Black Poltergeist Home Owner

My very best bestie in the whole wide world is coming to visit this weekend.  Janetpalooza is imminent, and I am excited, and I am bouncing and starving.  I don't expect you to get that, so here's an asterisk and I will explain later on.  There's something else I need to tell you about right now.  So here:  *

When friends are coming, I generally like things to be neat, so I wanted to sweep and vacuum and what-all, but I've been putting it off because I've been sick and lazy but mostly sick.  So tonight I did do all those things I wanted to do, like clean the bathtubs and the floors and everything.

Anyway, so I got that all done, and then I did the whole ahhhhhhhhhhhTimeToSitOnTheCouch thing, and it was lovely.  Having forgotten that I need to stare intently at CNN and wonder at the fact that I LITERALLY DO NOT KNOW WHERE THINGS ARE IN EASTERN EUROPE AND THE MIDDLE EAST, and oooooh airplane shot down and ooooooooh war???? - wait, where was I?  Oh, yes.  I had momentarily forgotten all of that, so I figured, hey, Jeopardy!

I have lots of episodes.  I watched one last night from May 27.  MAY.  27.  I'm a little bit behind.

Julia is still winning, if that means anything to you.

Okay, so anyway, I sat on the couch, yarn nearby, and I turned on the DVR, and I saw this:

Now.  Let's discuss a few things here.

Thing One:  This was recorded at 9:17 a.m.  I was at work at 9:17 a.m.

Thing Two:  It got the whole episode.  35 minutes.

Thing Three:  BET.  The High Def one.  I did not even think I got that channel.  I've certainly never not once watched that channel.  I obviously don't have time, when I can't even watch my Jeopardy collection.

Thing Four:  Seriously.  38 episodes of Jeopardy.  Also, do you want to judge me for Return to Amish?  Yeah?  Fuck you.  Also, High School Musical is mine, not Caleb's.  I OWN MY CRAZY.

But seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  Moesha!!!

There is no sign of break-in.  I called Sam and asked if he stopped by my house today.  "No," he said, then he muttered "weirdo."  That might not really have happened but kind of it did.  Anyway, I told him what happened, what I found on the DVR, and he agreed that this was, indeed, really fucking weird.

I also texted my dad, the only other person in this town that has access to my house, as my mom is out of town.  He didn't come over, either.

So I called him and told him the deal.

"So no sign of break in?"  Right.  "Could you have accidentally set it up to tape?"  I guess I could have, but I seriously don't think that happened.

Katiebird thinks that my cat did it.  I'm inclined to agree.  Little Hitler likes Brandy.  But even that requires some serious coincidences.  He'd have to have already had it on the right channel.  He'd have to have hit this tiny button the the remote.  It's the smallest button on there.  I'm not sure...

In the end, my dad has decided I either have a black poltergeist or there is a message for me (from God, via Moesha) that I need to experience, so...

I'm going to go watch Moesha.  I'll let you know.



And if another thing records, I'll know it's the real deal.  I've got guests.  They coming fo' me, 'lizabeth!

* Years and years ago, before cell phones, I was going to visit Janie or she was coming to visit me, back when we lived 4 hours apart, and anyway, so she had left me a voice mail at work.  I had a post it in front of me, as one does, where I took a note while I listened to the message:

"Hi!  I'm so excited!  I can't wait to get off work so we can get together.  I'm totally bouncing off the walls!!  Also, I'm STARVING so let's plan to eat..."

I wrote:  "Janet - bouncing & starving"

And a trend was born.

Here we are, a good solid, what, 15?  17???  years later, and I'm here, watching Moesha, and bouncing and starving!

Party Host

I'm throwing a party.

I don't do this, the throwing of parties.  If I DO decide to get my friends together in one place, I usually choose a place that is away from where I live.  Caretta's.  Or Copelands.  Someplace with alcohol and somebody else who can clean up afterwards.

This is a "There Goes the Neighborhood" party.  Aka, a Sarah-Moved-In-And-Really-She's-Quiet-And-Well-Behaved-But-We-Like-To-Pretend-We-Are-Rowdy party.

I've invited everybody that I know that lives within 100 miles of my home.

I keep squashing the little voice inside my head that says, "hey, your house?  not that awesome."

