Thursday, August 12, 2010

Day #8: Home Ownership. Part 1: Its Not "New." Its Just New to You

I was cleaning my basement the other day (fascinating, I know), which is a bi-annual affair in the BethandMike household, because we can really eff up a basement. Items (hoses, golf balls, a hematology textbook, beer from a bachelor party that happened a year ago) enter our basement, find a comfy seat, and don't get up until I move them in 4-6 months.




But while I was down there, vacuuming up spider-cricket corpses and what have you, I started thinking about one of the Major Life Events that I did accomplish before 30: I bought a home.



(This photo is actually my home. If you don't believe me, please note my P.O.S. Subaru in the driveway.)




However, in my twenties I thought I'd find a little bunglow with a front porch and a garage. I thought that on the day we moved in, my husband would carry me across the threshold (hahahaha -- that's laughable on so many levels) and onto the gleaming wood floors of our sparkling new house. The whole place would sparkle and glitter like fairies had come and made this house a home just for me...



These dreams were clearly before the advent of HGTV.



Had HGTV been around, I would have known that the only houses that look fairy-visited are the ones that are actually new. Not houses built in 1952.



Here's how the first day in our new home began:




Its a sunny April day in 2007 and Mike and I pull up to our house with our hearts all aflutter. In the drive way are the former owners, who are just putting the last few items in their car. Previous Owner hands Mike the keys and says:



"She's all yours."



Like we just purchased a pet king cobra from the man.



Then they pull outta there so fast you would have thought we were pointing automatic weapons at them.




Mike and I would have thought this was weird, but we are giddy. We are so its-our-first-house excited we are racing to see who gets to unlock the door to our new home first.



It was unlocked. So that was a bit of a let down.



Whatever! We race in! I go left. Mike goes right. Mike goes:



"Um. Beth?"




Me: What?


I walk into the living room. I see exactly what.

We stare at it like we expect it to turn on and start explaining itself -- justifying its presence in our living room wall: "Hey guys! I'm fun! I cool stuff! You should keep me! We'll have so much fun! I love cooling stuff!"



Mike: Did you know this was here?



Me: No. Did you?


Mike: No.


So right now, you should be wondering how Mike and I failed to notice this when we were looking at the house. This is a perfectly reasonable question. We asked it of ourselves. Then we remembered:



Motherhonkers put a shelf in front of it.



So here's how I handled the problem:

Can you see it?



So we get the keys, but we're going to paint the place before we move all our shit in. Within the hour half-a-dozen friends (who know they will need a favor in the future and they're trying to get in early before we ask them to lift something heavy) show up to help us paint.


Then we start noticing it...



The hair. Little black hairs.



You see, the previous owners owned a dog named Buddy. Real name.




The dog was half-dachshund, half black lab. This is an unusual mixture -- and suggests, perhaps, that Buddy's mom wasn't afraid to get hers -- but allow me to provide visual help.



Take this dog body:

















Imagine it black. Now stick a giant-ass labrador retriever head on top:




You picking up what I'm putting down here? This dog was you-look-so-stupid-its-cute.




You know. You laugh at it, but then you kind of want to pet it to make it feel better. Because you know that this dog is going to get beat-up on the playground. Get swirleys at doggie-day-care. Get picked last for fetch.




But I digress...


There is enough Buddy hair in this house to reconstruct a whole new Buddy.




Buddy's hair is everywhere. Black hair stuck to the molding. Black hair on the window sills. Black hair plastered to the toilet. It is in the baseboard heaters, the closets, and wall-unit air-conditioner.




It is on the ceiling.




At this point, I think maybe Buddy can fly. Maybe he gets a running start on those 2-inch dachshund legs, flaps his giant labrador ears and **poof** He's flying around the house, rubbing his fat little body all over shit.




Or maybe the previous owners (who, apparantly, don't own a Swiffer) took Buddy, lifted him up, and rubbed him on the walls. Like, for a faux finish.




Maybe they duck-taped him to a broom, hoisted him up, and used his fur to put on the second coat of Curdled-Milk-White paint.




Previous owners: Get a vacuum. Or a fairy. Whatever it takes.




And that, folks, was just day one of homeownership. The real adventures didn't start until it rained...




But that's tomorrow's post.

4 comments:

  1. Is it behind the plant?! Btw, I'm totally enjoying your blog!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Can you do a guide to 31 too, please?

    ReplyDelete
  3. I don't think I should have read this one or tomorrow's since I am about to embark on this new journey myself! YIKES

    ReplyDelete