Need help moving? Call my mom.

Ok, so…

I think, when my mom first walked into my apartment today, she was a bit horrified. I’m 27. My apartment shouldn’t look like a 18-year-old male lived in it. Don’t judge. As someone who was a guest on Jerry Springer would say, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME. YOU DON’T KNOOOOW MEEE!”

We got a lot done in 6 hours. We then spent 3.5 hours eating dinner and talking. Since I live about 1 and a half hours away from my parents house, my mom and I don’t do the mother/daughter bonding all that often – that is to say, my mom rarely comes to Chicago to hang out. (Sidenote: since when are restaurants super packed on Tuesday nights? We had to go to three places before we found something without a wait. Lame, Tuesday night. Lame.)

I’m totally grateful that she came down and spent the day with me. We didn’t get any shopping done, but I’m sure we’ll do that in San Diego this weekend – after all, isn’t that what vacation is for? Eating and shopping? And eating?

I’m sleepy. Apparently moving things from one pile to another can have that effect on you. Have a good night, everyone!

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