The Young And The Nestless

When my ex-husband and I moved into our new home (you know, a million years ago in my former life), I had the house ready for a party and overnight guests in three days.

Three.

That included buying and setting up new furniture and beds and bedding. I worked non-stop except for the occasional few hours of sleep and eventual shower. I unpacked boxes like a madwoman. I ran to the store for odds and ends half a dozen times each day. I enjoyed -- as I always have -- making the new place feel like "home" and doing so as efficiently as possible.

For whatever hilarious and deluded reasons, I expected to do the same when we got here.

I mean, really. I have natural "homemaking" instincts as it is (plus -- and this will mean something to some of you and seem like nonsense to others -- I am a Cancer), AND I swear I am feeling verrrrrry nest-y. I do not WANT to live out of boxes or bags or half-finished rooms until we "get a feel for them." I want the house done and ready NOW.

Except, OHTHATSRIGHT, all of my energy is going towards making my uterus a warm and cozy home. My body has completely different ideas about how I should be spending my days, and most of them have to do with napping, propping my lower back up with a pillow, eating, and resting some more. Plus peeing all the damn time. Bending over is uncomfortable; bending over 90 million times to unpack boxes is downright painful. I'm not alllowed to move heavy boxes or furniture. I'm also a little emotional, and can't make decisions to save my life.

Thus, I am caught in a perfect storm of not being able to move half our stuff, and not knowing where to put the other half.

Things are going s.l.o.w.l.y.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The day before we moved, I had to go to the doctor's office to get another blood glucose test done. (The entire experience was a comedy of errors, and I left feeling rather grateful that these would not be the people delivering my baby.) While in the lab waiting area for the THIRD time in 24 hours, I couldn't help but notice the peculiar woman sitting across from me.

The woman was suntanned and caucasion, sporting dirty-blond hair in a messy ponytail. She wore a fisherman's sweater and leggings. She was hacking and snorting and had bloodshot eyes and was quite clearly suffering from a bad cold. I'd put her in her late 30s.

She sat with a metal bowl-cup full of...mud? I don't know how else to describe it. It had the consistency of incredibly thick, grainy mustard, except it was dark green and brown. She would add hot water from her thermos to it, then slurp (making disgusting slurping noises) the watery part up with a metal straw and repeat the process. The mud around the edges of the bowl-cup never seemed to get any less thick. I supposed the drink was an herbal concoction, but of what I will never know.

Then I noticed that she had very long -- approximately 2-inch-thick -- fingernails painted matte lavender.

Then the woman, clearly annoyed with the waiting process, leaned over to the older Asian lady sitting next to her, and started complain-muttering in Chinese. And then she got a call on her cell and spoke to whoever was on the other line in Spanish...although you know? It could have been Portuguese now that I think of it.

(See BeachBum's comment - those crazy Brazilians with their waxing and herbs!)

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Moving day was mostly uneventful.

At our apartment in SOMA, I took down the bamboo wall cat barrier we eventually put up to stop the cats from jumping into our neighbor's far more lavish patio. About 30 seconds later, Eddie and Monster had jumped the wall and were comfortably perched on our neighbor's outdoor furnishings.

We left the apartment about the same time as the movers, which I thought would be fine because they were in two huge trucks and we were in faster cars. Except I forgot the pregnancy-pee-rule thing, and had to pull over TWICE in an HOUR-LONG car ride to go. And because I didn't know where I was going exactly and had cats in the car with me, each time I pulled over, Ish had to come with me. So we got to the house about 20 minutes after the movers, who charge by the hour in 15-minute increments. Oops.

The movers were fast and concientious and wonderful. Although I did notice this in the kitchen:

And other than a slight issue with a guest bath, we haven't really had any problems. I am just looking forward to feeling un-buried.

Ish scientifically "measures" how big the space is.
There is no tape measure, mind you.



Sherlock explores the mantel. I believe he finds it acceptable.



Eddie and Leon snuggle in a cat bed that isn't big enough for both of them.
(They don't seem to mind.)

After many hours of unpacking, Ish took me to this cool little shopping plaza. It's fashioned after the Ferry Building in SF, and has lots of little specialty food shops -- produce, chocolate, meats, oysters, even an entire shop of spices. They have a Ritual Coffee (this is an amazing, amazing thing) and a wine and cheese shop. It's really quite lovely, and makes me not-at-all miss SF's foodie-ness.

Cheese. With magical, glorious sunbeams shining down.


Just after sunrise on our first morning here.



This morning, a hot-air balloon landed in the yard across the way.
(The brown thing in the middle of the photo.)

Please note: all these pictures were taken with my iPhone because I haven't unearthed the charger to my real camera yet. But you get the idea.