Read at your own risk.

So, if you're looking for sunshine and roses and happy stories, go read another blog. It's been quite the fun week, and I can't decide which to rant about:

- My demon former landlord who is OCD about cleaning apartments and is charging us by the hour to go back over everything I did because it screamed filthy to her. The woman took apart the sinks to find hair we missed and yelled at us for not unscrewing the vents in the ceiling and cleaning them out. BYU wasn't this picky. Phooey on you, landlady. Keep it up and I'll kidnap you, drive you to Antimony, and leave you there.

-Speaking of which, Antimony was as lovely as ever. We were there all of twelve hours when our brand new tent snapped. In two places. For no apparent reason. Also, on the way down the mountain, our car hit the same rock that punched a hole in our oil pan last year, and we're now leaking antifreeze. At least we made it home. Never again, oh Antimony. There's a reason it's located right next to Hell's Backbone.

-The cold showers we've been taking since we moved in. And now our gas is finally on, and I don't have the upper body strength to turn the valve and partake of the goodness. I knew I should be hitting the gym. Curse my wimpiness.

-Madeline didn't like moving. Or camping. For the past three days, she has been clingy 24/7, throwing kicking and screaming fits whenever you tell her no, and refusing to nap when she is tired. I'm sure our first impression at our new ward was fantastic. Especially when the lesson is on reverence and respect and removing screaming children from sacrament meeting. At least they'll remember us.

So, there's all my ranting in one post, for your enjoyment. Let us commiserate, and tomorrow I'll write about how wonderful it is to own my own home and stuff. After I spend a little more time unpacking boxes and trying to impose order on the chaos. Maybe I'll just boycott life and spend time watching some wonderfully stupid and utterly useless drama on the Bachelorette. Because choosing your life long partner (read: fling of six months) from a flock of fame hungry single men is way more difficult than my life.