Now it’s semi-official.. semi, since we haven’t officially moved yet and don’t have the keys to the new place and shit like that. Obviously this also means that soon I won’t have time to blog for, let’s say a couple of weeks or so. Yeah, it might be and probably will be less but I would rather not get your hopes (hopes?) up so I won’t. This weekend and the beginning of next week will be utter moving madness. Thankfully though, my awesome wife has gone all
Robert Mugabe on our asses and as such she’s in charge of packing and coordinating everything pre-moving. I say thankfully because my “packing” consists of taking a box, and just sweeping everything I can reach into said box. Needless to say, this is why when I looked for my passport some months ago (went to London, got married) I had a moment of thinking “Where did I ‘pack’ my passport last time we moved?”
“Oh yeah, that’s right! It’s with my porn!”
Which it obviously totally was.. because I suck at packing. I am however better at the “manly” part of moving. The moving boxes from one location to another, so that will my Mugabe-moment. Anyway.. things are a bit chaotic at the moment to say the least.
As parts of me are sad because.. well, I won’t have a balcony any more. Other parts stand erect and more than willing to take on new challenges (penis joke). It’s time to move on, out with the old and smelly that hasn’t been used in a while (No longer a penis-joke.. stop laughing!). In with the new, fresh things like a Masonry heater in a quaint wooden house. This place has served us well.. adequately. Things will be missed. Others will not so much, like our staring neighbours from across the road.
So, I might not be able to blog as much for a random future amount of time. But mourn not for the loss of my awesomely sex-able writings, instead gaze your eyes towards the future for that is where we will meet again. And for those of you that are in a coma, it’s okay.. we’re cool, you haven’t really been reading this anyway. Unless you have a relative or some other close next of kin that is sitting next to you reading this out loud, at this very moment. By the off chance that you are.. Have you tried poking them with a sharp stick? Oh, not funny? What about a blunt instrument like a spoon? At least then you would have an original sin to confess;
“Father, forgive me for I have sinned. I poked my comatose cousin with a spoon.”
Partly stolen from Eddie Izzard, but only partly. Check him out, he’s hilarious. Even with a laughometer.
Now I’m trying to figure out how to end this in a way that ties the beginning part to the end bit. But I can’t think of anything that can logically go from “We’re moving to a new apartment” to “butt sex”. So instead of trying to make sense, which I rarely do anyway. Here’s two pictures of an owl baby that was sitting at my mom’s front porch this morning. The ‘effin thing did not move an inch (nor a millimeter) as we pictured it, only making klickety noises in a unsuccessful attempt to scare us of. But I mean “come on”, it was like ~12 cm (4.7 inches) high at best. I’ve drunkenly stepped on things bigger than this, though they couldn’t in all fairness bite me either. Anyway.
So my farewell words this time will be “Oh, Owl baby, I really want to stroke your pimp hat”.