It is too.  It's fucking great.  It might be little and old and goofy looking (especially on the outside).  It might be not new and fancy and have hardwood floors.  But it IS clean, sweet, and very, very Sarah.  It has fresh paint and touches of red and granite countertops and a goddamn HACIENDA, so beat that.

BEAT THAT.

And if you don't like it, well that's all right.  Nobody else HAS to like my home, just so long as I do, and so long as the baby does.  And we do.  We like it fine.

So there's that.  A party.

It starts at 7:00 (tomorrow), and so I hope that it's clear that I'm not providing actual supper-type food.  I'm going to have munchies, and I'm going to have drinkies.  And music.  That's pretty much all I am doing.  Munchies and drinkies and musicies.  Anything else will have to spontaneously happen, or somebody else will have to plan it.  No pin-the-mustache-on-the-bandito.  No dancing.  Maybe dancing.  We'll see.

I'm nervous, but I'm excited, too, if that makes any sense.  Why is it so intimidating to invite people into your home?  Nobody judges homes, right?  I mean, maybe if it isn't clean or if it smells like cat pee, but otherwise?  Shit, now I'm feeling insecure.  I have a cat.  I know the house is clean but what if it smells like cat pee...

Anyway, the good side of it is this. I'm taking tomorrow off, so I get to have a special extry long weekend, like extra-crispy, and the baby just happened to be off school tomorrow (not part of the original (recipe) plan), so that's good.  Good for my mom, who doesn't have to keep him.  Good for him, who gets to wear pajamas most of the day.  Good for me, in theory, who gets extra time with the baby, although I have lots and lots of things I want to do tomorrow, some of which involves coffee and alone time with Dexter*, but it's all good.

I'm having a party.  People are coming.  It's going to be fun.  Or not.  But who cares.

There will be drinkies.

And possibly dancing.

You should come.

"Be blessed," she said.

What, what?  The baby is getting on the bus.  I KNOW.  I don't even know what to think about this.  He is a 7 (AND A HALF) and has never been on a school bus, well, except for field trips, in his life.  This morning, I think we were both a little anxious, standing on the corner.  The bus driver - and we'll circle back to this - was all cheerful and smiley as she showed him to his seat.  Then I went for a run.  Like a boss.  Because I can, and because, well, why not.  I wasn't late to work.  Four minutes is not late.

Let's talk about the bus driver.  This is the weirdest fucking thing ever.  When Sam was growing up - hell, when I was growing up, there was no telling who the bus driver was.  I'mma call her Mamie.  But seriously.  Our bus drivers were cranky old hags, some of whom chain smoked (I'm not 100% sure that last part is true, but it feels right).  For SURE Sam never knew a bus driver's name.

When I went to the school to fill out "we've moved!" paperwork and inquire about the school bus for the baby, they happily filled out paperwork for me, and handed me a yellow slip that said his bus number and where he catches the bus.  Then they told me to CALL THE BUS DRIVER to figure out details.  WHAT?

Let's recap:  they gave me the bus driver's personal cell phone number.  WHAT?

I called her.  She was sunshiney and rainbowy and adorable.  I want to hire her to be MY personal chauffer.  After we talked and she told me process, I was all, "well... thanks..." and she was all "OH MY GOODNESS YOU ARE SO WELCOME I'M HERE FOR YOU."  And then, when I said goodbye, she countered with "be blessed," I shit you not.

This morning she was heaping praise on my small child, and I went about my way to sweat off a couple of hundred calories and jump start my day.

It was totally fucking outstanding, except the part where the same garbage men were doing opposite circles and I had to pass them about three times, every time they gave me the sexy flirty eyes.  No thanks, bra.  I'm good.

So, to recap the weekend, we have the following:  first kids coming to play in the playroom with the baby, which is to say, kids that are not related- check.  first kids finding a snake in the backyard, but it "might have been a worm" - check.  Cable installed, taking a grand total of 8 hours and two technicians, one of whom I gave birth to over 20 years ago - check, except in the playroom, which has proven to be impossible to install cable into, for reasons I cannot explain.  Furniture purchased, assembled, sat upon - check.  The one remaining wall where I just didn't do a great job painting it the first time, touched up - check.  Bourbon and water drunk - check, except it smelled better than it tasted, and I bailed about 1/3 of the way through, but dayum, I felt like a grown up.  First night by myself in the house, as the baby spent the night with friends - check (likewise, first NO PANTS SATURDAY NIGHT- check.)

