We closed on our first home in March 2007 when we had one silly dog but no child & I worked at a job wherre I had a build-up of vacation & sick leave. I took off three days to simply set up our home after months of deciding on curtain rods & we moved from 700 sq ft to 1650 sq ft & simply didn’t have a lot of stuff. The house was move-in ready with no paint or spackle needed & we were settled within a week. Our quiet evenings were spent with books or television or christening every room of our house, bow chica bow wow.
This move is completely different.
Our house, which was an amazing deal, is more like a foreclosure in that the previous investors were ready to wash their hands of it & not do much else. Yes, the paint was upgraded but oh man, that yellow turns lime green the moment the sun goes down. Several of the outlets don’t work, the weather stripping had to be replaced on the back doors, & we’re nailing a piece of plywood to the broken part of the backyard fence until we can get a more solid plan for it’s replacement. I have no idea where my jeans are, except the ones with the holes that I use for painting & hauling boxes. In the evenings, I sit outside Harrison’s door for an hour just so he can fall asleep feeling secure in his new home.
Until 1am, when the fire alarm blared.
We were so sound asleep that it took a moment for it to register & then we were a scramble of legs & nightgown & bedhead to get to a) Harrison & b) the alarm. With no smoke or flames, Doug reached up to touch the alarm system & was like, “OH SHIT.” The fire alarm was dripping water & still screaming at us & we noticed three more spots of water on our new-to-us ceilings & we’re both like, “OH SHIT.” Doug tries to yank out the batteries, the fire alarm is dangling, & it’s still emitting the most God-awful sound directly into our ears & Doug is all, “Man, fuck this” & rips the damn thing out of the ceiling, wires in hand.
I think we can all take a moment to appreciate a) testosterone & b) that homeboy wasn’t electrocuted & c) that the house didn’t burn down.
There was nothing to be done about our (obviously) leaking roof at 1am, so I checked on Harrison to be sure he was still breathing since he slept through the entire ordeal. Doug & I finally collapsed into bed around 1:30, wide-eyed & praying the rain would stop before the walls fell in.
At 6am, we rose blearily as Harrison bounced with energy (you know, since he got 10 hours of sleep) & we decided to head down for a cup of coffee, only to find piles upon piles of dog shit in the living room. If it wasn’t Tuck’s first accident in over five years, I’d be tempted to sell her to a low-reputation Chinese restuarant today.
I set up the coffee & Harry pranced at my feet & Doug disposed of her poop in the downstairs toilet until he yelled “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” as I see brownish water flooding from the bathroom into hall & kitchen. That canine bitch clogged the toilet until it overflowed.
Are you keeping track? Because at that moment I had a leaking roof, a ripped-out fire alarm, dog shit in my carpet, a clogged toilet, & poop water seeping throughout my house. & it was only 6:15am.
To answer the obvious questions, yes, roofing folks have been called & no, I haven’t had a drink yet. I think they call this “Hump Day” because Wednesday seriously just effed me like a rabid dingo.