My first fire

Over the weekend I had some time to finally get some unpacking done. I have been struggling to figure out where I want things to go and how to make things functional while still looking good. Which is hard when everything you own seems so ghetto. I'd like my couch a lot more if the pattern wasn't so...ugly. So, I'm unpacking, rearranging, hurting myself and I decide since it's a cold day and I have a stash of firewood in my trunk (for those random beach/river trips) why not get some use out of the fireplace?
I've lived in houses with fireplaces for the last 3 years of my life but I never got into the habit of actually having fires. In my old house, to have a fire you had to crawl into the fireplace to open the flue. Which was no problem when I was living with my ex. He would take care of that. When living alone, I couldn't muster up the courage to crawl in there. I mean, it's dark, and there could be spiders! So, I just never had fires. Until the very last night, when I had to burn  the junk mail that had accumulated in there, and I had A's boyfriend open the flue for that. In my temporary house there was a fireplace but since I was only there a couple months and it was never cold there, I didn't have any fires there either.
I love fires. It's one of my favorite parts of camping. I know some people hate the smell of campfires but I love it. I love the sound of fires, the smell of the smoke, the warmth of the flame. I know campfires, and fires in fireplaces are different, but not much. On a cold winter day, there's really nothing better then sitting in front of a warm fire. It's just that much better when it's inside your own home and you have access to all the modern conveniences in life.
It took me a few trips to get all the firewood in from my car.  I set up a few pieces in the fireplace and stuck some of my to-be-shredded mail in the middle. The flue is easy to open with a pull chain on the outside, below the mantle, and just like that I had a nice fire going. My plan was to start the fire and go back to unpacking what will eventually be my "office", aka the room I keep my computer in. I couldn't tear myself away from the fire though. I kept thinking how awesome it is that I can have a fire whenever I want, in the safety of my own home. So I sat on the couch and caught up on some tv that I had missed and enjoyed the sound of the fire crackling. I kept adding wood, and moving the pieces around with my poker, which is actually just a piece of particle board that fell off of my cheap bookcase. Soon I was sitting on the floor in front of the fire watching the blue flames consume the pieces of my old desk that had to be disassembled to move. I hated that solid wood desk anyway, and I can't lie and say it didn't feel good to burn something my ex had left behind. I think that sounds a bit more sadistic than it felt, but whatever.
I see a fuzzball roll by the wall to the left of the fireplace and it startles me. Ever since I washed that blue blanket, there have been massive fuzzies scaring me all around the house. Then I realized that fuzzball had legs. HOLY CRAP! Another giant spider! Oh, NO! Instinctively I jumped up from the floor and went straight into panic mode. I had to breath and tell myself to take stock of the situation. The spider was gigantic, but not quite as big as the one in the tub had been. Why, WHY were there so many huge spiders in this house that I love? The disgusting thing started moving away from the fire and I knew I had to take action. This one was on the move, which meant I didn't have time to call for help. I grabbed my broom and blindly swung in the general direction of that monster beast. I jumped back to safety before finding out I had missed it entirely. It was hiding behind my bag of to-be-shredded/burned mail. It was so big that even though it was "hiding" against a black bag in a shadow, I could still see it. I screamed at it before bringing the broom down on top of it. Again it got away and now it was running along the baseboard towards the tv. I knew it would get away completely if I didn't hit it this time. I did a little hop and screamed again while smacking the broom down hard, finally nailing the creature. I screamed, again, while jumping back towards the couch. I was shaking, breathing hard. Why couldn't the spiders I encounter here be more average in size? Why did they have to be the size of most domesticated pets? If I had tried to use my bugzooka on this one, I would have been able to feel the resistance of it's massive body, and I just can't handle that. I shakily swept the eight legged dog towards the fire, keeping as much distance as I could. Even dead, with it's legs curled in onto itself, it was still the size of those big brown spiders I usually see outside. I imagined I could hear it sizzle and scream when I swept it into the flames. I sat on the recliner and tried to steady my breathing. So much for enjoying my fire. Now there was a giant spider carcass in there. I couldn't just reach in like before. Maybe...maybe that mutant came in when I opened the flue? I'd been there a week without opening it...maybe it had crawled in from outside...the big tree out front did hang right over the house. The tree spider must have thought it would be safe in the chimney and came down when I opened the flue. It was running away from the fire when I saw it. Oh god, but that must have meant I was close to it for a long time. I was just trying to make myself feel better about it, thinking that this couldn't be normal. Gross....sick, sick, sick. I spider proofed the house damn it!