I skipped all the parades this weekend, but it was a great weekend, regardless.  I'm kind of loving my home.  Eventually I'll have the time to rake the front yard, but strides were made.  We have hand towels, people.  HAND TOWELS.

And I am pretty much being blessed.

In Support of Firemen Everywhere

I'd like to bitch about being alone for Valentine's Day, but I really can't make myself.  I'm fucking HAPPY, and that's maybe weird, because I swear, this is my favorite V-Day ever.  I'm getting cable today, y'all.  HAPPY DANCE MOMS TO ME.

I have (finally) had two days in a row where there has been nothing new broken in the house.  The last of the urgent paint needs has been addressed (this weekend, I'll touch up the few spots in my bathroom that are driving me crazy).  There's a range, and a dishwasher.  Cooking has been done.  Clothes have been laundered.  Boxes have been unpacked (though, let's don't get crazy, there are more awaiting me.)

I'm getting settled.  I know the house's noises.  The train is not too close, just close enough to sound cozy when it goes by.  There's a fire house at the entrance to the neighborhood, and we all know how I feel about firemen.

Oh.

Yes.  We do.


Oh, my God.

Anyway, what?  What were we talking about????

The house.  The neighborhood.  I think we might bake something to bring to the firehouse.  Those poor boys are fucking hot hungry.

We need to go to the library.

We need to go to the post office, too.

And the bank.

I have errands to run, but I also want to start raking the front yard this weekend, and stuff.

It's the weirdest thing.  Everybody told me things would feel different if it were my own house, and I didn't really believe them.  How could it feel so different?  I am a long-term renter.  I've been renting for YEARS, and I live in my houses a long time (for a renter).  You know what the difference is?  Paint.  You know what else?  Planning.  I can't stop my happy little brain from making plans for the future of this house.  I know what wall I will eventually tear down.  I know what window will become a door.

I also know that La Hacienda will be getting a beer fridge, and soon, and that, my friends?  THAT is awesomeness.

Also, the baby will start to ride the school bus on Monday (!) (MY BABY ON A BUS!) (!!!), which will buy me a half hour every single morning, in which I can run.  It's time to get back into running.  I'm missing it, and my body misses it, and January is not too far in the future, and there's that 2 mile race in March, too...  it's time.

So that's the plan for the weekend.  There are parades tomorrow and Sunday, but I'm feeling very ambivalent about them.  I'm not sure what's wrong with me, usually I can't wait to get to the route, but this year, I'm distracted.

You know why?

Because it is different when it's yours.

Fat Naked Dancer Lady

Once upon a time, there was a girly girl who moved into her new house, last Friday (WHATWHAT?!).

It was a great, exhausting, craaaazy day, including a teary moment out by her car because that girl's aunt was being totally bitchy, but mostly just awesome.  That girl has the greatest friends in the whole world, and by "that girl," I mean, "me," and I do.  SO THERE.

Okay, so fast forward (aside:  so many places say "flash forward," now, and that's just dumb.), and you get to that evening, after I finally kicked everybody out, and had a few drinks, and I decided, well, yes.  I decided that I ought to take a jacuzzi.  Because I have a jacuzzi tub, now.  That's why.

So I had cleaned the tub, and I got all nekkid and in the tub, and I had a beer next to me and tunes playing.  It was nice.  It's a very deep tub (though not a big fancy garden tub), and it took a long time for it to fill up enough for the jets to be covered, but once they were, I reached back to the button on the ledge and turned that puppy on.  Eyes closed, enjoy...

except only one of the neck jets was spraying, so I opened my eyes and simultaneously turned to see if I could fix it.

AND THE BATHTUB WAS FULL OF EVIL THINGS.

Black dirt and dirty-looking-crap.

SLIME.

And, best of all...

A DEAD COCKROACH.  I SHIT YOU NOT.

Fat nekkid girl flew, quite literally, only then, her fat body wasn't displacing water, so...

the jets weren't covered, so...

water went EVERYWHERE.

Let's recap:  nekkid fat white girl, jamming to Imagine Dragons, flying, roach, water everywhere, cat laughing, beer spilling, and a bathtub full of shit, after spending about 8 hours moving heavy crap.

