Archive for the 'Project: house' Category

I need a moment.

Ever have one of those moments when you’re reorganizing your life and you find out that The Container Store discontinued your color? Oh and then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, your bff laughs her ass off when you tell her because she’s dead inside (I think she peed a little bit).

I am, in fact, living this dream.

You all know me right? I label. My life has order and symetry. I can’t deal with this color disaster. It’s far too great an investment to switch to a new one. And mixing!?! Ugh

I’m still looking for a solution – sans laughing bff who I’m probably gonna give the silent treatment for at least 3.58 days – and until I find one, I’m gonna be mopey and sad like a 3 year old who doesn’t get to use her crayons on her bedroom walls. This is worse than being laid off.

Container Store? Why you dissin your best customer? Why why why!!

*To be fair, being laid off wasn’t really that bad at all. In fact, it kinda rocks. Well…it did until my life fell apart at The Container Store.


Apparently I’m a fantastic stripper

Just call me Pinky Enamel Sunset. Er. Or Don’t.

See, the thing is, we have this awesome fireplace in our awesome new house that is probably 70 years old and has NEVER been used which is pretty awesome. Awesome.

The fireplace surround has clearly been painted over for each trend of the decades and just out of pure curiosity, I really wanted to see what was under all that 50’s pink, 60’s orange, 70’s green, and 80’s mauve. Well, not so much my curiosity rather it was my Perfect Aunt who planted that little number into my brain. And as we all know, plant something in BabyBound’s head and you’re bound to get some sort of anal retentive, neurotic mess of an obsession to follow.  Cue the odd head shaking and the brain full of running hamsters please.

So for shiggles, I stripped it this weekend.  And just cause I know you want to ask, no.  I did not take it to dinner first.

Jesus. Anyone strip paint before? While its a fucking butt load of work that can easily cause you to wake up the next morning with the claw for hands, its pretty much as fun as peeling dead skin of a sunburn. Really. Its that fun.

What did I find? Was it some historical marble tiles? Gold flecked mirror? Intricately carved artwork? Ancient Indian cave carvings?!?!?!  No.  I found plaster.  White.  Plaster.

Well, so maybe my stripping adventures didn’t turn out fruitful.  Yeah, and maybe the conversation that followed sounded a lot like “what color should we paint it now”, but whatever.  Its not every day that you can wake up the next morning and beg for a hand massage by whining about the claw.  I say mission accomplished.

Its really raining….uh men.

What does a girl with no water in her house, 5 construction workers in her bathroom – and no patience for the mess they are making – do to get ready for work?  Absolutely nothing.  That’s right.  Nothing.  Today, I sit here before you, unshowered and disgusting.  At. Work.  Ew.

I am so sick of this stupid remodel I could spit.  But my mouth is too damn dry from the lack of water in my pipes to gather up enough moisture for that.  I want my shower back, my kitchen back, my life back, my label maker back, and basically my clean perfect world back.  Our house is still a mess, we can’t unpack 15.5% of our stuff (which may not be a lot to some, but to me, this is pretty much the end of the world), and still have a lovely blanket of fresh drywall powder over every surface.  Including the dog.  And I swear the house is sinking in on one side.  Its hard not to roll right down into the sink hole that is so obviously forming next to the master bedroom wall.  Mark says he doesn’t see it but common, it looks a little something like this:

Who’s stupid idea was this remodel anyway?  Was it yours, chick with the big hat on?  No?  How about you, mean pregnant lady with an ax to grind?  Whoever it was, what the hell?  Did I piss in your corn flakes when I was sleep walking?  Daaamn.  If so, I’m really sorry.  You should try an airtight container.  Like these.  No self entitled organizing master would dare leave a cereal box in the pantry.  So really, isn’t this kinda your fault?

Thank f-ing God.

Man, 6 days without TV or the internet is like being torchured with someone shoving pencils under your fingernails until you call your mother.  Thank God there is a crazy war going on between cable and satelite so they’re willing to do pretty much anything to get your business.  Even show up on SUNDAY to wire your entire house for the stuff.  Apparently nobody – in exactly 67 years – needed cable in this house?  Seriously?  Never?  Huh.  What’s that like?

So ahhhh.  We’re back.  Connected.  On the grid.  Life is good.

Moving Day

Here’s a little insight into moving day:

6am. Realize that there is still a lot of little stuff in the bedroom that is unpacked so panic and hurl myself out of bed to get it packed leaving Mark in a daze of “what the hell are you doing??”s.

6:15am. Decide that it would be soooooo nice to sleep on clean sheets tonight – even if everything around me is completely covered in dust and unfinished – so obviously must throw sheets into the washing machine.

8am. Mark gets up and makes coffee.  Me – thinking we don’t have any mugs or cups or liquid holding containers of any kind thinks this coffee making business is a complete and utter waste of time and his time would be better suited walking to the corner to get us a proper cup of the liquid gold I require for pleasantries.  O no my friends.  Mark – actually saved out his two ugly mugs (one Pooh and one Bullwinkle.  I hate them both and wish they would mysteriously disappear or break.) just for this very occasion.  What a smart man.  I’ll take Pooh please and let’s pretend I don’t hate you.