That was the motivation I needed to get back to unpacking. Only now, I was paranoid about spiders in the house. Reaching into boxes scared me now. Putting something in the dark closet was terrifying. I pushed myself to keep going like I had never seen that spider. I know that I can't let my fear run my life, but it's still hard to push through sometimes. I was moving slow, but I was getting things done. I kept the broom nearby for protection.
It felt good to finally be getting things done in the house, even if it was going slow. I couldn't find all the things I needed to get things like my computer set up, and even though the fire was now tainted, it's warmth kept bringing me back to the living room. Before I knew it, I was fighting off sleep on the couch, and I was down to my last piece of firewood. The large log was barely on fire anymore. I got a cup of water from the kitchen to douse the flames out. The small cup wasn't enough so I grabbed the coffee pot and filled it with water. I slowly, and carefully since there was a spider in there somewhere and for all I knew there could be more, poured the water over the log until it stopped sizzling. I let the last bits of smoke fly up the chimney while I brushed my teeth and put on pajamas. I swept up some bits of ash on the floor, closed the flue, and headed to bed.
I woke up to the sound of a voice outside my door. What was it saying? I could hardly make it out. Was I dreaming? There was a sound that went along with the voice. Had I left the tv on? I pushed my eye mask up and tried to wake up.
Buzz buzz buzz. Voice. Buzz buzz buzz. Voice.
What was happening? I put on my robe and went to check the living room. As soon as I opened the door I realized it was the smoke alarm I was hearing. I jumped into action mode. First I had to shut that noise off. Sure, maybe I should have checked for fire first, but my head was pounding and all I could focus on was making that sound stop. I could now hear the voice clearly, coming from the smoke detector. It was saying "carbon monoxide" between the buzzing sounds. From the hallway where the smoke alarm is I could see smoke coming from the fireplace. That damn log had never gone out completely. I pulled up the white lawn chair that had been left in my closet and pushed the silence button on the smoke detector. "Carbon monoxide" she told me again and again. I pushed the button but she wouldn't shut up. I held the button down, and that made the other smoke detectors go off. The sound was so loud. I thought my brain might explode. Finally, she shut up.
I climbed down from the chair and ran over to the fireplace. I open the flue and then that bitch was yelling at me again. I was suddenly aware of how smokey it was in the house. I climbed back up on the chair and held down the button that made the other alarms go off before shutting them up. Again, I crawled down and tried to figure out what to do. My head was so light. I caught a glimpse of the clock in the kitchen and saw it was 4 in the morning. I ran to the front door and swung it open. The cool air gave me goosebumps immediately and I realized I never closed my robe. Hi neighbors, I'm the girl who doesn't know how to properly put out fires and walks around without pants on. Awesome.
After securely closing my robe, I swung the door back and forth trying to get the smoke to dissipate. The buzzing came back and that damn woman was yelling at me again. I closed the door and crawled back up on that chair. Every time it seemed like that buzzing was louder. Again she shuts up and I know I have to do more. I open a window in the kitchen. It was a lot smokier in the house than I had realized. I ran back into the living room and opened the window there. I swung the front door back and forth again and then I noticed the log was still smoldering. Oh no, sir. You are being put out. I filled up the coffee pot again and poured it all over the log. It sizzled, but still smoked. This was a monster log. I filled up the coffee pot again but the buzzing started before I could make it back to the living room. I felt like a crazy person. The buzzing was killing my head and I couldn't get the smoke alarms to shut up. I screamed at it to stop. I told it I was trying to get the smoke out. She shut up.