I got the jets turned off.  I fished out the roach.  I drained and cleaned the tub.  I filled it up again, about three inches, so I could wash myself and my hair, all the while glancing uneasily at the back jets (where there was one roach, there could easily be another).  I got out of the tub promptly.  I filled it all the way up, added about a third of a bottle of bleach and turned on the jets again.  Let it run about 10 minutes, and talked myself out of NEEDING TO MOVE RIGHT THIS INSTANT.

House:  1.  Sarah:  0

Actually, it's like, House:  14, Sarah:  2, because every time I plug in ANYTHING, water pours out of it, and by "plug in," I mean, like "turn on (any sink)" or "connect (the fridge)."  And we haven't even gotten to installing the washing machine.  Gonna suck.

High five.  After it pours water on me, at least I can take a bath.  Do I dare run the jets?

Oh Yeah it's Moooo-vin' Ti-yi-yi-yi-yi-am

Tomorrow is moving day.  I'm feeling odd about it.  Half of me is like, OHMYGODGETTHISOVERWITHALREADYFORCHRIST'SSAKE, and half of me is like, BUTWAITI'MSCAREDHOLDME.

It's happening, whether I am ready or not.  Get the fuck over it, already, homeskillet.

And that is all I really have to say right now.  Wish me luck.  Wish me home.

Six Snippets

Snippet #1:  I went to the eye doctor on Monday.  Just a regular check up, which is to say, I was out of contacts and it's been nearly two years since I saw him last.  HAHAH YOU CANNOT MAKE ME CHANGE MY CONTACTS IF I DON'T WANT TO.

Anyway, so my prescription is the same as last time, astigmatisms in both eyes, but the left eye's vision is pretty much fine, and the right eye's vision is a piece of shit.  I asked him if that seemed weird to him.  "Yes," he replied.  "I bet you were a forceps baby."

WHAT THE HELL?  I'd ask my mom, but the 70's were good times with the child-bearing-drugs, and I'm pretty sure that she remembers only rainbows and happy little pink frogs from my delivery.  So fuck it.

Snippet #2:  When you buy a house, especially a HUD house, you get what you get.  I've got a big ol' house that needed some work.  I've painted that bitch, a lot, actually, and I like painting, but I'm tired.  I've spackled.  I fixed a bullet hole (which is to say, my dad fixed a bullet hole.)  I've done a LOT of work in the one week I've owned that place, but every day, there's something new.  Oh, the paint is peeling?  Let's poke it.  New hole in the drywall.  Sinks leaking?  Let's cut a hole in the drywall.  New hole in the drywall.  Nobody REALLY wants a home phone jack on the wall in their kitchen, right?  New hole in the drywall.  After spending four days with a paint brush in my hand, I look forward to two more days of the same, this weekend, although I will be taking a break to run an 8 mile race (WHAT AM I THINKING HOLY SHIT I AM UNPREPARED) on Sunday.  At any rate, it's coming along, and I have two more weeks, and it's going to be fine.  Right?  RIGHT?

Snippet #3:  It got icy here, on Tuesday, and being well prepared, our parish closed the school district for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.  My boss followed suit, and I got an extra 2 1/2 days off, which absolutely rocked.  I needed that time to paint.  And paint I did, believe you me.  The kid was constantly watching for an opportunity to play in snow, an opportunity which never came.  It was cold.  There was ice.  There really wasn't enough snow to say "snow," and he was stuck inside.  He has been amazing, completely great, completely awesome, but I'd be willing to bet he is ready for this move to be over.

Snippet #5:  I'm getting a cold.  An ear infection, maybe.  It blows.  I'm taking drugs for it.  I need that shit to be gone.

Snippet #6:  I have watched a couple of episodes of this show where this one lady takes girls and helps them be made over into pageant superstars.  It's a cute show, and I'll be damned if one episode didn't make me cry like a little bitch.  Sarah needs to get a boyfriend.

Sarie Has a Dream House!

If I were to describe to you my dream house, this would not be it.  I'm not going to lie, I'm sitting here, right now, sighing as I look at my rental's fireplace, remembering how it would smell up the whole house with smoke and drive both children out of the family room...  oh, good times.

