After 17 years with one single employer, the Wife has been offered a big job with another multi-national corporation. And we're leaving the Great Grey North and taking the advice of Horace Greeley. Let's see why. Murder capital of the US? Check. Double the national unemployment rate? Check. Pathetic football team who has the worst record in December in the last 10 years? Check. Yes, this Midwestern Boy is moving to....wait for it..... the Beehive State.
The adventure really starts this weekend. I'm winging my way westward for a bit of house hunting. And I don't even need a license. Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting houses. Just a piece of paper from people with whom I have a "very special relationship." And by "very special" (yes, please continue making those finger quotes in the air), I mean they want me to be indebted to them for the rest of my life.
I plan on walking into many many expensive houses and making snotty comments about the lack of Progress Lighting and the poor color schemes of every bathroom. I don't even know what Progress Lighting is, but I'm going to act like it's a deal breaker. And if I see anything in Avacado, I'm going to run screaming from the house. People only act like this because they've been getting abused while trying to sell their shack. It's time for payback, bitches.
So if I'm quiet next week, it means I can't get my Pop's Captain Caveman Computer to let me write any action-packed entries of my trip into the wild. I'm imagine my Pop's computer is like something from the Flintstones. You use a big wooden club to pound on a big rock with a letter on it to type. Oh, and the Caps Lock is apparently always on.
The best thing about this whole adventure? My parents actually live there. So I could be 42 and living in my parents' basement. Karma, like gravity, is a harsh mistress. At least I'll have kissed a girl this time.
I'll be sure to say hi to both Donny and Marie for you. For the record, he's neither rock and roll nor Motown in his soul.