Infinitely Long List, Item One

Reasons There Is No Possible Earthly Chance That I Will Move To My Mother's House, No Matter How Financially Beneficial It Might Be For Me To Do So:

1. Tonight, the following statement was made:

"...And I also pray that you'll lose weight. Not just for the medical reasons, but for the aesthetic..."

And so on.

If that doesn't sound offensive to you, please consider:

a) This statement was immediately preceded by the information that she is "praying" that I'll find a proper boyfriend/spouse/whatever, despite the fact that I have informed her that I am not looking, do not plan to look, and do not really wish to involve myself in a relationship, casual or otherwise, at this time.

b) This entire conversation was held over dinner--a meal which SHE prepared, and which featured chicken, noodles, sour-cream gravy, and buttered corn--all in substantial portions--with ice-cream for dessert. (This was a very popular meal in our home during my childhood and adolescence, as well.)

c) This statement, and the conversation containing it, both registered LOW on the evening's Offensive-O-Meter.

I am very, very, very very glad to be home.

There are developments, or at least potential developments, in the future-housing issue. (I just went back to remind myself what name I'd given the person who's about to become a major character in this part of the saga, only to discover that I had never posted the remainder of my long long post from LAST Saturday night's adventures at Tim's favorite bar. Since it's no longer germane, I'll summarize: Tim got drunk, spurred on largely by his rage at a "friend" who stole his phone a few days previous and then showed up at the bar to give it back, but who acted like an extreme asshole for the rest of the night til Tim threatened his life. During this evening, the main goal was accomplished despite the drunkenness and drama: I met Tim's friend, the bartender, who I've named Betty, and who Tim wanted me to meet with the aim of the three of us getting an apartment together. We got along fine, and the three of us planned to meet yesterday to go apartment-hunting. End summary.) Anyway, Betty has a friend, who owns a condo and is moving out of state for a promotion he just received at his job. The friend wants to keep the condo, but would obviously need to sublet it; since he knows Betty, there's a possibility that he might give her, and consequently us, a good deal. It's apparently a 2-bedroom, 2-bath place, newly renovated, gorgeous, and maintained immaculately by her friend, who Betty describes as "a great big queen". GBQ also apparently has a tendency, as an interior designer, to abandon furniture whenever he relocates--after all, why would he pay to move LAST season's furniture?? (I want to meet this guy--he sounds awesome!) So it's possible we'll inherit an enormous condo-ful of totally unwanted, practically-new furniture, as well. How cool is THAT?

Things have a habit of working out for me, I've discovered. Maybe not on my schedule, but they work out.