room and my mind fills with all sorts of gnometastic fantasies. Neither of my dogs have peed on the garden gnome yet. This is a very good sign.

And now (after staying up until 4:30 am to write the short story I was supposed to turn into class last week) I’m too tired to make my bed. After waking up one too many times to crumbs/bed bugs/weevils in my sheets, I finally managed to put them in the washer, and now they are sitting in a pile on top of my bed. No matter how much I chewed out my dogs for doing NOTHING to contribute to the household income, they can’t be bothered to do so much as to help out around the house. Lazy bitches. DO SOME LAUNDRY.

Fuck it. I’m sleeping on the couch.