Fool

I cleaned my phone of old photos and found these from a few months ago.

I need to read The Time Keeper. Maybe I'll start this weekend.

Laundry, water, plumbers. In that order.

My life never works out the way I want it to. I'm getting more used to it as time goes on.

The other night I decided to be brave and go into my basement by myself. My parents were Pug sitting, and I had a pile of laundry to do.

Plus, I needed to wash clothes to wear to work.

I got this!

My basement is unfinished and mildly creepy. It wasn't the creepiest basement I toured while house hunting, but it's definitely not my favorite part of my house.

Anyway, I dug out some cool old jars to clean up, threw a load of towels that I killed spiders with into the washing machine, and headed upstairs.

An hour later, I went downstairs again.

My towels were clean, but my basement was filled with water.

Ah crap. Life never works out as planned.

I did what any other adult would do. I called my parents. Multiple times. And when they didn't answer, I called my brother, who did answer and came right over.

He cleaned it up and we both decided the water was coming from the toilet downstairs, not the washing machine.

Yes, that's right. Somehow I managed to wash clothes and flood my toilet at the same time. But my brother made a good point: "It smells like soap, not shit. I think it'll be fine."

I called a plumber first thing yesterday morning morning, and he spent a couple hours making really ominous sounds in my basement.

A plus, though, is that I got to clean and sort more while he was working. I pulled out my checkbook as he was leaving and he stopped me. I'll be billed, he said.

And then I made really ominous noises.

Oh well. Clean clothes are pretty important, so I'll open my checkbook up for that.

Who knows what other problems my house has. I don't really want to talk about the cat pee carpet upstairs, the gross garage that needs about a week of deep cleaning, the phantom ceiling fan that doesn't shut off, or the wonky electrical issues going on.

And to think, this is only week one. Hooray home ownership!

Home.

I'm too tired to blog in depth about my house right now.

I have cuts on my hands. My legs, knees, feet and ankles are sore. I dropped something yesterday, and instead of picking it up I just left it there. Bending down is painful.

My house is big. I bought too much furniture, so first room in the house is literally a junk room.

Nice first impression for my visitors!

I've had a steady stream of visitors over the past few days. The babies came and saw me. Friends and co-workers have stopped by with wine.

The only thing in my fridge at the moment is alcohol, which is kind of a wonderful problem to have.

I couldn't get the back screen door open the first day. I piled trash on the enclosed porch. When night came, the millers also came and claimed the big trash pile I had back there.

Oops.

I didn't have hot water last night. When I laid down and put ice packs on various parts of my body that hurt, I got so cold I became a popsicle.

My upstairs bedroom smells like cat pee. My dog was in that room all of three seconds before she peed in it.

If it smells like a bathroom, hey, why not?

There are things wrong with it and there are things right with it. I'm tired and sore, but as every empty box is tossed outside the house, I get a littler happier.

I'm home.

"Art"

When I was closing on my house, it was broken into and spray painted.

I never asked the realtor specific details about what happened. It was probably just kids being stupid. The other day, though, the realtor did tell me that it was black spray paint.

The sellers fixed the problems and I never had to worry about anything (I'll write a blog post later about how awesome the sellers were).

I was driving to the store the other day, and I saw something spray painted on a garage. It was black, and I thought hey, they got it too!

And then I realized it was a giant spray painted penis.

I laughed, then didn't think anything of it.

On my lunch break earlier this week I drove back to work and saw another spray painted garage door. This time it was a white penis.

Part of me wants to know if my house had giant spray painted penises in it when I was closing on it. But how do you ask that age-old question to your realtor?

"Hey, were there ever any giant penises in my house?"

I might keep that question to myself.