packity pack pack

All I'm doing is packing, cleaning, packing and asking myself questions.

Do I keep this? Do I have room?
Why do I have two coffee makers?
Why do I Have a walnut cracker, a garlic smoosher thing,
and a candy thermometer?

Realtors kept coming by the house this weekend which would be fine if every object I own wasn't strewn around on the floor to be sorted and I didn't look like crap. All would've been avoided if the lame listing agent read the email where I stated this weekend was not okay to have hordes of strangers coming by, but hey I'm just the current tenant so my needs apparently don't matter.

One group was quite pushy with the agent insisting it really was alright for them to come by and look, translating what I said for the Chinese couple as the wife tried to push her way past me with the husband just hanging back.

Already tired, grumpy and unshowered I pulled out my long perfected retail smile, the one I last effectively used with 'Please get the fuck out my store. Thanks':

Me: Sorry but today is not going work.
Realtor: But...
Me: "I don't care. Sorry. Come back on Monday After 10."
Realtor: Monday?
Me: After 10.
He translates and the husband starts repeating loudly to wife, "Monday. Monday. Monday" until she backed off my step.
Me: Monday when I'm not here. Come by, knock your socks off.

Not exactly how I wanted to spend my birthday: becoming a grumpy old man.

On an unrelated note, I love this passage from a blog I stumbled upon awhile back:
    and then i looked up from the last bite of my stale cookie, and a dirty, overweight hobo wearing broken eyeglasses was looking right at me. in one hand was a book, and the other was down his pants.

    the beanies we were both wearing on our heads were very similar. i wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

    and then i realized our hats probably weren't the only thing that we had in common.

lovely indeed.


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