and then we were “home”

August 14, 2009 at 3:53 am (Closure, closing, and keys, moving!, projects & products)

The first few nights were dismal — sleeping in the living room on chaise lounges from the yard, unable to bathe or wash with hot water due to severe plumbing issues, living on fast food and gas-station crap-food due to lack of refrigeration or any other appliances, choked out by the never-ending cat-pee fumes– and then, with much citrus Pine-Sol and new carpet and new vinyl and delivery of fridge, cooktop and dishwasher, and a few applications of paint… the space became (or, has become) more livable.  

Trouble is, it’s still not “home.”  I’ve painted the kitchen itself, but the drawers and doors wait patiently in the basement for the paint that will enable them to blend with the rest of the cabinetry.  I still have loads of boxes to either unpack or house in proper places.  My kid’s room is still not at 100%. My own clothes are only about 1/2 put away.  I still have a hall to paint, a main bath to paint, an office to paint, and I am possessing of a right hand– my painting hand– that keeps me awake long hours, intermittently throbbing and tingling and aching in pain that I’m told is “acute carpal tunnel syndrome.” Rest is supposed to do me good, or that right hand may only be helped by surgery…  

Fuck rest, I want a workable house.  Rest is for those with painted walls and clean windows and rooms lacking in poetry about cross-dressing fathers (apparently the patriarch of this house’s family history has a secret or two past the Alzheimers.)  Rest is not for me, an anal-retentive, slightly OCD interior-design-degreed individual who wants to have, needs to have a space to live in that makes sense, flows, works…

And on the topic of that word: “work”–  I need to work.  I need to make money to help us afford this house with its killer view.  I need to find a job.  I need, I need, I need…. So.  Much.  

Right now, sleep is paramount…

Leave a Comment

Have key, and sweat glands.

July 30, 2009 at 12:10 am (Closure, closing, and keys, moving!)
Tags: , , ,

So.

Well.

Here we are .  

 

I got the key this afternoon, after a frantic and furious last-minute rush and push.  And after a morning sweating copiously in the basement while painting.  

Temp in the hallway, shady, with cross-breeze, is a balmy 94 degrees.  Temp here, by the afternoon sun and back slider, is about a gazillion.  Computer may fry and die, soon, as may I.  

Nevertheless, we.  Have. Keys.  We are now the proud owners of the house up the hill, as well as this one, at least til we off-load it to tenants who will love it as much as we did.

The trouble is…  Heck,  There’s lots of troubles.  Number one, we need to get out of here.  That means moving all this stuff, from here to there.  Then we need to secure that place, because the key’s fairly useless.  Well, no… First, secure, then move.  THEN, complete cleaning here which means, for me, tomorrow, steam cleaning carpets.  Right now sweat is dripping down my back from the mere effort of writing this –or maybe, the thought of the steam cleaner?  –so, no, not relishing the cleaning, or trim painting here, OR the ungodly amount of work it’ll take to make things ready for carpeting to go in, for cabinets to become filled, for for rooms to become occupied…  

And we’re having a heat wave.

(really, mostly, I’m super excited, I just can’t think right now. I’m too busy losing brain cells to high temps and sweat.  Wish I had a scale right now– it’d probably tell me I lost about 20 pounds…)

Leave a Comment

Put away the shitbiscuits and gimme a WHEEE!

July 29, 2009 at 5:29 pm (Closure, closing, and keys, moving!)

…well, soon.

Heard from agent St Rita, who heard from escrow person (or title person?) who heard from seller bank, who SIGNED DOCUMENTS!!!  Now our lender has to sign off, then the whole shebang has to get recorded (a mysterious escrow/title term) and then…

drumroll please…

KEYS!!!

 

for now, I need to paint fast&furiously in the basement and pretend it’s not bloody hot and sweltering.  And while I’m doing so, will do a happy little, “keys soon, let’s party!” dance.

Leave a Comment

Well, shitbiscuits.