But in the end, my dream house actually would cost me, like, a half million dollars.  And I don't have that much money, and nobody is fool enough to lend me that much money, and I wouldn't be able to pay them back, anyway.  So what we have here is me, avoiding foreclosure.  Well in advance.

Barbie never had Chet the Repo Man, did she?  She so should have.  Although we all know that Day Barbie earned supplemental income from Night Barbie, if you get my drift.  Which is to say, Barbie was a whore.  I think I digress.

Here's the thing:  Dreams are stupid.  Reality fucking rocks.  My reality is that the house is mine, officially.  When I broke into it this evening, it was fine, because I was breaking into MY OWN HOUSE.  

Here are some pictures.  

This is Caleb's room:

Yeah, I have a shelf thingee all up in the corner in here, what-WHAT? 

Hall bathroom:

Floors are pretty.  Subway tile backsplash suits me fine, although it looks pretty nassssty.  The sink rocks, though.  And this room has a secret...

Behind the bathroom door, you find:

Oh my god, you guys, seriously.  This is my favorite thing in the whole house.  A built-in, in the bathroom, and see that panel?  You know what that is? A FUCKING BUILT-IN LAUNDRY HAMPER IS WHAT THAT IS.  Jealous?  YOU SHOULD BE.  IT'S AMAZING.

This here is my master bedroom.  Please note, the carpets are all being removed.  Tomorrow.  Not kidding, tomorrow.  Seriously.  Because they are horrifying.  My real estate agent looked into this room and said, "oh, here's where they did the murder."  I'm going to miss him:

Vanity in my bedroom, vanity in my bedroom, vanity in my bedroom!!!

You know who looks awesome in this room?  Or who would, if their seven year old kid was a wizard with an iphone camera?  Me.  That's who.  Whom.  Dammit, I can't even be cool without using correct grammar.

Booyah.

Sometimes, you look at something, and go, now why...  for example... why would someone put trim on the outside of a bathtub.  Yep.  My bathtub looks like a dining room wall.  The bottom half of a dining room wall.  On the other hand, that there's jets in that there tub!  God only knows if they work, but we gonna have a fine time finding out.  See the potty?  I can rest my wine glass on that.  Lord, I think I just overshared...

What you can't tell is that there is a small vanity light over a completely blank space between the toilet and the door, so over nothing, along with an arm-level plug.  Obvs, there used to be a "his" sink in this part of the bathroom, which is no longer there.  What WILL be in that space is either a cupboardy thingee or a big ol' basket o' towels.

What up, walk-in closet.  Not like the rental's "walk-ins," where you kind of have to shimmy in sideways to get to the back parts.  This one has rails on both sides, and guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat??!!

Shelving unit in the closet!  For my...  shelfy things.

This is a pretty room, and it has been decided that it will be the guest room.  The primary reason for this decision is that the window opens onto the screened-in-porch (hereafter known as "la hacienda"), and I figure, if I put the baby in there, I'll be out there knitting drinking wine and talking on the phone to my mom hosting posh fiestas with my loco friends, and we will be appropriately noisy (note:  I've already begun operation-friend-the-neighbor-chick), so I don't want to keep El Nino awake.  Also, I don't want this to be the playroom, because I don't want to hear all the kids making so much god damn noise.  Also, when my friends come visit, I expect them to be drinking on La Hacienda with me!

Your room is pretty close to ready for you to come visit.  Make it so!

Here we have the playroom.  "What the fuck is on the window," you asked?  It's a weird screen with bars built in.  I DO NOT KNOW WHY.  Bitch is coming down.  That's on the "short list."  This room is tiny but it will be awesome for playing Skylanders and acting out plays with finger puppets.  That's what he do, yo.

Or, we could leave the bars on, and make it hard for him to sneak out when he is a teenager!

On  to the family room.

 Note the door to La Hacienda out the back.  Also note, this light fixture is on the short list, too.  Also note, no fireplace (frowny face).  Also note, Vanna is doing a kick-ass job of selling this house!

I get to buy a rug!! YES INDEED.

La Hacienda!  Hola!  Ole!  Tengo Dos Ijos...

At first, I was like, gotta paint that green thing.  Now I'm like, gotta paint the concrete floor so it matches that green thing.  This is going to be the coolest porch ever- all Dia De La Muerta and shit.  

