I'm trying to tell as many people as possible, because apparently every third person in the United States is looking for Ebony Hutchinson and they're ALL looking at our house. And they don't mind calling at four thirty in the morning to find out where she is either!
So that's why our outgoing phone message now says something along the lines of, "Ebony Hutchinson doesn't live here. Don't call here any more. If you are looking for (list of names of people who actually live here), please leave a message."
Anyway, if you know ole' Ebony, maybe you can let her know she's got some things she needs to take care of?
Aside from a family member being apparently missing (Ebony MUST live with us! She gets so many phone calls!) the new place has been fantastic.
I learned the same thing I always learn when I move - I own way more crap than any human should. Who'd'a thunk this much crap could fit in a two bedroom apartment?I always start packing with all sorts of motivation, labeling two sides of each box just to make sure the labeled side isn't turned toward the wall. They start out quite exact, "stationary, school supplies, stapler, hole punch." But I can only keep it up so long:
Still not so bad. I can kind of tell what's in there. Later on I had to resort to this:At least I knew it was bound for the kitchen. But finally, you know, I had to get even more general. Because who has time for all that?The crazy thing is, I probably drop stuff off at Salvation Army once every month or two and the crap STILL creeps in at an alarming rate.
So the moral of the story is...I'm not sure what the moral of the story is. The crap that follows you into your house on a daily basis is relentless and insidious? The peeps looking for Ebony Hutchinson are definitely relentless and quite possibly insidious? Jill has nothing better to do than post pictures of her own moving boxes to the internet? Oh well. At least the movers had a little laugh.