Yeah, I like garden salad.

Fellow bloggers,

I am sorry for letting you down and falling behind on my posts. I have been thinking about you though.

Last week we made the move to Southern Alabama. The drive down was quite atrocious. It was my mom, Emma, Olivia and myself in one vehicle and Scott and my dad driving the two moving trucks. After 7 hours of driving, they had some kind of issue with the tires or something so had to stop. My mother and I decided to carry on and leave them to wait in an unknown city for the mechanic people. Shortly after we drove off, Olivia had a crying fit, which later resulted in my own crying fit. I had to find a place to stop. Quickly. Really...it was the hardest Olivia has ever cried. We couldn't do anything to get her to stop. By the time I FINALLY found an exit, it was full blown hysteria. I got her out of the car and called Scott, crying myself at this point, and told him I wanted to go back. Unfortunately, the furthest I got was back to where we had left him and my dad. We ended up getting a hotel room...which Scott had already reserved by the time I got there. I get out of the car, get the girls and follow him to the hotel. When I look up, I see this shitty ass hotel in front of me and a, dare I say, nicer one next to it. I stop, turn around and tell him I am absolutely not staying there. I will, however, stay THERE, pointing to the "nicer" of the two. So we did. Let me just tell you this. The nicer hotel was twice as much as the scumbag one, but the cost was still under $100. Really, Scott. The next day was better. Not great, but better.

So it has been a week and I have been house hunting everyday. It's ruining my life and I'm pretty sure everyone knows it. So yesterday my brother's girlfriend asked me to go to zumba with her. I have never been, but knew of it. Latin dancing + hip hop + sweat + blurred vision = absolute fun. Who knew. It probably saved me from cutting my wrists last night.

On top of not finding a house, I can't understand these people. It feels like I'm visiting another country - and I stick out about the same. The language, the churchy stuff, "yard salin'"...which sounds A LOT like garden salad, which is what I THOUGHT I was being asked. "Yes, I like garden salad." And then I turn around to see Katie (brother's girlfriend), bowled over trying to keep herself from peeing her pants. Turns out the lady wasn't asking about garden salad at all. I thought garden salad sounded a little formal...why not just call it salad? Oh...because, you're asking about "yard salin'." Go ahead...say it...yard salin'/garden salad. Well, the lady ended up walking off and I think she might be mad at me now. I'm never going to make friends at this rate.

Wish me luck!