July 29, 2009 at 1:29 am (Closure, closing, and keys, this writer's life)

We have a heatwave going on in our fair, temperate city of Tacoma.  Inside, in the shade, with a cross breeze and two fans and shades drawn, it’s 89 degrees.  That’s hot.  Downstairs, it’s moderately cooler, but still sweaty-hot when working.  S would know, as he is the only one productive right now. I have spent the day hot and sticky, in AC or in search of AC.  Tile place (not so AC-d) Home Depot, Trader Joe’s, Sears, car going point A to B, all Aaaaah.  House?  notsomuch. 

On the plus side of the margin, our new water heater, fridge, dishwasher, and cook top have been ordered. Carpets will be measured for, tomorrow or the next day, and chosen carpet is still in stock. Direct TV will come out on Saturday and install so The Man has his beloved (to him, Godforsaken, to me) tube.  Tenants are stoked to move in, and will be locked and loaded the night of the 31t, so as not to have to move in oh-God heat.

On the negative side, the house is not yet ours.  Oh yeah, the bank has not. yet. signed. Sainted Agent Rita was on the phone all morning and learned, a. nobody knows anything, and b. there’s still hope.  Even though the bank won’t sign the last two days of the month, even though the bank has not yet signed, even though we’re 16 days past the projected, seller bank-dictated original closing date, there’s still hope.  

Yeah.

But: we have a plan. It goes like this: get another UHaul, fill it, and descend on his mom’s house.  Change delivery dates, whatev…  assume we’re not getting into Our House Up the Hill for a while longer.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grumpy as Hell about it.  I hate it.  I want to gnash my teeth and go ROAR, and then posture like some of the business people I dealt with in my IKEA business planning days, the blowhards who’d say stuff like, “That is unacceptable” when we’d call to tell them the container with their 73 work tops got caught in stormy Chinese seas and went overboard…  I want to say, to agent, to banker, to title people “That is UNACCEPTABLE!!”

And I know I’ll just look goofy.

Right now, like when I was pregnant and they told me I was high and hard and not effaced or dilated; right now, like when I lost my last job via email with little or no regard to extenuating circumstances… Right now, I have to smile, nod, and accept gracefully.

(I don’t have to “like” –I just have to “accept.”)

Leave a Comment

A Mont Blanc, dropped gut, and Hell at signing

July 28, 2009 at 5:30 am (Closure, closing, and keys, Jon and Kate (minus seven), moving!, this writer's life)
Tags: , , ,

Yep, signed today.

Shoulda’ been a great day, only Agent St Rita warned me early in the day that the selling bank might not sign/close til Monday a week from today –a day after we’re totally, officially homeless.  Because selling bank won’t sign the last two days of the month.  Nevermind, we were supposed to have had all this shit in line to have happened by mid-month, realistic or un- as it might have been. –Don’t worry about that, for now, just remember you’re signing a ream of pages and your Mont Blanc pen stained the hands of the escrow agent, and don’t think about the looming volcano that is the Fine Print at signing, or implications of close-dates…  

So let’s recap the week-end.  We boxed furiously, I cleaned at the appliances and under appliances with everything from Magic Erasers to baby toothbrushes, we sweated in heatwave temperatures, we hung out with family in town from Arizona, Everett, and Orange County, we acquired the 26 foot UHaul, and we had help from family from OC and Everett in filling said UHaul.  We ate KFC, sweated, and smelled worse than plucked KFC chickens prior to boiling, ass-sticking grease.  We saw The House up the hill, one of us (me) painfully aware of how close it was, and how far it was.

7/8 of the UHaul is now filled.  We have the better part of a second truck still waiting go to a truck, in our garage, and then to shuttle all that crapsicle into Our New House Up The Hill.  We’re living in the kitchen (ten feet by twenty, with counters of work-space, gerbil-living space, and sink and 30 inch wide counter separating it from the table upon with I write) and master bedroom (twelve feet by 10 feet.)  

I know we’ve been in tighter quarters, I know we will survive, I know this too shall pass… and yet… I Am Grumpy.

Today for catharsis I went to look for, and finalize kitchen appliances, to become aware of any KaPOW! delivery surprises we need to think about.  Then we had our appointment to sign, only to be told therein that while origianlly we were expecting that closer (the bank) would pay costs, we owed nearly $700, cashier’s check, no warning.  GUH??  

