Mourning, Moving, Sick & Tired

And that about sums me up.

We have been packing and organizing and running all over creation and falling into bed at midnight or later. (Later because I am addicted to Farm Town on Facebook. That shit is worse than crack y'all. Not that I would know what crack is actually like. But I've heard shit. Seriously.)

The living room wall in the new house looks like a paint store puked on it. We have settled on the colors for all the bedrooms and the baths, but can't pick a color we like for the rest of the house. We had picked out this lovely sage, but once that shit went up on the wall it looked like margarita lime. Eww. I know I am ghetto fabulous and all, but even I have limits.

So back to the paint store where the guys behind the counter are laughing at us because we have bought about 2 gallons so far in those little paint sample sizes. The floor guy just looked at us with pity and handed us a number to a color guy that could hook us up. We may actually have to use him.

Then in the mess of all this, I get to the house yesterday and it's all over the news that Michael Jackson died. I dropped to the couch and started weeping like a baby. I am a fan. A BIG ONE. Have been all my life. Even to the point that when Feisty heard the news the first thought she had was, "All that memorabilia Persnick has will be worth tons, now."

I loved that wacko freak. I did. He may have been an evil little troll in some people's eyes, but I had a crush on him since he was black and normal. I even liked him when he went white and weird. Sue me.

I called my sister and was crying and you know what her loving and supporting reaction was to my very obvious sorrow?

The bitch laughed at me.

And then swore she would never let me live it down. That's love, peeps.

My story about MJ was that I was at Epcot once when I was a teen and we were watching the Illuminations. I noticed a Double Decker bus had pulled up behind us. Then up at the top of the bus, I saw....HIM. He was there to watch the show too. I looked up in awe and my mom turned around to see what I was staring at. I said, "Mom, that's Michael Jackson!!!"

At that utterance a Disney employee that was standing guard at the bottom of the bus almost reached out to slap me. She raised her hand then lowered it and asked me to hush and move along. I guess she thought I was going to cause a scene and start a mob. I just stood there and stared at him while he watched the show. As it was ending and he got up to leave, I said, "Michael!! I love you!!"

And HE spoke to me. "Hi! Thank you!" Those words were directed right at me. MICHAEL JACKSON SPOKE TO ME!

I melted into a puddle of teenage goo and started freaking and weeping and jumping up and down like a....well...like a teenage Michael Jackson fan.

And then I wouldn't shut up about it for the next hour. At one point my mom threatened me with death if I didn't shut my trap. And then? I fell asleep in the car before we left the parking lot of Epcot.

I could never make it out of the parking lot as a kid. I can barely do it now as an adult. They should just let us set up a cot and camp. That would be great.

So I am in mourning. I am really going to miss the guy. He had such great potential to make a phenomenal comeback. I honestly have been having crying jags on and off since yesterday.

So go ahead and laugh now, Older Sister.

Still coughing up a lung every now and then. And probably working myself way too hard. Don't even get me started on the problems I have had this week with the bus company that was SUPPOSED to be transporting my child to and from summer school. That is a post in the making and I haven't quite finished it to the angered eloquence that it truly deserves.

Gotta run, there is a granite yard out there somewhere waiting for me to adopt some lonely slab.

Hope y'all have a fabulous Friday.

Oh yeah...and RIP Farah and Ed.