I hopped down from the chair and grabbed the broom to wave the smoke away from the smoke detector. It went off immediately. Back up on the chair. More screaming. When I shut her up again I got down and went to find the fan I had yet to put in the basement for storage until summer. I plugged it in and aimed it at the open window, hoping to blow the smoke outside. I went back to fanning the front door and hoped I wouldn't hear that awful buzzing again. Then I remembered the coffee pot full of water in the kitchen. I grabbed it and before pouring it over the log, I used my "poker" to flip the log over hoping maybe if I got the other side wet it would finally go out. It was still smoking, but now the water was coming out onto the tiles in front of the fireplace. I found some napkins to mop up the mess and when it was all cleaned up I sat on the couch to stare at the log that wouldn't stop burning. I had to wait it out. I was delirious. At least the smoke finally started to clear up. I was mad at myself. Mad for not realizing the log was still burning before I went to bed. Mad that I had warmed up the house only to have to cool it down again with freezing temperatures outside. Mad that I had really almost killed myself. Hey, at least I knew the smoke/carbon monoxide detectors worked properly. And thank God for that!
I finally had the smoke mostly cleared out, nearly 30 minutes after waking up in a daze. I grabbed a blanket and laid on the couch to wait for that log to finally go out all the way. It was nice to have a cozy blanket, freshly washed, wrapped around me with the fan going and freezing air flowing in through the open windows. Soon, I was asleep again, having strange dreams about monster dogs and running for my life.
How would you react if you woke up to the same situation? It's easy to say you would know exactly how to handle things, but how clear would your head really be after slowly losing oxygen throuhgout the night? Maybe I should be embarrassed to share this story, but I'm not. It's been a couple days now and I still don't feel completely normal. I've got a kind of nasty cough and I had a massive headache which has now been replaced with a light headed feeling that won't go away. This is my life people. The house still smells like smoke. My coat and scarf, which were left in the living room, reek of smoke so much that no matter where I go I can still smell the smell of fire.
And that's the story of how I almost killed myself this weekend.

Arachnophobia (strong language warning)

Before I had ever moved my things into my new house, before I had even scheduled the movers, I had an encounter of the eight legged kind. After work on this particular Monday, I decided to take some small odds and ends to the new house. Things that would break easy, or were just easier in my mind for me to take care of. Like my jewelry holder, the bag of random wrapping paper and gift bags, that glass pitcher that didn't fit into any box, that box of breakables that didn't have a lid. I loaded up my car and headed to my lovely new home, excited to see it again.
I parked under the car port, grabbed a couple things and headed into the house. I set my purse and things on the kitchen counter and got out my camera to take the "before I moved in the house looked like this" pictures. I walked through the living room *click*, the dining room *click*, into the kitchen *flash*, through the hall *click*, and into the bathroom. I leaned back towards the tub to get a picture of the wall of mirrors. I turned around to take a picture of the tiled shower and HOLYFUCKINGHELL! I was suddenly back in the hall, panting and trying to comprehend what I had just seen.
No way. There is no way I just saw a spider that big in my tub. There is no fucking way that I just saw a spider that big, in my new tub, inches away from where I had been standing. There is no fucking way that a spider that big exists outside of tropical climates. I took a step back into the bathroom, shaking, to peer over the edge of the tub. I saw legs. I jumped back. Dear God...it's real! I really saw that! Fuckfuckfuck. I kept my eyes on the edge of the tub, to make sure it didn't come crawling over the edge. I talked to myself.
Now K, maybe you're exaggerating the size in your head. Listen K, it's going to be ok.
I take a step back into the bathroom and peer a little further into the tub this time to see the entire thing. Oh sickgrossfuckdamnitmotherfucker that thing is a GIANT! It must have mated with a fucking dog. Why is this thing real?? Why is this thing in my tub?? I walked into the living room, keeping my eye on the tub. Making sure the tub is in my sights at all times. That thing is literally the biggest spider I've ever seen in real life. I honestly don't think it would fit down the drain if I tried to wash it down. And to wash it down I would have to get close to it. Oh God, and what if I tried to wash it down and I failed and scare it and it comes out of the tub after me?! I can't handle this. I start breathing hard again, keeping my eyes on the tub while I pace the living room.
What am I going to do? I have nothing but breakables at the house. No broom to whack the dog spider with, no bugzooka to capture this unauthorized intruder with, not that I believe this giant would actually fit in the bugzooka chamber. I don't know what to do. I start to panic. Tears spring to my eyes. I'm trapped here. I can't leave and go get something or someone to help me. What if I leave and come back...and it's gone?! I'll never know where it went! I cannot possibly move my things into this house knowing at any moment I could come face to face with an amazonian spider!

