Before getting married, many people like to bestow wisdom upon the bride to be. Wisdom and advice such as “Don’t let the sun go down on your anger,” and “Be sure to marry your best friend, because when you get old and the sex is gone, you can still enjoy each other’s company.” Some advice, although comprehendible, may be awkward to hear such as, “Keep his tummy full and his balls empty and he’ll never stray.” Some of the advice yields warning. I was warned of the top four things most couples argue about that could lead to destruction if you let it. They are money, in-laws, sex, and…….home remodeling.
This blog is devoted to all the newlyweds who are facing trials and tribulations while remodeling, relocating, or building a home.
This blog does come with a disclaimer that I am a horrible speller, proof reader, and user of grammar. Our country is quick to forgive an alcoholic or adulterer, so cut a little slack if it’s obvious I didn’t get my degree in language arts.
Do I think it is pretentious to blog or twitter about one’s own life? Yes. But, I believe my hypocrisy is excused for the following three reasons: 1) I never wrote in a diary growing up (probably because I was too self-conscious of spelling errors and this was a time before spell check), 2) I do have a full time job away from the computer, and I am not an obese shut-in living off unemployment, 3) the logic that if the amount of friends you have on Facebook is indirectly proportional to the amount of friends you actually have in real life. If people don’t care about my newlywed home remodeling misadventures in real life, then maybe people in cyber space will care.
You can’t fully appreciate Cinderella finding the glass slipper without knowing a little of her back-story. My husband (T) and I dated nearly 3 years before getting married. In those 3 years, we a huge falling out and broke up for about 2 months. Everything was going fine while we both lived in the apartment complex we re-met in. (We met the first time in middle school, but I hadn’t seen him since I was a junior in high school until I ran into at the apartment’s rental office.) He couldn’t take apartment living anymore, so he bought a house off of auction. After watching Storage Wars on A&E, I have realized that auctions are a bunch of B.S. There is always some jerk-off jacking up the price with no intention of buying. Well, that’s what happened to T. Some jerk-off on a cell phone was bidding against him. Not only did T buy the house in the higher range of his budget, but he bought a house on the “wrong side of the tracks.” Thus, starts our first home fight. You would think someone who had flipped two houses previously would know the number 1 rule in real-estate: location, location, location. Drug dealers a few houses down on one side and people who are confused between the difference in a driveway and front yard on the other side only makes a good location if the patriarch is serving time. Fast-forward past the hours of me pulling staples from the previously smurf turf carpeted 1500 ft2 floor, hours of DTR (define the relationship) talks, hours of prep and painting, hours of why don’t you get rid of your alcoholic roommate that is 2 months behind in rent, borrows and doesn’t return your clothes, and is too stupid to realize that the dryer has a lint trap and it needs to be emptied because it is a fire hazard if you don’t. We broke up for two months. During that time I bought my own house on the right side of the tracks. It’s a small 1300 ft2 house, but it has an acre fenced-in backyard and a few of the lake. Two of the most expensive multi-million dollar homes in the city are right across the street! Although I had a home for myself and my dogs and goat, I realized that even though I can live without T, I didn’t want to. We got back together, and T put his house on the market, and he moved in with me.
