Spoiler: He doesn't look like Gandalf either, but I am looking forward to him when he's 80 and wearing a house coat.

Last night whilst attending a house party a moth got inside and was flapping around in the living room.

Let’s preface this by saying I am IRRATIONALLY AND INSANELY not down with moths. They freak me the fuck out.

Naturally I gasp and point to it and start trying to dodge it despite being a good 10 feet away. My boyfriend went up to it and caught it with his hand. I assumed he crushed it, but then he opened the patio door and put his hand outside, releasing the moth (which started to now flap incessantly on the outside of the patio door, as moths do.)

Now I’m not a fan of moths, as previously stated, but I gasped again, in wonder and amazement!

"Matt!!" I exclaimed to him, "You’re like Gandalf!"

He should have whispered to it before letting it go.

SPOILER: No the eagles did not come crash the party.

PIC RELATED?????

Nyet

Hello emptiness I call my reader base,

For the last few weeks Matt and I have been attempting to buy a house.  As a(n almost 25 year old!) woman who lives in her parent's basement, I guess I figured this would be both less difficult and less nerve wracking than I thought.  I have spent much of my days locked in a glass case of emotion.

HOWEVER

We found the perfect place yesterday, and made an offer.  A very fair offer 5k below list price.  We figure the seller will come back asking for list, and we'll offer 2k below list price.  Badda bing badda boom.

Except I am an almost 25 year old woman living in her parents' basement SO WHAT DO I KNOW?

The owner of the house comes back and says that he thinks he listed too low, and counter offers us with 5k *above* list price.
He then pauses and says he thinks he can get 20k above list price.  IS THIS REAL LIFE?
Our realtor says that Matt and I are prepared to offer list price to them, so will they take it?
No, says the seller, he won't take list price.  OKAY NOT REAL LIFE I GUESS.

Matt and I and our realtor are livid.  The home owner is being absolutely ridiculous to deal with, very on-edge sort of guy. Thankfully at this point we're comfy at home and the realtor is doing all the negotiating with the sellers far away from us. So at least I'm not derailing the entire negotiation with my rage (is it even a negotiation?)  We decide to offer 2k above list price, final stand, and the realtor says he'll see what happens and get back to us.

Time passes.
Half an hour passes.

We sit waiting for a call. What could possibly be happening thats taking so long? Either they accepted our offer or didn't, right?  Matt says "Maybe the realtor is punching the guy out."

Matt says "Should I text him and see whats going on?"
Matt says "Maybe I'll text him asking him if he's set the house on fire."
I say to Matt "If he hasn't set the house on fire, tell him to go back and do it."

Plot twist though, house is not on fire and we just bought a super sweet house.
But I swear to god when we meet the owner to get the keys, if he tries to shake my hand I'm just saying "FUCK YOU, KEYS PLZ."

Pic unrelated unless you're in love with your Russian female friend but she says she doesn't want to buy a house with you. Because I'm kind of off the market  (GET IT? ITS A RELATIONSHIP AND HOUSE PUN)

Sorry, little guy.

OKAY I GET IT, YOU CAN WEAR PANT

HELLO WORLD
I'M BLOGGING AGAIN!
Today's entry is about my sitcom family, as per usual.

A couple days ago my father was doing yard work outside, and decided he wanted to go to the bar for a beer. He's wearing the oldest, most worn-out dad-jeans possible with a gaping hole in the thigh, his hair is all a mess, ratty sweatshirt.

"I'm going out for a beer," says my father.
"You should change your pants first," says my mother.

My father looks down, and he says "I don't care what I look like!"
He says this a lot, as a point of pride I think. I'm not sure why he tries so hard to NOT care what he looks like, as if he's winning the "Saggiest dad-jeans butt" award.

I DIGRESS.

I decide to rally the troops and support my mother's claim, telling my dad "You should change your pants."
He says nobody at the bar cares about what he looks like (side note: the bar in question is pretty freakin' seedy, like Cheers but in Detroit somewhere, I imagine.)
He valiantly claims that he wants to go out looking like a hobo, and no one will mind.
Although, he says "Well, maybe the women at the bar care what I look like.."

"Yes dad," I say, "Mom is desperately hoping that a young woman comes and whisks you away from her. So change your pants."

And he did.

Today's pic is a gem from my favourite bird twitter.  The internet is an amazing place.