You think I'm crazy right? I know. It's ok. That's why I'm writing this. I have actual arachnophobia. I've had this problem for as long as I can remember. It's the reason my mom bought me my bugzooka. Almost everyone brushes my fear off as me being just another girl afraid of bugs. Most people don't realize how serious my phobia is until they see me in a panic attack, and even then, some people still don't get it. I'm writing this to show how those panic attacks look. How my brain works when I see a spider. I think that people assume this is just something I can get over if I stop being a wuss, but that's just the thing. This is a phobia. It's an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something. That's the definition of phobia. It's not something I can control (without help). I don't like the powerless feeling that overcomes me when I'm faced with my fear. I'm normally a rational, logical person. But when it comes to spiders, I seem to lose all control.

I sent a text to my friend A about the spider. Hoping her or her boyfriend could come save me. In fact, I sent a lot of texts hoping to get help. The whole time, pacing my living room and keeping an eye on the tub. In my mind I could see the spider crawling up over the edge and coming after me out of the bathroom. What would I do if that happened? I was way too terrified to actually step on it. Can you imagine the crunch it would make?! Sick! With it's legs, that thing was the size of my fist. Literally the biggest spider I have ever seen in my life. I realize I'm repeating myself, but that's what my brain does in these situations. My friend D said he could come kill the spider for me. Of course, it took a little convincing for him to realize I was serious when I asked. I kept trying to get myself to leave the house. To get into my car, even just get out the front door. I couldn't get myself out of the living room for anything more than another peek in the tub to make sure the monster was still there. When I thought of going back to my car, I could easily imagine more of these giant mutant spiders crawling along the underside of the carport, which would mean they would be right above my head. What if one dropped down onto me?! If I went on the porch, same problem. They could be everywhere! If there was one there would be more right? I waited anxiously for D to arrive to kill that spider, but I couldn't leave my spot. A asked me to send her a picture of the thing causing me so much stress.
A picture meant I had to get close again. But I had to have some validation. I had to prove that my fear was justified. I took a step into the bathroom again. The legs were still there. I took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. I turned my phone camera on and aimed it at the tub from where I stood in the doorway. I held it high above my head to get a clear shot into the tub without me having to step any closer than necessary. Zoom is my friend. I started to shake. What if it moved? What if the shutter sound scared it? What if the flash woke it up? What was I going to do? I pressed the button and ran back into the living room, breathing hard and trying to stifle my tears. I could barely even look at the picture I took. Just enough to make sure it wasn't too blurry. But it was too blurry. I had to take another picture. Which meant I had to go back into the bathroom. Damn it. It took me three tries before I got one clear enough to send. I was shaking and I could no longer hold the tears back. Each picture I took, I thought for sure would be the one that sent this spider into a rage. Thankfully, it never moved. I got the reaction I expected from the picture, laughter. There's no way I could get close enough to get a picture that would do my fear justice.
Where was D? What was taking him so long? I stayed in the living room, glancing from the tub to the window, hoping that any moment I would see D's car turn down my street. I wanted so badly to go outside. I was so hot. Warm from all my anxiety. My face was red and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Every time I checked to make sure the spider was still in the tub I cried harder. It was real. I wasn't imagining it. And I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted so badly to be a normal person. I wanted so badly to be someone that could stomp on that fucker with no hesitation. But even the thought of it sent my mind into a frenzy. It could be super fast! It could be poisonous! It could TOUCH me. This was not ok. This is my dream house. It cannot have spiders the size of house pets! What was I going to do if this was the norm at this house? I couldn't live there.
I was literally paralyzed with fear. I couldn't move beyond the living room. I tried to go into the kitchen but two things stopped me. 1) The knowledge that if I left my watch post in the living room and came back to find the spider missing, I would absolutely not be ok. It would be my fault that it got away and I didn't know where it had gotten to and 2) There could be more spiders just like that one in the rest of the house. Just on the other side of any door. On the ceiling of any room. Hiding in the corner of any closet or cupboard. Anything that I couldn't see from where I stood had the possibility of harboring one of the biggest spiders I've ever seen. I could see it clearly in my mind and even when I told myself to calm down, even when I reminded myself that I had been in this house before with no sightings of giant arachnids, I couldn't actually move. I just kept looking back and forth, from the tub to the window that faced the street. When would D get here?