The Man was a bit argumentative about those costs, and then became non-compliant with any finalization thoughts (for appliances and carpeting), and  I became surly.  For fuck’s sake, dude, throw me a bone.  Let me get some ideas of what will be where, when we have a space to have something somewhere.  More arguments ensued as we discussed his space-planning (poor) in the UHaul, and mostly, I just needed less heat, more closure, and CERTAINLY NOT the knowledge that the new house’s front door doesn’t actually, in point of fact, lock (along with a couple of slider doors with questionable locks) –I was not a happy, happy, wheeee! giggle-giggle girl. 

I feel displaced, homeless while owning –more or less- two homes, and just plain fed-the-fuck-up.

This time next week, I anticipate things will be better…  

I fervently hope…

Leave a Comment

Here it is, “closing” day…

July 24, 2009 at 4:41 pm (Closure, closing, and keys, random Tarot du jour, this writer's life)
Tags: , , , , ,

…and of course, we signed yet another Godforsaken extension yesterday. That date was proposed to be Tuesday, the day after the day after the day after tomorrow. Paperwork is still pending official VA blessing, then heading off to become drawn documents, then headed to Escrow, hopefully we’ll be contacted soon to sign, then to wait some interminable, delayed wait for the Seller, then …God only knows what other delays we’ll face. The selling agent will be on vacation out of town, our Escrow officer (in Spokane) will be out of the office…  All I can do is shrug and pull a smirk-ish face.

Pardon my optimism, but The Kid was hoping for a half-birthday– one month delayed– on Sunday, her seven years and seven months date,  but there’s no way I can do that, now.  She’s a champ about things, while I’ve gone decidedly sour on the whole thing.  She asked me yesterday, “when are we moving?” and I had to bite back a “fuck knows” response.  I’ve been working steadily, packing, painting the whole house, cleaning blinds (S helped with windows) and deep-cleaning the kitchen…  But with dogs around, and us using the space to live in, there’s only so much I can do before it gets re-messed up.  Barricades abound to try to keep dogs from destroying trim but there’s only so much we can do, so there’s now a fair amount of re-painting of trim (and touching up near caulked areas) that I have to do. It’s like digging a hole to fill the last hole you’ve dug: an active lesson in futility.

S and I are trying to strategize finalizing things in this house, to ready it for renters on Sunday (a week from the day after tomorrow) and we’ve decided, probably, to rent a massive-friggin’-U-Haul and get his bro (in town for three days) to help us move all our heavy crap into it.  Then I’ll work on getting carpets shampooed and super-scouring the place.  That way, too, when we do finally close, if it’s a mid-week thing, I won’t have to stress about having to do the heavy stuff alone.  His work is heating up, and while he says he can take time off from work, I think it’s bad, bad timing and he’ll eventually have to pay the piper, b/c the volume of work will remain when he comes back to it.  

It’s getting hard for me to keep “up” and to keep my eye on the prize up the hill; even with my eye on the prize I know that boatloads of work await us there, too.  Oy.  

Three songs today that help:  Turpentine, Closer to Fine, and Rehab.  Randomly, they all played on the ‘pod in fairly rapid succession, I dunno, some sort of Temperance message to me? And then there  was the completely random help message in “Stronger” –Kanye talked directly to me when he told me, with a stutter, “now now now That that don’t kill me/ can only make me stronger/I need you to hurry up now/cuz I can’t wait much longer” (before he told me I could be his black Kate Moss tonight.) (it’s quite possible that his whole raison d’etre isn’t, so much, “I need to close on a house” so much as “I need to close on the girl” –but meh.  The message worked.)

and today’s Tarot from my Housewive’s deck (very cute retro-fifties designs, think Anne Taintor -styling, with a guide to match) –picked by The Delightful Kid: Five of cups.  And oh, my, God, the message is a classic, good ‘un, esp paired with the songs of earlier today followed by the Ace of Wands, her next pick (she laughed, “I LOVE THIS GAME!” as she picked the first one and saw my laughing reaction; so she picked again.)  