Vanna is just modeling La Hacienda for you:

Hola!

We have a little strip of back yard.  Right now, it's growing holly as ground cover.  I had no idea that was even an option.  There are also some weird, semi-scary fluffy plant thingees at the base of that tree that may or may not rise from the ground and attack after dark.  Too much Zelda?  Maybe yes.

We don't need a back yard, because I'm a kid who never goes outside!

This is the eating place.  The house has a formal room that can't decide if it wants to be a living room or a dining room, so we are going to call it a living room, so we can stop hearing it bitch and whine.  That leaves this space for the food consumption, a breakfast room that is remarkably like ours in the rental, only with real tile and no linoleum, and fewer dead spiders.  SO FAR.

It's not a boob light!  It's got leaves, but no birds.  WE ARE SATISFIED.

Our kitchen is sucky.  BUT, those holes will be filled with Brand New Appliances, and there is a tile backsplash (GETTING FANCY ALL IN HERE), and the sink is awesome, and the faucet is awesome, and who really gives a shit, anyway, because it's not like I cook, nearly ever.

He looks like a tap dancer.  Also, the cabinets are those french white stained things that are so trendy on HGTV right now, so obvs, I'm moving to Canada, only I'm NOT because it's fucking COLD in Canada.

100% of this picture was to brag to Janie that I get a pantry.  Note, it's pretty nasty, with the old floor, some reddish death dirt, and crappy shelving, but my dad is good at cutting boards to shapes, and I will buy a SECOND rug, if that's what it takes.  It's a pantry.  I am content.

Note to self:  Kitchen gets late afternoon sunlight.

So.  Funny thing about the doors.  First, note the pretty floors.  Try and pretend there isn't an attractive boob right above your head, and notice the doors.  The big door is leaded glass, and I LOVE IT with a big squee girly kind of "can we be best friends and I'll braid your hair" kind of love.  LOVE.  The other door looks awful, it's a storm door, and I don't live in Canada (see above), so this is probably unnecessary, so there's about a 70% chance I will take it down, but...  it's so freaking cool.  It's kitchy, it's orange plastic, and I know, I know, your mamaw had one just like it in 1979, but dang...  It's mod, you know?  I just can't decide...

All in all, though, a nice, welcoming entry way.  Which also seems to get late afternoon sun.  Weird.

This is the formal living room (DECLARED SO AS OF RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE.)  See that cut-out area, back behind Susanna Hoff?  (by the way, if you get that, I just love you so much I want to make out with you right now) Should I put a couch there, or make my dad build me built-ins.  Seriously, what do you think?  The door to your left (Susanna's right) leads to the kitchen, so I just have visions of having fancy grown-ups come over for coffee, and although we will likely sit in La Hacienda, it's possible that we might need fancy time, and this will be the fancy time room.  With coffee.  So it's totally awesome that the kitchen is right there.  Which does sort of make me think Dining Room, but I have declared it, so...

Hey oh, way, oh, oh wayyyyyoh way oh...

With every house we looked at, I tried to find something special about it, in case we bought it.  Something that would make him ADORE this house above all others.  The first offer, he was devastated because he lost a retaining pond behind the back yard and cannot, now, catch tadpoles.  AS IF HE WAS GOING TO CATCH TADPOLES.  But not kidding, devastated.  This house, I sold him the tree.  "That's your climbing tree," I told him.  I bet, by February, he is all the way up to the crook at the top of this picture.  Lucky kid.  I was stuck climbing apple trees, he's got his own live oak.

My mother said that, when she was a kid, she would climb trees and drop acorns and pine cones down on the chickens in the yard, playing Bombs Over Tokyo.  There are so many things I could say about that statement.  

So that's pretty much it.  As I mentioned, I met the neighbor, Nicole, who I hope will come and have a drink on La Hacienda every now and again.  Come to think of it, there isn't a gate on that side of the house, dammit.  She is going to have to come around or come through the house.  That's all right... anyway, I met her, because her brother parked his truck in my driveway tonight, when I needed to unload Round One of the Great Move of 2014.  They were super cool about it, though, and she has a little dog that's, I don't know, a Shih Tsu or something, and it's name is Gismo or Gonzo or something, and that's fine.  It's going to be weird to live directly next door to someone who is younger than 70 and doesn't (so it seems) beat his wife.  I hope we become friends.  On the other side, those people appear (see above) to have a boat, so they are nice people.  Boat people are nice people.