It felt like forever before he showed up. Probably because of my maniacal pacing. He laughed when he saw me. I know I was a sight...red face, trembling with fear, unable to speak properly. I hate not being able to hold my composure. I pointed to the bathroom when he asked me where it was and I backed as far away as I could while still being able to see the bathroom, and not be too close to the fireplace, which surely hid more monsters in it's dark abyss of a chimney. Even D, who has been overseas and seen those literal giant spiders admitted it was a larger spider than would be seen indoors in the northwest. It was so large that it didn't even move when he went in to kill it. It never moved. I made him flush it.
For all we know it could have been dead the whole time. But guess what? That doesn't matter to me. Dead spider, live spider, plastic spider, picture of a spider, spider on the tv screen....They all have the same affect on me. You're supposed to be able to free the things you catch in the bugzooka. I can't, simply because I can't actually touch something so close to a living spider. I can't touch a picture of a spider. I can't wipe a dead spiders guts off the wall. I just can't. I try. I really do sometimes. But the closer I get, the shakier I get and I just can't seem to get myself under control.
I made D walk through the house with me, to give him a tour at the same time we checked to make sure there were no more mutant eight legged things around. I am so incredibly grateful to have friends that will come help me when I'm a blubbering mess. A few days after this I asked some friends to come over and help me "spider proof" my new house before I moved my things in. I got spray to use around the perimeter of the house to keep spiders out. I got a can of bug spray for any live ones I may come face to face with without any kind of "weapon". And I got more than a few things to plug in that emit a supersonic sound that is supposed to keep spiders and bugs away. There is now one of those in every room of the house, 3 in the basement. We decobwebbed, sprayed, and searched until we had done all we could. Whether or not these measures actually keep bugs and spiders away, I don't know. But they give me enough peace of mind to continue living in this house.
I still haven't put my foot in the spot that spider was. I still check every room as I enter it, to make sure there's no spider there. Since seeing that spider in my tub, the biggest spider I've ever seen in person, I feel I'm better able to handle the "normal" size spiders that I come across. I still cant get close to them. I still get shaky. But I can at least keep the tears back while I trap them in the bugzooka chamber.
There are really two reasons I chose to write about this. The first, it's a funny story. When I'm not in the moment, being terrified and screaming for help, even I can acknowledge the way I act is funny. The second reason, to shed some light on what goes on for a person with arachnophobia. This has always been an issue for me. I have had to deal with this for as long as I can remember. I've gotten to the point where I don't run away when there's a spider on the tv (or in a video game), but I still can't look at it. I have spider encounter stories of all kinds. In the car, walking through webs, waking up with a spider hanging from the ceiling above my face. I've been trapped in the bedroom, in the kitchen, in the hallway. Sometimes when I use a shoe to squish a spider (after a lot of pep talking of course) I can't wear that shoe for months, if ever again. I know that it's ridiculous. I know that. I really can't help it. I want to. I don't want to act this way. I don't want to be the girl running, screaming and crying through haunted houses because of imagined spiders (yes, that really happened once). But I just can't help it. It's real fear. It's so very real and I think that's what people don't realize. I've heard people say that it's an attention seeking thing, that it's just a way to get sympathy, that I should just get over it, that I'm a drama queen. One of my ex boyfriends actually refused to keep killing spiders for me because he said I needed to get over it myself. I might agree if I didn't feel what it feels like to have a panic attack at the sight of something that's actually natural.
It's not funny to mess with someone because of their phobia. It's not funny to send someone into a panic attack. I know that no matter what I say, some people will always think I'm just being crazy. I just wanted to hopefully shed a little light on why I act the way I act. Some people have phobias of snakes, some have phobias of slugs or eyeballs, and some people really are just drama queens. But phobias are real fear. Sure, they can make for some funny stories but please be nice to people about their phobias. 

I"M ALIVE! (it's a long one guys)

It's been a while eh? I've been busy. And without internet at home. So this is just going to be a little recap of what my life has been over the past couple of months.