–So, Five of Cups: “Emotional Loss. Pessimism. Closure.  A pessimistic housewife despairs over three glasses spilled on her ravishing new carpet, failing to see that two still remain. When the Five of Cups appears in a reading, it’s a sure sign that you need to stop crying over spilled milk– or martinis– and move on with your life. You’ve suffered an emotional loss, but don’t dismay! Just open up your eyes to see all the good things you still have.  Drink up!  

and then, the Ace of Wands: (a perfectly manicured hand holding a fluffy blue feather duster) “Energy. Projects. Adventure. Behold, a new spark of energy to begin your next project! You hold the power to dust away the old and start anew.  When the Ace of Wands appears in a reading, it speaks of new ventures and journeys or suggests that it’s time to do a little spring cleaning.  Grab that Pledge and get to work!”

‘Nuff said.  Attitude is adjusted.

Leave a Comment

S. S., D.D.

July 21, 2009 at 3:43 pm (Closure, closing, and keys, moving!, random musings)
Tags: , ,

I’m noticing there’s a sense of thematic unity in my posts.  There’s the “bitch and moan about The Man”  post.  There’s the “Bitch and moan about being “So. Tired.” post.  Then there’s the “sweet story about kid and/or pet” post.

I’d like to say this will be a vastly different post from the rest of ’em, but who’m I kidding.  Because, in point of fact, the kid did say sweet/funny/almost-a-teenager things, the dogs did act sweet and clingy in a “What’s happening” sort of way, and the man and I…well Hell.  That’s different… we cooperated admirably yesterday.

Except, there was that other thing that leads to the thing that’s more or less the topic of this post:  

In Case You Didn’t Know, we’re moving.  In case you didn’t know, it’s a process not without copious quantities of work.  In case you didn’t know, we’re having a hell of a time closing, with delays, delays, delays, and a couple more delays, and occasionally progress, and then another delay.  AND THEN, there’s me being tired (and bitching and moaning about it) –just in case I was too subtle in all the previous posts, and you didn’t catch that.

Well chalk me up for something legit to cheesey-whine about: Overuse injuries.  Sure, I’ve mentioned my arm occasionally cramping and throwing out the odd spasm.  But here’s a new one, that asked for my initial attention in Westport:  My knee freakin’ hurts. Walking to the beach, I started gimping and whining. (at the beach, I shut up, except when I was talking, drinking, or falling.) –I discovered that stairs hurt almightily, and I discovered that I didn’t know why.  I blamed old age. 

Then yesterday, I was masking and painting and getting up and down from my dear friend Step Stool and I went, EUREKA!!!  –the pain was exacerbated by my ups and downs, and the pained knee is my lead knee up AND down. By the time S came home, I was in serious, can’t-hardly-walk-and-need-to-whimper-a-lot,-and-loudly pain, and had to sit with an ice pack on the knee, and a hunk o’ Ibuprofen in my gut.

So what can we surmise from all of this?  1. That I need to stop getting older.  2. That we need to be done working on this house, and into the next one, 3. That we need to quickly finish work on the house up the hill, and 4. That Ibu is my friend, and I heart it.

(I promise to be more interesting in my next post.  I dunno, maybe I’ll throw out painting fashion, playlists, and photos??)

Leave a Comment

puppies and gerbils and fluffy happy delays.

July 16, 2009 at 7:00 am (Closure, closing, and keys, colors, Jon and Kate (minus seven), non-human family, random musings)
Tags: , , , ,

So The Man says to me, “did you figure out what we’re doing about carpet yet?” and I reply, uh, no… remember, we don’t know when we’re closing???  And he says, “Well, figure it out.  Find something, make arrangements.”  I’m skeptical, and ask,  do you want to make a hot date to carpet shop with me this weekend?  And he replies an astonishing, “no,  Just find something, take care of it.”

It’s like a hallelujah chorus in my brain, full-on Choir of Angels striking that Triumphant Chord.

And then, just like an IKEA glass handled by a drunken housewife, the reverie is shattered with his next comment, “but remember, it needs to be cheap.”

