I'd say we're all moved in, but the "all" part would be a rotten lie. We aren't going to get a fridge or washer and dryer delivered until the kitchen floor has been ripped up and replaced. We won't be unpacking anything in the kitchen until we paint the cabinets and try to un80s them. And the closets currently have giant holes in the ceiling with only a thin mesh wire cover protecting our clothes from the beasts and dust in the attic, so our clothes are just going to stay put in suitcases or the condo for the time being.
And also, we can't use our shower until the end of the week. This has proved to be wonderful. This morning, I took a bath. I AM NEVER GOING BACK TO SHOWERING. I promise you, I'm going to be a morning bath-taker from now on. I'm all soft and steamed and lavendery and what have you, and it took less time than a shower. Well, less time than one of my showers, that is. I also feel like of vintage legit about it.
I girl scout promise, we're never ever moving again. And not just because moving hurts. The house is so lovely in the mornings and the late afternoons. Light suits it very well and the living room is perfect for sunny naps. In fact, just thinking about our living room makes me feel a lazy spell coming on. That sounds bad, but I'm a little high strung and frantic sometimes, and I have a hard time doing the guiltless lazy thing. This will be good for my stomach. See also: morning baths.
Julia: spastic-colon-free since moving to Texas street.
When we find the camera charger, I'll take some pictures and give you all a little tour. (Of the house, not my spastic colon.) (Although, with the marvels of modern medical science, it can be done.) (For the love of god, stop this post now.)
I know, this may sound like yet another rambling depressive pity-me event about my body/skin/whatever, but it's not! It's a house post! Lucky you guys.
Anyway, this last weekend has been all house, all the time for us. Ridiculously so. My reasons for wanting so badly to hurry up and move have changed due to this. Now, instead of just wanting the sweet life of living in a sweet house, I just would much rather be able to crawl into bed after painting until my arms ache, or at the very least, not have to pack three different outfits every morning. We even took over a TV tray and some folding chairs because we were sick of eating El Zarape potato rolled tacos (heaven!) on the floor.
I digress. We spent all.weekend.there, and if our bathroom hadn't been taped up and currently mid tile restoration and therefore out of commission (more on this another day), I might have dragged over an air mattress and some shampoo.
We also had Our First Totally Our Fault Damage, complete with Our First Taking Responsibility And Fixing It On Our Own Like Grown Ups event. I present to you: the office mirror. Yes, a mirror. In the office. And one of those giant bathroomy ones. Yes, you can't even see the edges of the mirror because it's THAT HUGE.
So, I quickly unscrewed the little claspy mount things (this is totally how I would write my user manuals if they would make it through the review process), and nothing happened. I tucked my fingers behind the sides and tugged a little. Still nothing. The fucker was glued to the wall. We made a trip to Ace Hillcrest Hardware, as un-Home-Despot as they come, and picked up some respirator masks, protective gloves, and a putty knife that I could wedge behind there and do a little poking. Still nothing. I heard a few cracks and grumblings, but it wasn't really doing the trick. I started hammering the putty knife further down there, but that was lame. Finally, I took the back end of the hammer and used the simple scientific concept of leverage to pry the mirror off the wall. Some loud banging and cracking noises ensued (manifestations of which will be identified below), and suddenly I was using every ounce of my being to hold up the heavy mirror currently descending upon me. We didn't really have time to survey the damage, because at this point, I had dragged Erik into the picture to help lift out and carry the massive 500 lb mirror (not really). It's currently outside, and I'm waiting for mother nature to break it for me so I can throw it away guilt-free.
Unless you want to buy it! I give you good deal. It comes complete with 5 priceless pieces of our house!
Good thing we wore those respirators.
Another trip to the hardware store later (luckily, it's close, and the salesguys are adorably indie rock hardware storeish, my new favorite genre), and I was quickly versing myself in the fine art of plaster application. The room is now patched up:
...and has been primed and painted in a tasty creamy latte color, of course. Late last night, mid-first coat, I turned to Erik and announced my current hankering for a latte. That room is going to be the death of me. Please look at the pictures above to note the colors that were previously in that room. It was either leady mustardy yellow, barbie-flesh beige, or Apartment White. Not delicious. I'll take another picture later to show you the finished product this weekend, ALONG WITH ALL OF OUR FURNITURE. (Including the bookshelves that will likely be in front of the lame plaster patch job we just did.) Because we're finally moving. This weekend. Hot damn.
I was immensely proud of myself, and found each step of the destruction and repair process to be completely charming. I also understand that this will soon pass, and house problems will quickly stop being quaint and fun (which also means I'm not likely to blog about a step-by-step plaster patch-up any more, thank all that is holy). But I will blog about the spiderous crawlspace if I ever decide to tackle that, but I'm trying not to even entertain that thought yet.
Monday, November 21, 2005
