May 18, 2009

I have made it out alive. And the people within a 50 mile radius have made it out alive as well, and if they didn’t, I swear, it wasn’t my fault. I plead the fifth.

I woke up today, the sun was shining on my husband’s beautiful sleeping face, as the drool so gracefully shifted back and forth with his snoring and as I sat up and touched my feet to the hellishly cold floor, and looked upon the piles of boxes upon boxes upon trash bags and tangled hangers and disassembled furniture, I thought to myself, what the hell have we done?

I walk across my house, my feet telling me its winter even though its most definitely May, and there are blankets and lampshades, a broken patio door, a leak under the sink, and I don’t even know what is in the kitchen. We have a lot of work to do.

So we start our day with a shower, which was fun since we had to find all the shower items in unmarked boxes since my husband decided to wait until yesterday to pack and I couldn’t have stopped the obvious train wreck because I have just finished finals and reviews and I had been out of existence altogether for 3 weeks. But now Im back, swooped in like the superwoman I am and packed the remainder of the apartment, got it in the new house and then died in my bed. That’s where we are now.

The shower. Figuring out how the shower works is always an entertaining experience at the very least and wildly humorous at the best. Because someone came up with the idea of unique shower fixtures and now they are all different, figuring out how to turn the damn thing on is a trial and error experiment with the risk of making yourself, your partner and your entire bathroom very wet, which, after just waking up, is worse than the risk of death. Clockwise or counterclockwise? Pull it up, twist it around, out and turn? Now which is cold and which is hot? To the left or to the right or the very unique to the up? And how to switch from bath to shower? And after all that you have to hope that you still have enough energy to mop the floor and finally shower.

Now we’re going to fast forward past the actual showering, dressing, eating and shopping for home repairs and get right to the flood in the basement. Our good friend decided to come over and help us with some minor home repairs, fix the sprayer in the kitchen, rehang the patio door, replace the toilet seat etc. Suddenly, while he is hooking up the icemaker in our new fridge to the water pipes in the basement, we hear a yell. Not an angry or frightened yell, more a less a loud “Hey guys? Did you know you got a flood down here?” Well of course not! And much to our dismay we had an inch or two of water around the base of the stairs, a puddle extending from the bathroom, around to the stairs and then a bit down the hall. We did it on purpose! Don’t you have small life-bearing ponds in your basement too? We’re just getting ours started! Woo, water in the basement!

It turns out that the most satisfying shower that Ive had in a long time also decided to bypass the drain in the tub and dive directly for our basement. Of course it would. It’s a nice basement. Well now we have a major house repair too as well as minor house repairs, and I decided to leave “the men” alone with their brand new problem/toy. This left me time to completely set up the bedroom (which was conveniently already painted a beautiful eggplant color that my husband didn’t have time to change before we moved, yay!) and to get rid of any previous bedroom fixtures I didn’t quite like before *cough*gigantic-wooden-lamp-monstrosity*coughcough* And now we have a compromise between my modernist tendencies and his huge gaudy furniture.

Let us take a moment to step aside and discuss dust. My husband lived in his apartment for 18 years before I moved in. He fought and lost a war against the dust bunnies. I regained some ground but it was too far gone. Now the dust had traveled upon the furniture to our new house and damn it all if I will let them win this time. I have set up an offensive attack, cleaning anything before it makes its way to its final resting spot. With my pledge, a rag, some paper towels, windex and my handy toothbrush, I set out to vanquish the dust. I will not lose this time.

At the end of the night, the minor fixes were complete, there is a bucket in my basement, the living room is mostly done, and my bedroom is complete. I now have a place to hide when the rest of unpacking seems totally hopeless and if my house continues on this path of falling down around me. But I can’t be totally upset. I’m in my first year of marriage to the most wonderful man and we are now officially homeowners.

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