Good Gravey.

The condo last weekend was a fucking mess.

In the span of 14 hours I reorganized the pot racks, cleaned out the kitchen cupboards, cleaned out the stove, washed all the dishes, cleaned out the pantry, reorganized the pantry, cleaned the bathroom, hung the showercurtain, laid down a peel&stick tile floor (the kitchen looks hot), cleaned the bedroom, made the bed, cleaned both upstairs closets and attempted to make the livingroom look like anything other than a pile of furniture.

Oh, and I cooked dinner too. It was divine. Blow me working class man. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out.

Anyway, I had a melt down because of the catastrophe, which ultimately lead Andrew to freak out, which made me be like, "Why the fuck am I moving in with this tard? My relationship is over!"

And of course it wasn't, I was just being dramatic.

So now I'm in the process of putting all of my shit into boxes so it can be moved on Wednesday. My general thoughts of this production are: "Shit, I have a lot of shit." and "Dust sucks." and "My stepmom is a spoiled cunt."

Why is my stepmother a spoiled cunt you ask? Because she wants to put a god damned dresser back in the room in like two days, but I need the fucking space and she's completely insistent that it goes in there NOW.

See. CUNT.

At least wait till I move the fuck out to redecorate.