FYI: The Liquor Boxes Are Labeled “Anal Depilatory Cream”

We’ve been busy little beavers this week unlike this guy:

Good Example FAIL

There’s been some serious packing going on at Chez Dangerous K. Mama Beau thieved packing materials from the hospital where she works. That means some of my moving boxes have big ominous labels that read “Surgical Underpads” which may lead the casual onlooker to assume I have an incontinence problem of epic proportion but on the bright side, it also means I felt secure leaving those boxes in the back of my car yesterday while parked in front of my office where there’s been a rash of recent break ins. Office BFF suggested that I label the unmarked boxes with equally terrifying words. Like “tampons.”

In addition to boxes that once contained phenomenally gross materials, she also provided us with blue cushiony wrapping that she swears is used solely for packaging sterilized equipment and not putting under dead bodies. It smells of band aids nonetheless. Big six foot square band aids. That’s what’s wrapped around the contents of my precious liquor cabinet … which may have exceeded two large boxes … with some straggler bottles that I insist on finishing before we move next Saturday. What?! I refuse to move five bottles of two fingers of scotch each. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to the scotch.

Last night we brought the first shipment of things-nobody-wanted-to-steal-from-my-car over to the condo and had our very first camp out – complete with a picnic on the charmingly 80s linoleum floor, discovery of a leaky showerhead, and removal of marbleized contact paper which was stuck to every shelf in the kitchen (to complete the Miami Vice ambience, I assume).

We’re off to the Cape tonight for a viewing of She-ra’s wedding band and tomorrow, Cape Gods willing, the postponed yard sale. Next week I’ll be posting a ton of pictures (one craft project and several thousand new purchases).