Me and the miso are moving to the mountains. He will be my mountain man and I will be his mountain momma. It will be a two-storied, two-bed, two-bath, two-car garaged, too hot to handle home. Woot.
And I will post more entries on a regular basis. I promise. So long as the electricity doesn't go out for too long or the dish for the internet isn't overpowered by bushes and weeds or the snow in the winter doesn't freeze the pipes and I'm forced to sell my lappy in order to get a room at the four seasons. Barring all that, I'll post more.
The move happened as all moves should - our friend from the department and his wife are moving to LA and passed along our names to his landlord. I'm pretty much totally jazzed. It's a house. As in, no more 'Apt #' 'Unit F' 'Number 4' after my street address. I am the street address. Well, kind of. Apparently getting packages up at our mountain retreat is a little tricky, so we got a PO Box here on campus. But at the very least my credit card statements will go to a one-line street address. Welcome to adulthood.
While the amazing scenery, gazebo and wrap-around porch will all be lovely, I think I'm most excited about adding the words 'upstairs, downstairs, laundry room, and dishwasher' to my domestic vocabulary. As in, 'Hey lovey, when you come upstairs after you're all done in the laundry room, could you run the dishwasher?' Note that my fantasy world also involves the miso engaged in all household chores. I think I'm in the hammock drinking a beer and eating chips while all that happens indoors.
On the weddin' side of things, I'm also excited to spend 'the year of the engagement' in a proper house with the miso. As odd as it sounds, I couldn't picture myself addressing save the date cards in our current apartment or even keeping my wedding dress there. And, on the superficial weddin' side of things, the new place has the counter space to hold a kitchenaid mixer and le creuset casserole dish.
The house also has some good marital mojo since our friends moved in right around when they got engaged and spent the first few years of their marriage there. And there still together, so that, you know, bodes well, right? All I know about the last girl in our current apartment was that she moved out when she got married. That would be bad marriage mojo. Or marriage juju. Not quite sure how all that works.
In any event, we're moving up to the woods and I could end up with lots of you-live-really-far-away-down-a-gravel-road-so-no-I'm-not-stopping-by-to-play-wii free time to keep the bloggy blog running along smoothly. I might even have the time to DIY the whole reception. Who wouldn't love a hand-knitted sachet for their jordan almonds? Actually, I'll just spend all that time looking at websites that detail the weddings of artists and graphic designers, become jealous and mildly inspired, and then remind myself that people usually just throw the invites out and remember the booze more than the centerpieces.
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