INSANITY!

I could really leave it at that if I wanted to but I won't. I put in my 30 day notice at the house in the crack hood and I did that before I ever found a new place. I know a lot of people would say I'm crazy for that, but I had to get out of that dump and if I didn't push myself I don't know if it would have ever happened. By the end of the month, with 2 or 3 days left until I had to be out of the house, I still hadn't found anything and not for lack of trying. I called over 40 places in that month, and hardly saw any of them. Half the places wouldn't call me back. A few places set up appointments for me to see the place, and then would call to cancel it because the "house wasn't really ready for viewing just yet". Well then why did you put it on the market? Why did you make appointments for people to view it? Seriously, that happened more than just a couple times. Add to that the 50 or so emails I sent out, and it's clear I was really trying.
The emails hardly ever lead to anything. Most of the time I would get an email back that made it obvious it was a scam. Email after email came in claiming that the owner of the house was in Nigeria on a mission and asked for all of my personal information in order to get the keys shipped to me. Because you know, who wouldn't just give away all their personal info and thousands of dollars before ever seeing the inside of a house? After a while I started writing back all angry like because, well, because they were pissing me off. Here I am, trying to find myself a home and I get my hopes up over and over again just to have them crushed. It's annoying to say the least.
Naturally I turned to facebook for help. I posted a status asking for help finding a place. It just so happens that someone on my friends list was in the process of selling her house and since it would be a couple of months before the sale finalized, she offered it to me as a temporary place to live. It was a win win. She didn't want the house to lie vacant and I only needed something for a month or 2. And she gave me a pretty killer deal.
With the help of my absolutely amazing friends, we moved my belongings from the crack hood in SE to my new (temporary) house in Tigard. It took a while...a loooong while. K and A brought their men folk to help with heavy lifting and D came to lend a hand too. With 2 small pick ups, my grampas truck, a borrowed trailer and 2 small cars, it took one trip (and a lot of effort) to get everything over to the new place. I led the way, lost a couple people on the freeway and then got the rest of us lost by missing the second to last turn. I stopped my truck in the middle of the road to get out and have a little freak out in the street with my friends about being lost. Thankfully D was able to use his gps to help us get back on track. We got things unloaded, took a minute to breath and check out the house and then got back to work. We met back at the old house, minus D (some people have to sleep apparently) and got to work on the cleaning process. Yes, when I say I have amazing friends, I mean it. They helped me move, and clean my old house. I ordered us some pizza and we cleaned our little hearts out. We ended up with another truck load of stuff to take to the new house. And a truck load of garbage. Because my old landlady didn't allow me to have more than one can of garbage picked up per week and I apparently create a lot of garbage. Thanks to K's man for taking the garbage away for me. After dusting, scrubbing, vacuuming and scarfing down pizza we were finally done around 2 or 3 in the morning. K had offered to stay the night with me for my first night in my new place so we headed back with the last truckload of junk. Of course, that wasn't the end of it. I still had to take my grampa's truck back to him, in North Portland, so he could use it the next day...er that same day. By the time we were finally able to get to sleep it was after 4 in the morning and we were exhausted!
