I used to get the worst migraines AFTER finals in college. When all academics were said and one for the term, I’d come home and spend 24-36 hours pretty much dead in bed, whimpering in pain. Never before, when I was nervous and cramming facts into my head. Never during, where I was sweating and trying desperately to recall something, ANYTHING that might be right. Nope. Always AFTER the worst was over, it would hit me.

I finished NaNoWriMo at 1:12 am CST on Sunday, November 29th. Didn’t sleep till four, I was so excited. And in the morning, when all the drama  of the deadline was over, the nerve attack hit.

It suddenly occurred to me that I’d been off work for five days. What had I forgotten to do? What was coming up Monday? Did I have meetings? Deadlines? Had I remembered to put everything on my to-do list?

I started to feel a bit psycho.

Then I started thinking about my manuscript. Was it even any good? How much did I really like? If I lop out the crap – oh geeze, only 34,000 good words? What if I never finish it? What if I finish it and it sucks – AND what if I finish it and it sucks and I send it to a publisher and they send it back with a “yeah, right” note on a used cocktail napkin?

PANIC. PANIC. PANIC. PANIC.

E was off work on Sunday so I sought comfort with him. But everything he tried to do to relax me just made me more uptight. Footrub suddenly hurt. Back scratching suddenly stung. Head rub made me dizzy. Beer upset my stomach. I even turned down a chicken quesadilla Hot Pocket because I was so queasy.

“GAAAAH!” I screeched at one point. “What is WRONG with me?”

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous about everything today,” he said glumly. “It’s my day off work and I thought we – ”

“I just have so much to do at work tomorrow and I’m afraid I’ll forget something important and I really should have gone in on Wednesday and the newsletter isn’t done and I think I forgot to feed the cat and – ”

“I know how we can relax a bit,” he said, smiling impishly, reaching over to pet my leg.

I jumped. He tried to rub my shoulders and I tensed up. He kissed my neck and it tickled.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pulling back, “I don’t know why I can’t calm down, I’m just so worked up, like it’s physically affecting me and I know it doesn’t make any sense…”

“Baby, I’m just trying to help and you’re so worked up.”

“I know. And I know you’re… well… FRUSTRATED, but I’m just not in the mood to… you know.”

“I know,” he said, and looked away.

So I gave him a hand job.

Because, you know, my hands were shaking anyway. It worked out well for both of us.

Then I got my Klonopin prescription refilled on Monday, and now everyone is fine.

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This is my first TMI Thursday. Not much to it, I know, but I don’t really write much about hand jobs (anymore) so this is the best I can do at present.

(I just had to write this and I feel a wee bit better now that I did. And this crankiness is after 11 days of calming down.)

Dear <name redacted> Movers,

You advertise on Craigslist in St. Louis to provide “clean, reliable, and insured” loading and unloading services for $25 per hour, per “strong, experienced” man.

I call bullshit.

I provided the truck, as requested. You provided two sluggish movers – one of whom was probably just 16 – with a dirty van and a trailer that looked like it was used for hauling lawn equipment. Although I had a confirmation for my appointment at 9 am, you insisted that I was not scheduled till 10. and your movers didn’t show up till 10:30 anyway.

This posed a problem.

I reserved the truck for a certain timeframe. When your guys are 90 minutes late, slow-walking, smoke-break-taking, cell phone-talking, dumb-idea-having bums, everything is slowed down. We were only able to make one trip instead of two, which meant that half of my stuff was left at my old house for me to shuttle back and forth BY MYSELF IN A PONTIAC in order to get moved out on time.

So I pretty much hated you before you got there. But seriously? You could have redeemed yourselves by being competent. Or at least nice.

I had everything packed neatly in boxes. I had wrapped the cabinets so doors would stay shut. I had things labeled with where in the new place they were meant to go. I walked your dumb butts through my house and showed you which items were priorities (heavy stuff I can’t move alone) and which we could just smoosh in the extra space. Since, after all, we were down to one trip and I had to prioritize.

And you immediately began to take the low priority items outside WHY? Were you TRYING to piss me off?

Let me educate you on a few points.

• It does not take two people to take apart a bed frame. Or assemble one. Or remove or replace a mirror on a dresser. This means that one of you can be doing something else. Something productive. And if I see you standing still, I will GIVE you something to do.
• Your 5 smoke breaks in four hours are not paid time and I dare you to argue with me on that point when I write the check.
• Asking a girl if you can put her light beige sofa in a nasty-ass trailer is never a good idea. Put it in the nice, clean truck that I rented for this express purpose. And cover it.
• And for the love of Baby Jesus, do not think that rubbing at a spot on the light beige sofa with YOUR DIRTY HANDS will make it any better. Quite the opposite, I assure you.
• Do not even ask if you can just strap my mattress, UNCOVERED, to the roof of your van “because it’s easier” when it looks like it’s going to rain. I will not let you, and it WILL rain. This. Is why. I got. The truck.
• Put shit where you are told to put it in the new place, or I will make you move it again. Don’t look at me like I’m the psycho bitch from hell. I hired you because I can’t move that giant desk by myself. Oh wait, obviously you can’t move it with TWO people because you did crack the support on it, didn’t you?

