This weekend was another busy one, our old house is slowly decomposing and we're forced to fix certain things (okay, have other people who know what they're doing fix things) and replace things one chunk of cash at a time.
The next most obvious project are the old, creepy doors. They're seasoned, and starting to look perfect. Perfect for the set of shooting the movie Saw 37.
They creepily whisper through a white mask:
"I want to play a game."
I mean, cool by me, I would always prefer Comfytown to look haunted. That should keep burglars (and neighbors) at bay.
|The BETTER front door|
Our doors are not about that Opening and Closing life anymore. They're so Over It, they can't even. They just want to retire and hang out in Florida, never closing, just blowing back and forth slowly and maybe detouring the occasional alligator.
The back door is made of the wood of some kind of rare sponge tree apparently. When it's wet, or even humid outside it Hulks up with some kind of awkward door boner, and doesn't want to fit in the door jam.
|Need a door for a haunted house?|
I really have to manipulate it, with my hip about 7 times to get it closed. This is sounding like the worst porn ever, and it's visually even worse than it sounds. What I lack in muscle I make up for in bulk weight and can usually wrastle it closed, but it's not pleasant.
Then some days I can't open it, because dead weight doesn't work that way, and we have to use the front door and pretend the back door doesn't exist. We're Beyonce and the back door is Solange beating on Jay-Z in an elevator. Nothin' to see here.
NBD, right? We had looked into replacing doors, you can always find a discontinued model or some other long-story clearance door that looks fine for a couple bills. Plus installation, sure.
We're not even trying to be heroes and pretend we can make that work. If you think all doors are a standard size, and should be easily interchangeable to keep us all sane, you're thinking is correct. Also if you ever run for King of the World you HAVE my vote, but you're also adorable and naive to the ways of the construction world....and dead wrong.
Long story, over a year and approximately 288 trips to various home improvement and hardware stores later, we finally went to the right place to order, they had to come out and "inspect and measure the area." This is code for Find More Shit To Charge For.
This is like when you go for an oil change and Johnny Jumpsuit tells you in his most serious voice that Maurice (my former car) also really needs:
An air filter, and
some kind of Sumnorother belt, and
you really should replace that Schmeezer Valve before it causes your certain, painful and untimely death.
And of course everything holding up and surrounding our doors is rotting on BOTH of our door frames.
|What do you mean? It only needs a coat of paint. Just hang the discounted door, would ya?|
We took care of the final (please gods everywhere, let it be the final trip) details of ordering the doors, now we wait for the installation
In fact, if you think you're ready to be a home owner, here's a good test.
Go to Home Depot on the first warm weekend of the year, and see what happens. If you, your sanity and/or your relationship with your significant other (if you're in a relationship, which you don't need to be to be a homeowner) are still in tact after that trip, you're ready. If you want to run screaming from this madness, find the nearest bar or liquor store and just forget you ever had the idea to fix or spruce up your castle, you might just want to keep renting. And that is fine, let me tell you. There is no shame to that game.
I miss the hell out of my tiny little condo. I had to pay an association fee, but you know what came with that? ALL landscaping and exterior repairs. Worth every damn penny to someone who has no clues about these mysteries of the universe.
When it comes to our landscaping, it's slowly getting worse every year. When we first moved here, there were beautiful flowers everywhere, not a weed to be found, and some things we could not identify planted neatly in rows, some sort of Secret Garden. Yeah that small creature and weed magnet of a garden got immediately ripped out and replaced with grass.
We managed to mess up the grass, too, though. Now our yard suffers from male pattern baldness, we could open a Dandelion Winery, and the flowers ... we now get about FOUR tulips that come up in random places around the yard.
We can never keep up with all the weeds, weird beetles, bugs and whatnot, but we do try to plant some already-bloomed flowers in the Spring to detract the eye from the bad spots. Kind of like how I would always have huge high bangs to draw the eye away from my chins and inability to wear even the most simple makeup.
|It was the 80s, dude. AquaNet was mandatory.|
So I looked through our cluttered garage for the planters we use and re-use. Our garage is like that one closet in old sitcoms, where everything came piling out, covering the person who opened the door. After some time, I worked my way back and found the POTS, but couldn't find the hanging mechanisms that snap to the top. They probably have some perfectly logical name, but I have no idea what that is.
What also would be perfectly logical would be to store those hanging mechanisms right by where the pots are stored, right? They go together like peanut butter and banana daiquiris. You would think when you put them away, you put them away at the same time. Together.
But time, clutter and teenagers separated the happy couples. I ain't even mad though, because I had to go to the farthest nether region of the garage to find where the hanging parts had fallen, and guess what else I found?
I guess if you read the title of this, you could probably guess, and this game sucks so I'll just tell you:
Some old, forgotten bottle of Miller Lite from some party that either I threw, or maybe even the teenager and his friends might know something about, since I don't really see myself forgetting or neglecting a beer at any point of my life. Either way, that stale lukewarm, gods know how long it's been in there beer was like a pot of gold at the end of a rain cloud. I'm sure I looked like Gollum clutching his Precious, from the look of .... mmm wonder, on my husband's face watching me chug that old thing. Hell yes, I drank it.
|Whatever I suck at graphics.|
Gollum pic from imgarcade.com
The very definition of Irony is not being able to buy beer because you have teenagers, when they're one of the biggest reasons you need beer. It's also cruel and unusual punishment to ask a person to do yard work for hours without pay or beer.
That stale, probably frozen-unfrozen-refrozen 10 times old beer was the best beer I've had in a long time. I don't want to think about how it got there.
Maybe my dead alkie old man sent it somehow, to make up for all of his many pranks and asshattery over the years.
Mayhaps the Universe just knew it has been over-serving me Bullspit Pie for months, and I needed a break? Let's just go with that.
Thanks, Universe, I needed that.
There were a few other times when I wasn't sure what I was going to and magically I found myself with just what I needed. I'll write about those another time, this is long enough. Have you had an experience like that?