Mmm, coffee. It's a rainy Sunday afternoon. I spent last night at Peter's but made sure to come home at noon so that my mom and I could go to Ikea to look at the big gushy chair I like that we're considering getting for my new room. This plan has been delayed somewhat by the fact that a family friend is coming over sometime this afternoon to get my dad to sign a form saying he's still alive and therefore continues to qualify for his Dutch pension. But oh, well. As of yesterday, it's uncertain as to whether we're actually moving or not. Well, officially that's the position. Unofficially, we're moving, and if we have to leave my dad behind, so be it. Allow me to explain: Yesterday, my parents, both of them, went to look at a showhome for our new house in a different development. See, my mom was the first person on the list of people to be called when Brass III began accepting deposit cheques. She was not the first person to get there with her cheque, though. So she's second on the list for choosing a lot, and the first person on the list wants two houses. There are only six lots of something like 20 set aside for the floor plan we want (there are three variations of the floor plan, and the one we want is the biggest and most expensive and, thus, has the fewest lots reserved for it). Two of these lots, my dad would love. However, since the person who gets first pick also wants the same floorplan as us, he's convinced that those are the ones they'll take. Of the other four, two don't back onto the lake (with a floating fountain!), and one will be the showhome. My dad doesn't seem to realize that this leaves us with one perfectly good lot. He apparently spent a lot of the time at the showhome yesterday saying "I'm not impressed," and was very rude to the woman working there. So he's not agreeing to moving yet.
*bangs head against brick wall*
My mom says that my dad may just be looking for an excuse, any excuse not to move. I have no idea why. He doesn't have to pack, doesn't have to move the stuff. We're downsizing, so we'll make money off of the move. All he has to do is come home 2.5 km further South than previously. That's where his La-Z-Boy will be, so I doubt he'll mind the slightly longer trip. Maybe he's just a crotchety old Conservative. No, scratch the maybe. He _is_ a crotchety old Conservative. The only thing that's uncertain when it comes to that is whether or not it's the reason he might not want to move.
In other news, Peter and I finally got around to putting World of Warcraft on my computer. I'm playing a Night Elf Druid. I'm not sure that's the class I meant to choose, though. Dave says that 80% of women play Night Elf Hunters. I say that maybe the job at BioWare isn't the best thing for him after all. But it's his 21st birthday today, so I'll be nice. ^_^
Apparently there's sushi tomorrow. Looking forward to it, guys.
No comments:
Post a Comment