Uncanny

It never fails--whenever we move or help someone move it rains like a muthafucka. Today we spent about eight hours loading the mother-in-law's stuff into a 15-foot truck while torrential downpours soaked us. Tomorrow Cha is going to try to dispose of most of it at a flea market. Failing that, the Salvation Army will get a load. Although we don't settle on the new house until next week, we've been granted permission to move in now, and should be done Monday. Then the in-laws will be right across the alley.

They've been in their house 20 years, and have accumulated an enormous stash of trash. I swear to God I'm getting the 800-Get-Junk guys into our house ASAP so when I'm in my 70s I don't have piles of useless shit stacked all over the place. Cha kept screaming at her mom about all the junk and how she should just get rid of it, which struck me as terribly ironic. "Heal thyself," I told her, which earned me a punch in the kidney. At least she cleaned up her godawful mess in the basement--she roped poor Virginia Monologues into helping.

Cha's dad is acting like a prick again, and after telling everyone he was pleased with the new house has decided to obstruct it. "I'm not living there," he says. "I will go to the Philippines."