Billy Ocean Must Die
We're up to our eyeballs in boxes at the moment, moving into a larger place so we can accommodate The Boy and his expanding world of stuff. It a nice neighbourhood we're moving to, great family area. But unlike the neighbourhood we live in -- chock-o-block full of cafes, shops and restaurants -- it's pretty much void of any urban experiences. The closest coffee shop is a (ugh) Starbucks about a mile down the road and there are a couple of fast-food joints. I can't wait to eat at Sushi-GO!
This morning I spent time on the phone moving our utilities to the new address. I'd been avoiding it, mostly because I hate spending half my time on hold, but like death and taxes it's inevitable. The hold time was actually reasonable today, but the music they play while you wait - oh my freaking gawd! Why do they all choose to play "Soft Rock Favourites'? Favourite of who? I refuse to believe there are any people who aren't
The gas company was the only company that provided some sort of relief by breaking up the music with service reminders. "If you smell gas, or this is a gas emergency call 1-800-663-9911." I think they're missing the most critical piece of instruction - Run! Run for your life! I could just imagine... "Okay sure, I'll just dial this 1-800 numb... **BLAMMO**!"
So the family is on the move. Not that I've been posting that regularly as of late, but I might go silent for the next week as the computers get packed away. Next post, we'll be in our new digs.