 Well, hell’s bells.

once upon a time, I sold carpet.  I could tell a branded fiber from its poor country cousin with my eyes closed.  I could sniff out fiber content out like a connoisseur sniffs out quality.  I could, blindfolded, no hands, no breathing, tell  face weight and pile height as a county-fair trick, “fool the guesser.”

Okay, notsomuch.  But I can, just like any human being with fingers, toes, and eyes, tell a good quality carpet from a crap one, and my time in The Biz made me a bit wise to Tricks Played by Salespeople.  

So there I was, much to my surprise, at a wholesale outlet,(I tend to disdain Those Places–God help me if this disdain goes well-founded at the end of it all) letting my fingers do the walking (so to speak) and I found a few worthy samples to bring home.  To my surprise, the one I found the best value (Dupont Tactesse, textured plush, decent face weight and twist, not to high pile) was in our price range –though I didn’t think the bronzy-brown color would fly with the folks at home.  Third and final surprise –my fave was also theirs.  The Kid reveled at how good it felt on bare feet, even coaxing The Man from his spot in bed watching TV to give it a test toe-squish. He reveled at how the color looked like it’d probably hide dirty dog feet.  I reveled at my good fortune– a good carpet, good price, full family agreement?  Again, the choir struck up The Chord.

And so I was in the kitchen, looking at paint samples, checking the color against approximated tile, feeling pretty –dare I say it — happy , when the folder from Sainted Agent Rita caught my eye from it’s spot on the table– not where it had been when I left the house.  “Did you talk to Rita today?” I asked. “Yep.” He said. “So?” I prompted. “what.” he responded. “what’d she say?”  I said with the patience of a mom of a seven year-old.

“Oh.  We got papers for another extension.”

Again, the crashing IKEA glass, happy bubble popped.  I saw the fax, with extension dated by or before next Friday, and my gut dropped a little.  While he’s been gearing up, getting all kinds of manic-energetic, “what’d-you-do- today, let’s-paint-some-more, hey-I-brought-you-more-boxes,-honey”  I’m getting outright tired.  Insomnia is becoming my new middle name.  I am sick of boxes piled four high and six deep.  I’m sick of forearm cramps on my painting arm (swear to God, by the end of this month my right forearm is going to look like that of a teenaged boy who just Discovered Himself.) I’m sick of wandering around-the-town in paint clothes with holes (today I sported a lovely pair of sweats with a butt-pocket hole.  Cute.)  I am sick of telling The Kid, “I Don’t Know” when she asks when we’ll be in “The Cat-pee Smelling House” and I amd just… well, Hell.  It’s all the same song, seventeenth verse, by now.

But here’s a new refrain: I think it’s all wearing on the puppies now, too.  Tank’s been carrying around his wubbie Winnie-the-Pook puppet that Bill chewed the eyes out of a year ago, (Bill was sad not to find stuffing and let it go, and Tank discovered it) and following me more closely than usual.  He has a worried look in his eyes.  Bill tries to play it off, and be all “yeah, well, whatever –oh, hey! Look! It’s my private holy bits!  MMMMMM, nom, nom, slurp.” –but I can tell he’s getting a bit weirded out, too — he’s slept with The Kid every night (tonight they’re in crates so as not to become grey-green dogs from The Kid’s freshly painted walls)

I can hear their conversations, though they think I can’t understand them.

Tank: “So, you think they’re gonna leave us?  What’s happening? Why are they taking all the stuff and putting it away?  Are they going camping again? WHAT’S HAPPENING????”

Bill: “Dude.  Chill.  I dunno, it’s like, well, whatever Nommmnommslurpmmmmmm, oh yeah.”

“But, well, why did they pack my ear wash?  And remember the kid wanted to brush me because I had dirt and they packed my brush, and you’re kinda’ rank, dude, don’t mean to offend, but…ya know… –And She didn’t even bathe you yet.”

slurping briefly stops, Bill looks at Tank, a moment of pain, worry, and fear in his eyes. “Dude.  Just shut the fuck up, okay?  Whatever.  It’ll all be fine.” Bill walks away, to find Her. 