Now, we have been married for 6 months and we are on week 2 of home remodeling. Those 2 weeks have involved three plumbing leaks, a cat fight behind the drywall in between the bath tub and insulation, and a small animal humane trap that smells like a skunk. My house was built in the 50’s. The last residence of this 1300 ft2 shack was a doctor, his wife, and their 12 adopted kids. No, they weren’t Dr. and Mrs. Cullen and they we’re raising vampires. They were actually home schooling 12 kids in this tiny house, including an autistic child that liked to draw on the walls. He drew a very good Albert Einstein on the wall that later became by bedroom. Cheaper by the dozen sold the house to a house flipper. For a COC (Church of Christ) deacon, this guy was the biggest Jew Bastard. There is no telling how much money he made off of me. He saw “Property Virgin” stamped on my forehead and rigged this house instead of flipping it. For example, the stone work he put on the steps leading to the front door are already falling off. The crown molding and waynes coating was put up with a flat head nail instead of a finishing nail. He didn’t even putty, sand, and paint over the nail holes. The bathroom “fart fan” was wired wrong, thus didn’t work. The list goes on, but perhaps the biggest problem was the bathroom. Ever since I moved in, there was a funky, death, sewer, mildew smell. Everything in the bathroom was brand new, the tub and shower, toilet, sink and vanity. But, I couldn’t figure out what that smell was or where it was coming from. Shortly after T and I got married, T popped open the access panel to the shower, while I was taking a shower, and saw lots of water and soap suds. One of the things I love about T is that he has friends in about every blue collar profession. So, he called up his plumber friend and he comes to take a look at it. Plumber takes one look at it and says, “Whoa!” He explains that from the tub’s drain pipe to the thingy in the ground that leads to the sewer, there is about a five inch gap. That means every time I’ve taken a shower in the past year and a half, I have leaked 3-4 gallons of water up under my house. So, think about that people who pee in the shower. Now, Jew Bastard house flipper installed that brand new tub/shower. Do you think he noticed the pipe that leads from the drain is about 5 inches short of reaching the sewer line pipe thingy. I know a lot of you people are now saying, “That’s why you get a home warranty.” FYI, I had a home warranty from American Fidelity. In my first month living here, the cable man noticed that I had holes and gaps in my duct work and that I should probably get it looked at. I called American Fidelity to claim that problem and they said I wasn’t covered for that because it was a “pre-existing problem.” Hell, it’s a sixty-something year old house; every problem is pre-existing! I canceled my contract with them. Insurance is just a big scam anyways. Between Jew Bastard, American Fidelity, lending companies, and Charter Cable I realized there is a bigger discrimination crippling this county than racism, and that’s ageism. Almost daily I get mistaken for someone who is 5-10 years younger. It’s so freakin frustrating to have a college degree, a full-time job, and pay income taxes and be treated like a 15 year old with a learners permit. Anyways, to fix the plumbing problem Plumber had to cut a big hole in the dry wall. He also had to crawl into a tiny crawl space from the tiny access door on the opposite side of the house. T said to the plumber buddy, “Man, if you tell us that up under our house is the nastiest crawl space you’ve ever been under, we’ll understand.” In which Plumber replies, “Ah, it ranks pretty high up there. There is a lot of cat shit under your house though.” After he left, I asked T to seal off the hole in the wall with a staple gun so neither our indoor dog or cat will get loose under the house. I’m not allowed to use a staple gun after I stapled my hand and had to go to the hospital at 11 pm to get it taken out and a tetanus shot. T, instead, used a little tape to hold up cardboard. I told him that wouldn’t work and that he should use the staple gun, but he didn’t listen. About 45 minutes later, we are laying in the bed when we heard a thunderous ruckus. We rushed to the whole in the wall to find our cat, Rusty, who is declawed on all fours, in a fight with a long-haired tabby with white points stray cat in between the tub and insulation. We were able to scare the stray (which T later named Hood Rat) away and it retreated back under the house. Traumatized Rusty, who had never seen another cat before, was wedge out of reach between the tub and insulation. I begged her to come out, I dangled her favorite toy at the opening, and I set out a can of white meat chicken. She would not come. Hood Rat smelled the chicken and tried to come up the hole again. I turn about to ask T for help and see him standing there with a GUN!
“You are not going shoot the cat,” I cried.
“Those damn cats hit the pipe that just got glued. Now, it’s going to be loose and leak again,” yelled T.
“It can be fixed. You don’t want a dead cat under the house, and I’m not going to let you kill any animals.”
“It’s just a pellet gun. I was just gonna scare it.”
T was finally able to get Rusty out from behind the wall, but we couldn’t get the Hood Rat from under the house. If we left the access door open, we couldn’t see when it left to close it. When we thought it was gone and closed it, we would hear meowing coming from under the house. I was about ready to call Billy the Exterminator. We thought about calling Animal Control, but since we have a pet goat in the city limits, we thought it was better to keep the law out of it. T borrowed his brother-in-law’s small animal humane trap. Its last inhabitant was a skunk. You couldn’t touch the trap without contaminating yourself with that particular brand of perfume. Day 1with trap: the first night the trap was sprung, but it got caught on a rock and the cat got away. Even if we caught the cat, there was still the debate of what we were going to do with it. T said he was going to tie a cinder block to it and throw it in the lake. I can’t take it to the pound, because no one will adopt it and it will get put down. We should just make sure it can’t dig up under the access door anymore and set it free, like our very own feral cat catch and release program.
