This has been kind of a busy week in Real Life Land. I’ve been saving for the better part of the year since I moved into this apartment for a new washer and dryer. I haven’t had one that works in years. I usually use the opportunity to visit my parents and be a Good Daughter. Not that I wouldn’t visit them anyway (Hi Mom!) but it’s a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone sort of thing (Not that I would kill birds… It’s not really my thing… Also? We really need a less violent cliché to use there…)

Anyway, so I bought a new washer and dryer. And some other big stuff I needed, like bookshelves for the creative cave and a new TV stand for the living room. Everything was great. I filled out all my information and submitted it, and somehow, the address reverted to my previous address during submission (it could possibly have been user error. Maybe. Who knows?) and now the enormously heavy washer and dryer (and also the TV stand, but I’ll deal with that later) were heading to my old address and the rest of the stuff was coming to the right address.

Queue my panic. Because now, I had to adult and call these people and say “WTH?” in my nicest tone. I hate adulting. But my desire for my washer and dryer was bigger than my desire to run and hide under my bed and hope it all just turned out well in the end.

So I talked to the customer service, minutes after I placed the order, and she fixed it. Or so I thought. When I got shipment notices, they were still going to the old address. So I went back to the customer service folks, and they told me I’d have to wait until their delivery service called to set up the delivery window and if they wouldn’t change the address, I’d have to refuse delivery.

Damn it. More adulting. I hate adulting. I particularly hate adulting when I have to be confrontational with people whose fault this isn’t. The delivery people didn’t cause this issue. Sigh. I sucked it up, though. I called them, talked to a very nice man on the phone and he submitted my change of address.

So far, so good.

Now I’m waiting for the change to go through so I can schedule the delivery. My heart can’t take this kind of stuff, yo. I just want my stuff. I want to be able to throw a load of clothes in the washer at 3 am when I can’t sleep because the FT Job has my sleep schedule out of whack. I don’t think that’s so much to ask.

I think I need cookies after this.

Definitely.