8:30am. Contractor calls. Wrong fridge was ordered.  Wrong fridge shows up for delivery. Fridge order was cancelled.  Right fridge no longer available.  Fuck we have to pick out a new fridge.  Only have internet for another few moments so better spend at least 100 seconds researching, reading reviews, deciding.

8:35am. New fridge decided.  Contractor ordering.  Possibly.

9:30am. Movers are scheduled to arrive, but instead decide that calling at 9:30 to tell us they’re coming soon would obviously make more sense.

10:15am. Movers arrive.  Barrel through the house to see the goods and barely utter a sentence.  Truck loading begins.

10:17am. I’ll totally have time to switch the loads while the movers load so decide that towels are a good contender for the next load.

11:00am. After about 45 minutes of helping to load boxes (isn’t this what I hired movers for??)  Say fuck that and leave to go to new house to meet with granite man.  Granite man is an ass that likes to talk down to people.  “Feel this piece.  Now feel this piece.  See the difference?  OK that one is honed.  Can you say honed?  Hooonnnneeed.  Good girl.  Here’s a treat.”

Yeah screw that dude.  Whatever.  Get me my honed granite bitch and get it fast.

11:45am. Holy crap.  Movers are done with first load??  This wasn’t suppose to happen.  You were suppose to have a big truck and move everything at once and not be ready to move to the new place until the afternoon so that all the construction going on at the house would be done and there wouldn’t be a billion people in the house.  What the hell??  Shit.  Hurry back to old house to get stranded husband.  Race back to new house to tell movers where stuff goes.

12:45pm. Call from movers.  “Where do you live?”  (umm, have you been driving around town for the past hour with our stuff just calling out our names in the hopes that we might run out and tell you where to park because you actually found us this way??  WTF dude?)

1pm.  Movers show up.  (Obviously after a lovely lunch break.)  Refuse to move anything into the house because a) there are way too many people working in the house  (what, you can’t work around 2 electricians, 2 plummers, 6 cleaning crew, 2 contractors, 3 finish carpenters and Mark and I??)  b) the walls are all wet and c) they’re just way too fucking lazy to actually doooo anything.  Stuff gets unloaded into the fucking garage.  (Did I mention the 3 drywallers working in the garage??  Yeah.  Those guys that kick up about an Earth size ball of dust while they work.  Lovely.)

1:30pm. Movers and Mark go back to old house.  Round 2.  I field exactly 8.524 trillion questions from the people working on my house about all kinds of specific details.   Of which they had exactly .00001% right.  Apparently my carefully labeled and meticulously updated spreadsheet for every detail of this house remodel has gone unnoticed.  Or was used as toilet paper.  Or burned.  Jury is still out.

5pm. Umm where the hell are the movers?  Have they kidnapped my husband?  Can I at least get my furniture back?  A girl’s gotta sleep in a bed know what I’m sayin?

5:30pm. Movers and Mark show up.  More unloading of everything into the garage.  Breaking of large furniture pieces commences.  Screaming and yelling begins.  BabyBound cries.  Whole world ends.  Everyone dies.

6:30pm. Go to old apartment to pick up the children and some small little things remaining.  Feet fall off legs and decide to sit this one out.

6:15pm. Discover that while we were pretty specific when asking the MOVERS to move EVERYTHING from the apartment, they heard “move what you’d like, and leave the rest its fine.”  More crying, more yelling.  2 more fucking loads of back and fourth to new house begins.  Legs also decide to go on holiday.

7:30pm.  Damn it.  The laundry.  Fuck.

9:30pm.  Die.  Take shower (if you can call it that right now)  Go to bed.  In that order precisely.

The big move

Not happy.  Apartment all packed up and a mess.  House all constructioned (but o so not done) and a mess.

We’re moving tomorrow.  Into a mess.  Mess mess mess.  Not good for BabyBound.  I’m doing my best not to freak out and go on a labeling frenzy.  I think my OCD is really kickin it up a notch right now….like straight jackets are probably on order and a team of doctors is most likely observing me from a distance waiting for me to crack at which time they’ll swoop in and take over.  I’m sure Marky is behind this.   He would call for backup.

Project: House over and out.

I have here in my hand, a set of keys to my brand new, really old house.  That’s right folks, the house hunt is over.  A horribly fucking long mere 5 months and 6 days after it began.  You may all breath again…go ahead….breath in….breath out…..ahhhhhh isn’t that nice?

I’d post a picture of my new house, but then you all could find me and I’d have to get a new house and, well?….these suckers don’t seem to just fly off the trees do they?  While there are many of you out there that I absolutely love, I’m speaking more to the “anal baby fucker” and “grandma hand jobs” out there.  We simply allow none of that here at the BabyBound abode.

So while the house hunt is now over, and we can all finally move on, we now have to start project:remodel.  Its a quick 2 month project that will hopefully result in a brand new kitchen, a new hall bathroom and a new master bath.  More on that later….

I'm just a girl with a husband, a dog, a cat, and a bum uterus. Add to Technorati Favorites

These seem to be pretty popular