It's Not Tundra

So if I have been homelss before, I don't remember it. But between closing on what I like to call the marriage house (but it used to be just "my house") and moving into what I call our house (that is where my son and I live), there was a 6 week period where we were homeless. Me, my son, and our dog. The other house was not closing because I was working with a mortgage company representative who seemed to be an absolute wizard at losing paperwork. In fact, the only thing she was better at was blaming other people from losing paperwork. That keep us in limbo. Luckily, our realtor had a condo she was referbushing and it was empty. She very kindly let us stay there and we did what we could to help. But... We couldn't leave the dog alone, because he's a needy little bitch and barked insessantly when he's alone. He's my dog. I love him. I care for him. But he's a needy little bitch. He's also transspecies, but that's a story for another time. Y

I’ve been a little busy the past few years. You know, mid-life crisis, divorce, destroying a cherished family life… And then there’s what I have been doing. So the kid and I got a house. It’s different from the house we moved into after we left California. Smaller. Older. Not in good shape. Filthy. I mean I didn’t buy it because it was filthy. And I wouldn’t say it was a fringe benefit. But it does give me something to do and a new hobby. Cleaning. People don’t really look at it as a hobby. And they’re right. It’s a pain in the ass. But a bigger pain in the ass is living in a house with ¼ inch of grime on the windowsills. I know. Because I did it. So I bought a new house. I don’t know that it’s ever been cleaned. It’s Not Tundra: The Sequel.