Blog on the Run: Reloaded

Thursday, March 20, 2003 10:24 pm

Count your blessings

Filed under: There but for the grace of God ... — Lex @ 10:24 pm

My man Herb is blogging again after a far-too-long layoff. But much of what he now has to say I’m already familiar with, just because I see it day to day. Lemme tell you, from where I sit, right now Herb’s life just flat sucks.

Herb is helping install our new multi-million-dollar computer system at work and training people to use it.
Meanwhile, he and Susan and the girls are looking for a larger house. They’ve already bid and lost on one house — right around the corner from us, dammit! — because they had to have a contingency in their contract about selling their current house and another buyer came in without a contingency.

Meanwhile, as they’ve put their current house on the market, they’ve found some … unique problems. For one thing, there’s a dead possum somewhere under the house. For another, it stinks to high heaven. Almost as disturbing to Susan as the notion that there’s a smelly dead possum under her house is the notion that it might have been there long enough to have, or make, some baby possums. (Or, as I put it to Herb in my never-ending and shameless campaign to boost the number of hits on this site, some hot possum-on-possum action.)

You can read Herb’s blog for the denouement of this little marsupial imbroglio, complete with an amusing penis-measuring contest, if you will, between the pest-elimination guy and Herb and Susan’s neighbor, The Contractor Who Knows What The Hell He’s Talking About.

I want Herb and Susan to get some rest, and I want them to find a very nice house at an incredibly good price right near us (as they did once already before the contingency thing reared its ugly head).

What I don’t want is to have anything happen to us on the scale of what’s happened to them. Granted, we’ve had a rough winter here at Casa Alexander, with practically everything and everyone getting sick, breaking down or both. But at least we don’t have anything rotting inside our walls at the moment.

Things, in other words, could be worse.

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