yes, but how close is it to jamba juice?

Moving is a pain in the patootie. For the record, I hate that word and I'm never using it again. You're welcome.

So the truth is out now: I'm moving to Provorem, the place where all single people go to die...I mean...live. LIVE. Gosh. 

Looking for apartments via the internetz is entertaining.

So far, here's the success I've had.

"Ooh this one looks nifty! Like a house from Main Street USA in Disneyland!"

(sees rent price)

"Hmm I really don't want to sell my kidney this year. Nevermind bye."

"Sweet, this one has a fireplace. I can finally re-create that scene in Hunchback of Notre Dame when the bad guy falls flat on his face in front of the fire [unrealistic, he should've had his eyebrows singed off] after having a weird vision of the gypsy Esmerelda!"

"....Oh wait nevermind it doesn't have a bell tower."

"Ready to move in! Fully-furnished! Also includes a cat, 2 dogs, a pig, 2 chickens, and a parrot! .....aw shoot, I clicked on zookeeper job postings again." Yeah except that I didn't. This was real life. REAL. Life. 

"This apartment is probably perfect for you if you like hepatitis!"

Yeah, so that one might be inside of Beto's. 

Do you see my predicament?

Oh yeah, and I am pretty sure I will lose all use of my arms trying to move my book-boxes into my car. Why must I carry around my library with me?! 

I just..DK.

Peace and blessin's and also help me find a place if you know of anything that isn't more expensive than Dolly Parton's plastic surgery bill and is also close to a smoothie place (#priorities)

KTHANKSBYE