Oh, hi blog, it’s me, Jules. You probably didn’t recognize me because I’VE LOST MY F%$&%@ MIND.
Remind me never to buy real estate again. In fact, remind me to never buy anything again, ever. Okay, maybe toothbrushes. Those get really gross after a while.
Trying to sell your house is like having to, every day for, possibly, ever, tell a 6-year-old Santa Claus doesn’t exist. You don’t know how bad it’s going to be, but you know it’s going to be bad.
Especially when you’ve lost your job and are convinced you can do everything yourself.
Case in point: Buying this year’s Christmas tree became a rushed, haggard ‘staging’ opportunity, as opposed to a magical, fragrant event wherein I blast John Denver and the Muppets and drink egg nog rum.
Case in point part deux: In the past month, I’ve learned things about my vacuum that, frankly, I think I was better off not knowing.
In fact, I was so desperate to get out of cleaning the downstairs coat closet, when Babs (my mom) mentioned needing help at the office yesterday, I gleefully volunteered. She works for an allergist, and while I was sure I’d be of no use whatsoever, she was more than willing to perch me in the front window for the day.
Questions I Was Not Able to Answer
- Can I come in for a flu shot?
- Can you talk to my primary care doctor about sending over my blood work?
- What is your fax number?
- Can I still have peanut and sesame oil?
Question(s) I WAS able to Answer
- Can my child have a sticker?
How often do you replace your toothbrush? When did you find out Santa Claus wasn’t real? Would you like a sticker?
Go Jules Go 