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? |
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:
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. |
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! |
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...
Vanna is just modeling La Hacienda for you:
Hola! |
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. |
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. |
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.
I'm ready to get the moving on the road.
Ready to have a drink on La Hacienda!
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