This past month has been interesting. For a couple of weeks, I thought I might actually be moving into a house with my family. Alas, that was not meant to be, and I must live here another year. The upside to this is that I have my own bathroom, which I can decorate any way I wish, and I don’t have to worry about what stress one of my cats would go through having to be under the same roof as my dad (she hides when he comes over). I have vowed to make some money so that my sister and our two cats can rent a house for ourselves.
In the process of possibly moving (and then not), I got new furniture. I went from two dressers, a nightstand, and a TV stand to just one dresser and a nightstand (I didn’t get rid of the TV stand). The previous furniture was nearly nineteen years old, and reflected my mindset at the age of fifteen: anything remotely resembling items found aboard the Titanic. My new furniture is from IKEA–and yes, I realize that once you’re over thirty, IKEA is supposed to go out the window. Also, in the process of helping my dad lug 5-6 boxes weighing too much for my weak arms, I realized that I most likely have a heart condition (which I will be looking into in June, which was the first available date to see a physician on Medi-Cal), and that helping my dad put together furniture is/was a nightmare. My room is still in a state of disarray, so no photos until I put it together and buy a storage ottoman for the “junk” that cannot be thrown away (like college papers and other stuff).
I am working on getting another tattoo. I am going to be a “basic bitch” as my youngest sister says, and getting a California state outline with a turtle in San Diego County, rather than a heart. The journey to a turtle was long. I am the second one in my family to get this tattoo, one of my sisters already got one for her birthday. This is a sister tattoo, with only our youngest sister left to get hers. No doubt the other one will lose her mind if she should ever see that mine closely resembles our sister’s. I am now just working up the courage to email the artist, plus asking my mom if I should proceed or wait a of couple weeks.
I bought jeans at Cotton On, and they went bye-bye. Apparently, you can’t return worn jeans (which is understandable), and when you’re instructed by the manager or associate to walk around for an hour to see if they work, you’re screwed. On me, at least, the front rode up high and was cut low in the back. I am not really comfortable with the whole “showing off my underwear” look I unwittingly did in the sixth grade at nearly thirty-four, so there’s that. Also, I don’t like having my jean cuffs cut into my ankles … or jeans that fit like a glove on my thighs.
Other than that, not much has gone on. Sorry I haven’t written, it’s just my life is utterly boring and I literally cannot think of anything to write about, other than my disdain for the direction this country is headed.