Even Flash the sequel/Fluffy the gerbil is aware something is up (and the reason for tonight’s insomnia, actually ) –I moved him/her and his/her shelf-y stand thing, into the hallway, so I could paint, and he/she was in his/her high-tower ball and he/she just kept looking at me.  All day. His/her beady little eyes followed me, I swear.  And then tonight, I heard him/her muttering to him/herself, “those bastards, think they can do this to me, well….” digdigdigdig, scratch scratch.  Scuffle scuffle.  Thunk, dig, scratch, thunk. “…I’ll show them, bust outta’ here, get some buddies…” thunk, scratch, digdigdigdig…

 

why yes, I am going stark raving barmy.  Sleep *will* come soon for me, and then tomorrow night I will have a much needed evening with the girls and then on Saturday I will take a mental health day at the ocean, to hang with a different group of girls.  because I need me some estrogen time, some un-painty, un-holey-clothes-y giggles and laughs where the conversation is not kitchens and boxes and delays and the wine is flowing.

oh, yes.

2 Comments

we’re dirty, so dirty…

July 14, 2009 at 7:33 am (Closure, closing, and keys, projects & products, random Tarot du jour, this writer's life)

in the process of cleaning out and packing my closet and chest of drawers, I discovered that we’re filthy.  Not, like, “crotchless knickers, whips, and handcuffs”, but, like, Ew.

A wire rack upon which I have had shoes had the accumulated dust of ages, for sure, but also this bizarre, sticky-tacky …funk… that is the type of nastiness reserved for our microwave vents (and I’m not even a food fryer.)  I don’t get it, but all it took was me and my trusty magic eraser, plus a wee bit o’ Fabuloso (cheap, super cheap cleaner that professional housecleaners we had once used.  Smells nice, cleans well, leaves no residue.  That’s what I’m talkin’ about, if I’m not talking about Caldrea…)

Another fun little project of the day –that was acually undertaken and completed– I replaced a posting board I had originally made out of foam core, a layer of batting, and fabric, and then used as a backsplash for the counter space we fondly refer to as “The Counter Of Fuck” (It’s where all our mail, paperwork, and Items We Don’t Want to Lose go to get lost).  The posting board was challenged, at best, because the white muslin used to cover it was nasty (there’s us and our filth!) and the foam core liked to release pins. So I re-covered the foam core in peel-and-stick cork squares, cut to size, and put it back up.  Whee, success!!  

In other news, more delays.  No word yet from the Bank (the seller) if they’ll begin assessing our 100 dollar a day late fees yet.  I wasn’t a very nice person to be around today, my strength is low, and my sense of humor is hiding in some deep, dark recess.  I’m stressed, concerned, seem to think everything S says is a criticism, and can’t help but to worry that this thing isn’t going to go through. Maybe some of those little concerns are why I’m awake after midnight?  Yesterday, I woke up at 2:30 am, and laid in bed, very still, acting as if I was asleep, for an hour and a half.  It was actually kind of neat, to hear the rain start up, then get harder, then abate…to hear the first birds wake up, to hear the first cars hit the road, to see the faint starts of light…  Right before I fell back to sleep…

I picked a few tarot cards, and my favorite reading came from a facebook cheesy-app,  which gave me The Lovers, Temperance, and Strength.    Will look all that up in my housewife’s guide to the tarot, tomorrow.  For now, I’m finishing up my sleepy tea and giving sleep one last try…

2 Comments

Thunder rolls…

July 12, 2009 at 5:03 pm (Closure, closing, and keys, moving!)

…but not in an ominous way, right?

We signed our extension (’til next Friday, see if we can’t light some fires and get some movement next week), The Man packed a few bags and boxes last night even after a long day of work, acknowledging how much I’ve had to do (this was, unfortunately, after he seemed disdainful of my lack of work yesterday) and really, there’s nothing ominous in looming-clouds-and crashing-thunder metaphor.  Right?

Except the weather.  Mother Nature seems to be bipolar this summer, at least with Tacoma weather matters…

Leave a Comment