Kvetch

This morning we called Eric (I guess the property manager?) about our lease. He emailed it to us, and today we went in to sign it and give him the check and like, basically officially have this house. And we weren't even going to be able to do that, he wanted us to wait until Monday because he couldn't meet us on Sunday, which is the 1st. Andrea had to keep convincing him and solving the problems he had so that we could move in when we wanted to. We had to meet him today with a copy of the lease to sign, and the check, and then tomorrow night he'll give us the combination for the keybox, so that we can move in at 12:01 AM on the 1st. I kind of want "The Camdens" to be there, so we can kick them out. I hate them. Anyway, for some reason, we had to print out the lease, even though Eric knows that we've been staying in a hotel and don't have a printer, and even though I'm assuming they have printing facilities at their office, but in spite of all of this, we were running around trying to find Kinkos so we could pay like $5 to print out the lease and get to Eric's office in time. But we did everything in time, he kind of quickly bulldozed over all of our issues with the lease, "it's a standard Texas lease," and that was pretty annoying. But whatever, it's done, we're moving in tomorrow and tonight is our LAST NIGHT IN THE HOSTEL!!!!!!! Tomorrow morning will be my last disgusting mildew shower!

For dinner we went to an Italian restaurant called Brick Oven, because Andrea has recently gotten into caprese, which is amusing because I used to be obsessed, and now she is. This place wasn't my fave though. What's weird is that at home, caprese usually comes in really big portions, so much mozzarella and tomatoes that you're too full for the main course. But here they're tiny. Plus they sat us at the worst table ever. First of all, every other person in the restaurant was seated in one room, and they put us alone in the other room. And, it was literally in a dark corner, the furthest like tucked-away corner in the restaurant, like they were ashamed of us or something. We were looking into the open door to like, the storage room, and we were right next to the bar where staffmembers were polishing glasses and watching and loudly commenting on some sports game. I could barely read the menu and then whenever the tall waiter came over and stood next to the table, we were plunged into total darkness. I'd showed Andrea some parts of the book by the authors of that Broadway show Jewtopia, they talk about the quest for the perfect table, drafts and being near the door and being in bad-service areas or near loud tables, so now she always laughs when I complain about the table.