Well, the Pussycat Palace is now, officially, The Pussycat + Tomcat Palace. We just got finished moving all of Tim's things into the house, upstairs into the space that I consistantly think of as "the loft" even though there's nothing remotely loft-like about it, other than that it occupies the second floor. We I say "we" moved Tim's things in, I mean Tim's family moved things in while I made room in the house for it all.
I just got finished jerry-rigging, and trumping up Tim's IKEA bed and I must say, three trips to Lowe's later, that bad boy is like a battleship of dependable comfort and style (Thanks for nothing, Sweden). I can't predict at all what it's going to be like for all four of us to live her, but I'm kind of glad that we're going to Colorado first. (Oh yeah, we're going to Colorado for the whole week for my birthday. Get out of my way, Texas and New Mexico.)
That way if it turns out that I really am a heinous nit-picking know-it-all and Tim is a terrible messy slouch, then at least it won't ruin our vacation. Cheery, eh? Optimism at it's finest.
Really, I think that it should be a blast. I'm glad that he lives closer now (a lot closer), but that we're not thrown into some little, lonely apartment somewhere away from everyone. I love living with Kacie and Amy and all the pink and purple frou-frou, crazy, hectic over-achieving and dish-ignoring, roof-sun-bathing glory.
Now it will just have a twist of sports trivia, Pearl Jam, piles-o-socks, chicken fingers glory as well.
I hope you're having fun in Colorado, since you left me all alone in Shreveport. I'm bored you know. Bring me back a present. LIke a rock or something. I don't know, anything Fly won't eat. Wait, that pretty much disqualifies everything. Never mind.
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