Saturday morning Darin said, “Why don’t we go somewhere this weekend?” We only have a few weekends left in Southern California, so why not make the most of it?

What the hell. Why not?

So we went on down to Carlsbad, home of some caves and the magnificent Legoland. All I can say is: Legoland is great for kids Sophia’s age. Tons of stuff for her to do. If she hadn’t been on the verge of collapse at the end, I have no idea when we would have gotten out of there.

I have a vision of what life will be like in 13 years

Two of the best things at Legoland aren’t rides at all—they’re big ol’ play areas filled with stuff for the kids to climb on and around. There was one multiple-story structure I called “Outward Bound for Kids,” with tunnels to climb through and up and to slide down and vertical climbing structures. I eventually had to tell Fia, “You go on ahead, I’ll take the stairs.”

The place was even great for Simon. He loved watching Fia (obviously), and there was plenty of stuff we could take him on, like boat rides and train rides.

Simon plays it cool, but he’s really excited. Really.

We got home Sunday completely wasted and after we got the kids in bed we hit the hay at 9, just in time for our friend E. to call and say she wants our house after all.

She came over last night and we discussed the details. We ended up telling her where to visit during her vacation up Highway 1. Darin and me: you can’t shut us up.

I called our realtor this morning to say that we were taking it off the market. She called me back and said, “I understand, and if anything goes wrong…” Which I thought was very professional of her and I was glad I’d taken my friend’s recommendation to use her.

The realtor called me back again later this afternoon to tell me that my house had been on the listing service for one hour and she got nine calls about it. So, you know, if it doesn’t work out…

Of course, by selling to E. I don’t have to keep the place clean for lookie-loos. So there are up sides. But sheesh.

I’ve been stressed out of my mind, mostly about this move. About going through all our crap and deciding what goes with us and what goes…elsewhere.

My stress levels have not been helped by house developments—not only do we not have somewhere to move to, but both projected sales of our current house to friends has fallen through. So we have to put it on the market. Everyone assures me our house will sell quickly.

Fuck you. Just write me a cheque. Preferably for over the sales amount.

The second projected sale-by-owner fell through two days ago. On Wednesday our friend E. stopped by to look at our house again. She loves our house…but over the weekend she saw this other house in Beachwood Canyon, and well…she couldn’t decide. She just couldn’t decide.

About 45 seconds after she left, I called a realtor I knew was interested in listing our house, because E.’s indecision—and her reasons for buying the other house—were pretty big signals to me, even if they weren’t to her. E. sent me e-mail the next day, saying she’d made a bid on the other house. That’s fine; friends is friends but houses are business. Still: disappointing.

Today the realtor stopped by so we could fill out the paperwork. Apparently there is endless paperwork when it comes to listing a house. And I’m going to have to keep this place tidy. “Oh no,” said the realtor. “The space in your house is very obvious. It sells itself.”

Nonetheless…clothes have to start going in the hamper.

After the realtor left I did the only thing that was reasonable: I fell asleep on the couch in my office. (Hey, I couldn’t get to sleep last night and then Simon woke me up at 5. Whaddya want?) I woke up and moved into the guest bedroom, thinking that was a more dignified place to sleep. No such luck: the phone rang.

Turned out to be E. calling; she left a message. I thought for a second that maybe she was calling to change her mind, and I decided I’d get back to her later tonight.

I didn’t have a chance. She came to the front door.

“My boss saw the other house,” she said, “and he thinks it’s only fair to see your house too since we were in the neighborhood.”

Her boss is Shaun Cassidy, whom E. always describes as “former teen-idol Shaun Cassidy.” Seeing him in person suddenly catapulted me back to the room of grade-school-chum Kim Tibbals, who had a Shaun Cassidy poster.

Most days, former teen idols do not show up at our door. As I said to Darin later, “To me he’ll always be the guy who gave us ‘American Gothic’.”

“You should have said that,” Darin said.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said.

I think Shaun has bought and sold a lot of houses. He asked a lot of questions, which I answered to the best of my knowledge. Then he and E. left and Darin and I went to a movie, which I will write about tomorrow.

I have the feeling the weirdness quotient is just going to keep building for a while.