Day 2 with trap: T is at work. He has called like four times already wanting me to check the trap. I go out later that evening and find it been sprung, but no cat. I have ever worked one of these things before. So, in the dark and cold, I am trying to figure this dang thing out while holding a flash light in one hand and trying not to touch the trap to much with the other because it really stinks. I tell myself that animals can’t figure it this out, but I can. I have a degree and this isn’t rocket science. Ten minutes later, cold and smelling of skunk I get the trap reset.
Day 3 with trap: No cat in trap. It’s figured out about the trap so it won’t leave. As T tears down the wood paneling in the guest bedroom to get it ready for the dry wall guy that is suppose to come tomorrow, he hears meowing again.
Day 4 (yesterday) with trap: luckily, it snows and I have the plan to set the trap further out in the yard and give the cat a clear exit. If it leaves, we will be able to see its foot prints in the snow. About an hour later, I go out and see paw prints leading out from the access panel. I don’t see any return tracks. We close up the access door and barricade it with heavy rocks. Still no cat in the trap.
Today: I look out the window and see the trap door down. I can’t tell if I’ve caught anything because I covered the trap with towels to try to camouflage it. Blue bath towels on white snow don’t count as camouflage, but it worked. I went out, pulled back the towels, and saw ole Hood Rat. T’s at work and I don’t know what to do with this cat now. It’s supposed to get down to 15 degrees tonight. I carry the trapped cat to the screened in back porch, give it canned cat food and water, cover the trap with towels and pillows, and hope it will be ok.
Back to the home improvement part of this blog. While T was at work during the day 2 of the cat steak out, I had to wrap up and put away all of the beautiful décor I received as wedding presents. The Plumber came back to install a new hot water heater (T was tired of cold bubble baths), move the washing machine hook up, and install a utility sink in the laundry room. To move the washing machine hook up and install the sink, he had to cut another hole in the dry wall. This time I heard, “We’ve got a problem.” Apparently, there was another hole in the plumbing. Every time I used the kitchen sink or ran the washing machine, more water leaked out. The Plumber called and told T, T called me and said, “Pack up and leave with everything of value. We’re gonna burn that sonna bitch to the ground.” Now, is the time that I would like to say that I have the best husband in the world. He wanted to sell this house and move to a brand new house in brand new subdivision, but I said no. I love my big fenced in back yard, view of the lake, walking distance to my parents house, beautiful, huge, old magnolia tree that fills the air with a sweet aroma every spring.
Plumber friend worked nearly 8 hours that day fixing the stuff and installing stuff. I went to test out my new utility sink after he left, and found a small leak in the pipe under the sink. He tried to come back and fix it the other day, but I over slept and didn’t hear him knocking on the door. Some guard dog I have.
T got all the paneling, molding, door frames, and light fixtures taken down for the dry wall guy that’s coming tomorrow. I help by sweeping and vacuuming up authentic 1950’s wallpaper that was under the layer of paneling. It must have been a little boys room. It was a pattern with red old timey cars on it. Under that layer was stuff T and I are sure is probably asbestos. We will probably develop Mesothelioma. At least we can die together like in the movie The Notebook. Under that layer looks like old 2x4’s running horizontal staking on top of each other with some kind of blue paint on it. We also uncovered where a window use to be. I also held the flash light while T took down all the light fixtures. Dum Dum T didn’t cut the power before doing this and installing something called a “pig tail.” I wonder if it is called a pig tail like named after a porcine’s tail or named after a young girl’s hair style. I also had to hand him something yellow. I think he called it a wing nut or something like that. He made me nervous doing that standing on a bar stool, with only the light of my flash light, and without cutting off the power. He only got shocked once and that scared the crap out of me. But he’s ok. All of our belongings, including the king sized bed, had to be moved out of the back two bedrooms. Now our living room, study, and closet room looks like we belong on an episode of “Confessions of a Hoarder.”
Well that pretty much sums up everything home remodeling related over the past 3 years. Now, that we are up to date, I will try to update my blog with as much as possible with what’s happening as far as remodeling is going, T’s comments after he reads what I’ve posted to the world, and pictures.
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