We (I) am currently in the process of packing up everything we own to move in with my jolly good family for the month of July. You know, for saving the moneys, harboring our stuffs before we launch off to leave the developed world behind—that sort of thing.
My main husband man, with his infinitely wonderful heart and infinitely horrible timing, accidentally planned a camping trip with his home-slices for this weekend. He helped me pack a few boxes yesterday, but today and tomorrow I get to hunker down by myself and pack everything and clean everything and move everything. With some help from friends and fam, of course.
Things I am doing as I spend the weekend by my bad self include the following:
₪ dismantling all our furniture with the 5 million bobby pins I found while vacuuming
₪ spending my last night in our precious first apartment sleeping alone. BED TO MYSELF. Also, TOO SCARED TO SLEEP.
₪ eating orange creamsicles with a knife and fork on our gorgeous china plates
₪ listening to obnoxious pop music (Jared digs moody Indie jives and Lana Del Ray—no Ke$ha for Laura when Jared's home)
₪ solo dance parties (when I saw the following picture, my heart stopped as I realized that my dance moves are and always have been ELAINE)
₪ hair
₪ makeup
₪ cooking
₪ real pants