The realization that we’re buying a freaking house has sunk in. It’s big. Huge. Ginormous. In fact, I think I’m hyperventilating a little bit. We now have just less than 2 weeks to pack up the crap we have here at my parents’ house to prepare for the move. Which isn’t actually a lot. Of crap, I mean. Because most of it is in storage. Actually, the only crap we have here are clothes, our bed and our couch, our computer and accompanying desk and a file cabinet.
I’m also feeling slightly overwhelmed at the thought of cleaning and painting the house. Several friends and family members have offered to help paint – for which I am eternally grateful. But, I’m a control freak, and trust very few of those people to actually do the job correctly. So it’s my own fault that I’m overwhelmed. Because I can’t just let go.
I am surprisingly not concerned about moving day. Because we don’t have much, and, as previously mentioned, most of it is in storage, so it should go smoothly.
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I bought this end table on Columbus Day from the Pottery Barn Outlet, but got it $70 cheaper. I’m sure that’s not such a great deal to you, but I was pleased. Because the table is just so darn beautiful. And also, we don’t have any end tables, so I would have probably paid twice that just because.
(We were using tv trays as end tables at our apartment. Barbaric, right? I just couldn’t bring myself to allow that in our home though.)
I also got three really cool wooden candle pillars for 99 cents each (!) but the Pottery Barn website doesn’t have them anymore. You should know that getting them that cheap was an EXCELLENT deal, because they were originally $30 and $40. I almost had to fight a lady for them. Just kidding.
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My sister, whose name is Andrea, (which is relevant to the story) works at a grocery store (also relevant) and told me this story the other day, and I nearly died laughing:
“I was standing at my register waiting for the next customer. A man came into my line, and while I was ringing his purchases up, he was staring at my name-tag. Finally, he asked me – “Do you pronounce your name Aun-dray-uh (Aundrea) or An-gel-uh (Angela)?” “Um, neither.” I said “My name is An-dree-uh (Andrea).” “Ohhhh! Aaaann-dree-uh. So it’s not Angela?” he asked “No.”
You’re welcome.
Hey, I never said I would capture it well. I’m working in limited space, people.







I am getting older
I’m sort of surprised at myself for participating in this month’s 