But I won’t file a claim on my couch cleaning or my damaged desk. I won’t call your boss to complain about your inadequacies. Because I never want to hear from you again.

Disgustedly,

Rebekah

P.S. Did you get that email thread that I found and re-sent to you? The one where I asked for the movers at 9:00 and you confirmed it? Yeah. I keep that stuff. You should try it.

P.S. #2: If you see this letter on the internet and think I am being libelous, think again – I am being GRACIOUS by not associating the name of your sorry excuse for a company with this craptastic moving experience.

Brand About Town sent me a Nintendo DSi in the mail yesterday! I had no idea I was going to get one before the party, but I’m sure they just want me to practice so I can be a good example and a rock star and all that. AND IT HAS BLING.

Justine opened the box and put a sparkly crystal heart on the DSi before she sent it. Woo! Shiny objects!

This is all quite convenient because today I am stuck at home waiting for the air conditioner repair guy to come and douse my cranky AC with new freon. And so from 12 to 4, I need something to do besides watch the temperature on the thermostat rise.

Who wants to learn to play Mario Kart with me?

I’m having a yard sale this weekend!**

I’ve spent the last few days digging through boxes and pulling out things to sell, things to trash, and things to keep. Good gawdalmighty do I have a lot of stuff. I’ve moved THREE TIMES since my ex-fiance and I broke up, and I still have pictures of us together?

HAD. I tossed the pictures in the trash pile and marked the frames for 50 cents each. Those were nice frames.

Why did I even have those six years after we broke up anyway? I swear I didn’t know they were there. I must have just never unpacked that box in all these years. And all of my sorority goodies – pledge book, song book, dried roses and half-burnt candles? What did I think I’d ever do with these anyway? I’m not involved in the alumni chapter and don’t plan to be. But you can’t sell that stuff… secret society and all that crap, plus who would really want it? Toss.

I found a lot of pictures that I’d forgotten about – remember 35mm cameras? Remember film? Remember photo albums that you held in your hands and flipped through with friends? I saved most of the pictures – how can you throw away pictures? – and marked the 35mm Nikon for $2.  The photos will probably stay in envelopes until the cows come home** but I don’t think they’ll end up in the trash. Seriously? Prom? Pledge season? I’m not saving wilted flowers but I think these can stay… in a box somewhere, but they will stay.

Cat toys that I’ve never opened? 25 cents, please.

Practically new computer case that doesn’t fit my new laptop? Yours for $5.

Box of about $80 worth of screenprinting supplies, including frames and a board? Take it for $10.

Huge pile of scrapbooking papers, stickers and accessories from the days when I actually made albums? I’ll give you a bargain – $5 for the lot of it.

There are some things I kind of feel like I SHOULD keep because I think that maybe, just maybe I will want them for decorating my new apartment or giving them to the children I don’t yet have.

They’re all perfectly good! I paid $25 for that thing! I haven’t seen it in 2 years, but… $25!!!

But that’s the kind of mentality that got me surrounded by these boxes in the first place. It’s in my genes – my mother’s side of the family is packed with pack rats. I’m breaking the chain and adopting the “If Jesus wants me to have it, it won’t sell” and slapping price tags on almost everything.

The wedding dress never sold on Craigslist (raar!) but it’ll be in this sale. I haven’t even started tagging the rest of the clothes… any clothes that don’t sell will be donated to the Scholar Shop on Monday. I will not waver.

You know you should get rid of it but… what weird stuff have you kept?

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** And yes, there will be another awesome CL ad coming soon.

** Except for a few choice specimens that will be scanned and uploaded to Facebook. BWAHAHA!

I know you need to kill a little more time on the interwebs, but sometimes you can only take so much LOLspeak. Are you up for a change from your daily kitteh, goggie, and fail routine?

It’s lovely! I’ll take it! brings you the best of the worst real-estate listings EVER. Some of these photos are just stupid, some are strange, and some are just truly awful – sinks piled high with dirty dishes, porn posters on the walls, toilets that obviously haven’t been flushed since the last #2… and yes, they’re all from real postings (with links!).

You Suck at Craigslist is basically an open letter to the people who… well, suck at making Craigslist postings. Do you really expect to sell a chair in “great condition” when you post a picture of your dog chewing on it? Do you expect people to come to a yard sale when you don’t post the address and advertise “french prevential” furniture for sale? Do you REALLY think anyone will want to pick up 450 live chickens by tonight? DO YOU? Then you suck at Craigslist. And someone may be submitting your ad here.

Happy time-wasting, friends!