Hahahaha, No Internet

So I made all this noise about making a blog post every day for a billion days and then promptly proceeded to move into an apartment that won’t have the Internet until Thursday*. You can tell that I truly THOUGHT THIS THING THROUGH THOROUGHLY.

EDIT:** We found out today that the Thursday prediction was a BRAZEN LIE, we will not have Internet in our new place until the 20th. So rather than stress myself out over finding a connection every day until then, I’m just going to put the blogathon on hold until we’re set up.**

Hopefully we’ll get somewhere with Internet access soon so I can post this. I’m writing it in Notepad on my Internetless computer at home. According to my connection information, ten of my neighbors have wireless networks in range. A couple of them even named them clever things like “Unicorn” and “Juicebox”, but did a single one of them leave their network unsecured for me to piggyback off of? No. None of them care.

I remember the days when it was no problem whatsoever to borrow someone else’s connection. It’s how I used the Internet for years. But these days, everyone’s all hip to folks like me and locking that shit down. I’m on to you, people cleverly locking your Internet connections. I know what you’re up to. And I don’t like it.

In other news, moving has been quite the adventure. We officially signed our lease on Friday, after loading most of our junk into our cars and driving over to the new place. We still had our mattresses and a handful of other stuff at Green’s parents’ place, and we planned on spending a final night there, but we wanted to get as much stuff as possible in our new home so we’d have less to worry about the next day.

While we sat in the office waiting to sign our lease, Green made the mistake of invoking demons of mischief by uttering the following comment: “Once we sign the lease and unload all of our stuff, we can just go home and do nothing for the rest of the day.”

FANTASTIC. WAY TO TOTALLY SUMMON SOME STUPID AND INCONVENIENT OCCURRENCE. I didn’t tell him that, though, I continued to think positively, because it was really hot out and I was more than happy to get in and get out.

Things seemed to be fine as we did the actual signing, the office manager was all helpful and polite as we initialed forty-seven times. Then, she handed us our keys, and we were ready to visit our new home.

Which would have worked out fantastically if the keys she handed us actually unlocked our new front door. But they didn’t.

So we walked back to the office (passing, as we went, our four hundred new neighbors, all of whom seem to enjoy spending their copious free time hanging out at the base of our stairs), and informed the office manager of our dilemma. She promptly called maintenance for us.

Maintenance is a long word, so from now on I’m going to call the Maintenance Man “Mr. Lou” because I don’t know his real name and “Mr. Lou” is short.

Mr. Lou insisted on trying our keys himself, because obviously we might not be able to tell if our own efforts to use them on our door had, in fact, actually unlocked it without our knowledge. Needless to say, they didn’t work any better when he tried them.

So Mr. Lou grumbled and bitched a bit, then went back to the office to get the master key.

Which also did not work.

So Mr. Lou informed us that he needed to install a new lock on our door, and he would be right back.

Meanwhile, we’re waiting outside our new place, peering through the blinds in an effort to see what it looks like in there. Green was able to see more thanks to his lack of glasses, which allowed him to tilt his head at a sharper angle.

“Look, we have some of those hanging blinds to separate the living room from the sleeping area!” He informed me. “Oh, and we have saloon doors on our closet!”

Saloon doors were indeed exciting. I couldn’t wait to see them from inside the apartment.

We hung out, exploring the outside of where we would soon be living, waiting for Mr. Lou to return. I might mention at this point that the day ended up being the hottest day of the summer thus far, at 105 degrees. By the time Mr. Lou came back with our new lock, we were beginning to wilt.

Mr. Lou attacked the lock with wild abandon, drilling it madly, whacking away at it with his handy man hammer. The lock, however, remained stubbornly in place.

“It’s reassuring to know it’s difficult to break in,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Well, sometimes it’s really easy and they just fall right off,” Mr. Lou said. “Not this one, though.”

I wasn’t sure if Mr. Lou’s comment made me feel less reassured about possibly being robbed, knowing how easy it could be to break off a lock, or more irritated that this current process was taking so long, knowing how easy it could be to break off a lock.

Much struggle by Mr. Lou and a few tweets by me later, Mr. Lou finally defeated the lock, and we got to take our first look at our new digs. We ran around investigating, speculating where we would put what and what we would do where. Mostly, we were just grateful to be out of the heat, however briefly, and to begin the process of unloading the car.

And I’ve gotta tell you. The saloon doors ARE, in fact, awesome.

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