The next morning at 10 I had to go back to the old house for the "final walk through" with the landlady. I also had to pick up the last thing left there, my scooter in the garage. I never really got along with my landlady, but this walk through was the thing that really made me dislike her. Even before the front door was open she was looking around with disdain. Like I had ruined the house. Admittedly, I didn't take great care of the yard. That's well documented. But it's not like there was a couch laying in the driveway. We went inside and she continued to look saddened by just being there. I will freely admit that the carpet was not in good shape. BUT! It wasn't new carpet when I moved in there. And I lived there for 3 years. And it was crappy carpet. I looked stuff up people, and 3 years is a long time for crappy carpet, but who knows how long it was in the house before I got there. My point is, she would have had to replace the carpet anyway. It was always nasty. The only reason it didn't look better is that I hadn't been able to get a carpet cleaner before my time was up. We walked into the bedroom and she did the run-your-finger-along-the-windowsill-to-check-for-dust thing and asked me why I never dusted. She told me most people dusted their windowsills. We went into the bathroom and she noticed the smoke that had seeped through the paint from the years of steamy showers. See, the tenant before me smoked inside the house. After only a couple weeks of living in that house, the smoke had started to seep through the poorly painted walls and ceiling. It sicked me out, but no matter how many times I scrubbed the walls, it just kept coming back, and since that house was ghetto anyway, I gave up trying. I explained that to her and she shook her head. She looked at the window sill in the bathroom and said how terrible it looked. I told her I didn't realize that it hadn't been painted with non waterproof paint until it had already started to deteriorate. Not a good excuse I know, but it's the truth. She told me that most people would have put up another shower curtain rod on that side to make sure to avoid that. Actually, I'm pretty sure "most" people don't do that because "most" landlords would either use waterproof paint in a place that will get wet or tell the tenant to be sure to do something to avoid getting that wet. And, even with another shower curtain, the whole room gets steamed up when there's a shower running. And I was there for 3 freakin years. We moved into the kitchen and she looked at the stove. She pointed to the drip tray pans under the burners, which were dirty, sure. She said "Oh, those are expensive to replace." I almost laughed in her face. I told her that they are under $20 for all 4 from what I know, because I have replaced them before and I just didn't have time this time. She said "Well, yea for the cheap ones. But you have to get specific sizes."
Ok, first of all lady, if you want to put expensive stove burner drip trays in this ghetto ass house, on that ghetto ass stove in that ghetto ass kitchen, that's on you. Second, it's a standard size stove! The trays only come in like 2 sizes. Big, and small. And third, I checked and those drip trays are well within normal wear and tear territory and she would have had to replace them after I moved no matter what. That was the last straw for me. I didn't go all crazy, but I did decide it was time to tell her what was up. I told her that everything we had talked about, the condition of the house, was all normal wear and tear for someone that had lived there for 3 years. I pointed out to her that the carpet was not new when I moved in, that they hadn't washed the walls before painting over the smoke, that they hadn't provided me with a mower adequate enough to take care of the acre of uneven, rocky land out back, and that while I knew there was some work that needed to be done, I hadn't left holes in the wall (R helped me by patching up that one hole from way back when), ripped out electrical outlets, torn holes in the carpet, set things on fire...I have seen some trashed houses, and this house was not trashed. She noted on the walk through sheet that the house was left dirty. Yep, stayed up til 4 in the morning to be told I'm a slob. Best feeling ever I tell ya.
She asked about the mower, because apparently my ex had written her a letter promising to replace the mower that broke when we moved in. I told her with all honesty that I didn't know anything about that. I really had no idea that my ex had written her that letter. I told her we had broken up and I would like to avoid talking to him if possible. She asked for his number and I gladly gave it to her. She agreed that the if there was an issue with the mower, it would be my ex's responsibility and she would be the one to contact him. That my friends, is what's known as a silver lining. Apparently learning of the break up made her more sympathetic and suddenly she wasn't so mean.
K helped me set some things up at the new house. Specifically...a shoe room. I lucked out with a 3 bedroom house and I figured since I had the space and wasn't going to be doing any major unpacking, why the heck not treat myself to a shoe room? We hauled my bookcases upstairs and used them to showcase my favorite shoes. I only had that room for 2 months but I gotta tell ya, it really helped me wear more of my shoes.
For the next 2 months, I continued the exhausting search for a new home. I saw a few places but none of them were good. L went with me to see one of them.
In the pictures on the ad it looked perfect. There were cute little built ins, a sun porch, and a loft room upstairs. And for less than $700 a month! As soon as we stepped inside we knew it wasn't the one for me. The door opens into the "sun room" which had laminate flooring. The built ins were in this room. Cute enough. To the left was...well, actually I'm not sure what it would be considered. It seemed that this house had 2 living rooms and a largeish bedroom. But there were no doors. Doorways, but no actual doors. So, no privacy. In the bedroom was the only bathroom. I had decided that the next house I lived in would not have the only bathroom located in the bedroom. Because that's how the old house was and I know how inconvenient it can be. So that was a negative in my book. Plus, it was super small. If you sat on the toilet your knees would practically touch the sink. Also in the bedroom was a narrow staircase leading upstairs the the "loft". I was excited to see that. In my head I imagined my pool table going up there and that being the game room. I realized quickly that would not ever happen. The room was incredibly small, and even when I was standing in the place that had the highest ceiling point, I couldn't stand up straight. It's not like I'm even tall at 5'6". L and I headed back down to check out the kitchen. It was TEENY! If the oven door was open, it touched the wall and you couldn't walk past it. The washer and dryer were in there as well, and were itsy bitsy. I didn't even know those machines came that small. The fridge was blocking half of the cabinets along the wall and as I walked towards the back I noticed the floor was slanting. Towards the back door you could even see the slant of the floor it was so severe. That would have been dangerous for my drunken friends. They had advertised a fire pit in the back yard so I went to check that out. It was just some cinder blocks in a circle. Cool.
