We’re at T minus 3 days until closing. We should be at T minus 2 days, but our stupid bank didn’t get the paperwork to the attorney in time, so I think we’ll be delayed. This tidbit of information came to me at 4pm, while I was trying to wrap things up at the office to make the 5:20 train, as I was sure it would be delayed like it was this morning, because of a train derailment. It caused me to melt down at my cube, making my grateful I don’t have to see my coworkers for a week, and fearful that my mortgage broker is now afraid of me. I celebrated by having the most painful brow wax of my life. I can’t believe I’m not dripping blood, and will be amazed if hair ever grows back there. Then I bought beer.
Anyways, I decided to give you a little photo montage of my life in squalor and shambles:
Please note the giant box standing upright in the back. That box contains all of J’s clothes that he took off the hangers prior to shoving them into the box. This includes the shirt he has to wear to a wedding tomorrow. Uh-huh.
The pathetically small kitchen:
The dining room table o’crap:
The amusing thing about this picture is that it includes a bottle of champagne from a customer of J’s, a cake server given to me by J’s grammy when I served birthday cake out of the pan I made it in, our fancy plastic ware and paper plates, and the newspaper from when the Sox won the 2004 series.
And, finally, the whole main room of the apartment, in its disgusting, dirty, messy, glory:
The pampassan, by the way, is free to a good home, provided someone picks it up by Wednesday. You could have the entertainment center too, but J thinks it will fall apart if anyone attempts to pick it up.
Get me out of here!