Dusting it off

So I managed to get myself a 30-day ban on Facebook. It’s a long story, and I wasn’t even telling anyone to go fuck themselves, so it was kind of a waste. I made a jokey comment to a friend that tripped the AI and apparently I was “inciting violence” which… Facebook fucking deserves it. That platform can suck all of my balls. I have had CREDIBLE rape threats directed toward me that apparently don’t violate their community standards, but me using the word “murder” in a sentence apparently merits a month-long ban

Fuck Mark Zuckerberg right in his gross poached-egg eyes.

ANYWAY

It might be a blessing in disguise, you know. I am always meaning to blow the dust off this thing and write more but it’s just easier to shit out whatever I’m thinking on Facebook. I can do that here! AT LENGTH.

For those of you who aren’t subjected to the fuckery I get up to on Facebook, here’s a quick update: we moved to Ohio! We landed here in Shaker Heights last week and have been trying to unpack and get settled. This process has been hampered by the fact that we don’t have enough furniture for our house and due to Global Pandemic Weirdness, the run-up time on the furniture we want is like, 6-8 months. So that’s nice. We have a big front room we can play squash in because we don’t have furniture to put in it. Good times!

Our house is really cute, though. It’s in a fantastic neighborhood, and we have three livable stories, plus a full basement that isn’t a damp torture dungeon like the old house! The third floor has been commandeered by SHOUTY MAN for his home office and lemme tell ya, IT’S A GODDAMN BLESSING. There’s a whole floor buffer between him doing SHOUTY MAN WORK THINGS and whatever it is that I do every day.

The kitchen is smaller than the old one but laid out in a much more efficient way. I dig it. The yard is smaller (yay) but has a ton of landscaping (boo) that I think the previous owners just ignored. We’ve found someone to come over and help us decide what’s actual plants and what’s weeds. That should be a good time.

Our neighbors (on both sides) are delightful. We share a driveway with one side so we had to make friends with them pretty quickly. They’re very nice and were very understanding when Emergency Backup Dog went into their house and made herself at home.

The suburbs are a trip, man. Where we lived before was, I guess, technically suburban, but there was a mix of residential and retail in the immediate area that was more of a small-town feel. This is truly suburban. It’s streets and streets of houses with some commercial districts on the edges. We love it.

This week’s project is choosing paint colors. Then we’ll hire a painter to come in and slap paint on the walls (I have been *expressly* barred from doing it myself and don’t think I didn’t throw a tiny tantrum about it) and then I can FINALLY unpack things like books. I have way too many boxes of books and I might get rid of some of them, but I just culled the herd and I can’t imagine I have too many that I’m willing to part with. I guess we’ll see!

I do miss New Jersey, though. I mean, Ohio is where I was born and I grew up here, but I spent almost my entire adult life in fuckin’ New Jersey. Coming back to my ancestral land is proving to be a bit of an adjustment. People are VERY VERY VERY NICE HERE. Just… very nice. It’s weird. I’m not saying Jersey people are rude, but they know enough to leave you the hell alone because if you need help, you’ll ask for it. Here? OH MY GOD EVERYONE IS SO DAMN HELPFUL. It’s cute!

We’ll settle in here and it will be like I never left, except for the fact that I have to pump my own gas (that is BULLSHIT) and I will complain about it EVERY SINGLE TIME. It’s against my belief system! I didn’t have to pump gas for 22 years and I plan to complain about it AT LEAST that long. Fucking nonsense, is what that is.

But the trade-offs are many: we are closer to our families, we have tons of friends around, Cedar Point is 92 minutes away, and in a pinch, there is a Wegmans in Erie (2 hours door-to-door). I guess we’ll stay.

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