I'm ready to get the moving on the road.

Ready to have a drink on La Hacienda!

Bedazzled Art Mogul

If you were my mother's daughter, you too could enjoy some of the fun times which is called, "try to not get really irritated with your mother while you are preparing to move houses."

Exhibit A:  The microwave stand

I have this one, verugly (figure it out) piece of "furniture," that sits at the end of my kitchen countertops in old-house-land, because old house has EXTREMELY little counterspace, and there needs to be a place for a microwave to live.  Oddly or awesomely, depending on your perspective, this furniture is, indeed, a microwave stand, and it's white.  It's ugly, but it serves its purpose in life.  Microwave lives on it.

Several (four?  three?) weeks ago, which is to say, possibly one day upon the homeowner accepting my offer but well before the actual inspection took place, my mom goes like this, "are you planning to keep that ugly microwave stand in the new house?"  I replied that I am not, as the new house has a built-in microwave and a lot more storage, and thus the stand is redundant, and since it remains ugly, this is the time when we say goodbye.

Please note:  closing is pushed back to mid-December.

That day, so several weeks ago, I arrived home from work to find said microwave stand on the curb in front of my house.

Forfuckssake, mom.  Now the tiny old-house kitchen is full to the brim with crap that had been on or in the microwave stand, up on the countertops, which makes it damn hard to, you know, stir stuff or what-all.  SIGH.

Exhibit B:  The paint choices.

I orignially REALLYREALLYREALLY wanted a celery-green kitchen.  Honestly, I really still do, but it being an open floor plan, there's no way I can have a celery-green kitchen without having a celery-green family room, which I most definitely do NOT want.  And don't start telling me I can change paint colors at the place where rooms change function, even though it is the same wall, I will not do that, and I will not throw up a piece of trim, because that would be dumb.

Anyway.  So I've given up on that, and I've pretty much decided on colors.  Kitchen/dining/family is going to be a very light peach, warm, basically off-white, and neutral.  Boom.  Fancy and daring.  Same color will be on foyer and all hallways.

Front room is either a fairly dark, dusty purple, or else terra cotta.  I haven't decided yet.

Little kid bedroom is blue.  Other bedroom is purple or terra cotta.  Master is celery green.  Master bathroom is brown.  Hall bathroom is blue.

My mother, she no likey the terra cotta.  Or the purple.

S.I.G.H.  Not 100% sure that either of those colors will happen.

Exhibit C:  Artwork

The artist formerly known as my husband and I had very differing taste in art.  I like things that are red and may or may not look like things.  I'm good with swirls and shapes and big poppies and flowers and stuff that is red.  He liked churches.  And church "paintings" that have sparkly paint in them so they glimmer.  And one in particular that plugs in, so light shines through the church windows.

I'm trying to not be judgy here.  Different does not mean wrong.  It just means different.  But New White House is all mine and the baby's and the cat's. No former artist.  So it's my taste that gets to be everywhere, and by God, I'm going to decorate this bitch, even though I have zero idea how one does that, and I'm going to be on pinterest a lot, I think.

Anyway.  Art.

I've declared the following:  Nothing sparkling.  Nothing that plugs in.  Nothing with words on it (like a picture of a church with a nice bible verse underneath it.  I'm sure that would be lovely, but that's not the aesthetic I'm going for.)  Nothing with a metallic (gold OR silver) frame.

My mama, she comes home from Big Lots the other day, with....  "art" for my new house.

Let's stop for a minute and let me acknowledge that I'm a snob.  I get it.  I admit it.  But seriously.  Art from Hob Lob is a-ok with me.  Cute.  Love it.  Big Lots is pushing it, though.

So there's that.

And then, too, the "art" that she bought has words on it.  It's kind of incorporated into a fairly modern design, so that's something.  And it's stretched canvas, so no frame, so that's good, too.  And the predominate color is red, so that's great.

But...  it's bedazzled.

Yes.  You heard me.

With sparkly rhinestones.  Red.  Still.

OMG.

But, for all my complaining, it's very sweet.  Irritating as a mutha, but sweet.  Good intentions.  Still.  Fucking Bedazzled??