I went back in and made another round through the house. That's when I noticed the edge of the carpet bubbling in the bedroom and one of the other rooms. As I made my way back through the bedroom I noticed the door to the loft room was now closed. I asked L if she had closed it since I know I didn't, but of course she hadn't because I was the last one out of that room. Either the house is so slanty that doors close themselves, or that place is haunted. I thanked the guy that came to show the house for his time and we left.
House hunting is rough, whether you're buying or renting.
Living in the house in Tigard was saving me some money and I was eventually able to pay off my credit card. I made some changes and worked some things around and was able to give myself more of a rent budget. Which immediately helped in finding houses that weren't so...slanty. One Saturday, I had 2 viewings scheduled and I couldn't have been more excited. One of the houses was in a great neighborhood and looked like it had character, which I wanted. The other was in an alright neighborhood but looked gorgeous inside. First up was the one in the good neighborhood. Blocks from where I spend the bulk of my childhood. When I called to set up the appointment I was told there would be one other woman there looking at the house with me. I got to the house before the agent guy who was supposed to be showing the house. I was waiting on the porch when another woman came up and asked if I was there for the open house. I guess so? She poked around the side of the house to see if there was anyone in the back yard or something. She found no one. We waited together on the porch, and more people showed up. First another woman, then a man on a bike, then a couple. The guy showed up about 10 minutes late and as he let us in he told us how the process would work. The office was closed until the following Monday, so whoever called to leave a voice mail first would be the first person contacted about their interest in the house. If that person changed their mind or didn't qualify, they would move down the line. So, it was officially a race.
There was a maintenance man in one of the rooms painting, and had just finished painting the bathroom so we actually couldn't view those. The house was small. Average size living room, decent bedroom, another who knows what it's called kind of room near the front. There was a pass through from the bedroom to the bathroom. That was being painted so I couldn't walk through there. The washer and dryer were hidden beneath a hinged counter in the small kitchen. The back yard looked nice and the deck out back was pretty sweet too. There was no closet in the bedroom. It had a weird inset kind of space along that back wall that would have been the closet I assume. I'm no sure how to explain it but I would have had to make it work and I was hoping for a place that just worked, without having to get all creative about it. By the time I decided to leave, another couple had come to see the house and 3 people had already left. Which means they had a chance to get ahead of me in line on the phone call list. I didn't want to call before seeing the other house, and as I walked back to my car I saw 2 of the other people that had left, walking down the street on their phones. One of the couples came out and got right on the phone before I was able to drive away.
I headed to the second house feeling slightly disappointed but excited to see this one. I got there before the guy that would be showing me the house so I took the opportunity to sit in my car and watch the activity along the street. After the last house in the hood, I wanted to make sure my new house felt safe. I didn't see any fist fights or couches in the driveway of the house across the street. There was an mechanic shop on the corner that seemed to service nicer vehicles. On my old street, the nicest car around was the one the drug dealer drove when he came to bring my neighbors whatever he was bringing. I saw a Mercedes parked a couple houses down, and a few other nicer cars close by as well. I took it as a good sign. I also like that the house was hidden behind a large wooden fence, complete with no trespassing signs. It felt secure.
The guy showed up and I was finally able to see what was inside. After all the crappy houses I had seen, I know that they can make things look cute and spacious and amazing in pictures, but when you see it in person, it's completely different. Much like online dating actually. But this house...Oh, this house really was amazing. On the front porch, before the front door was even open, I fell in love. From the front door, you walk into the living room. All hardwood floors, light but not white paint on the walls, and these cute little lights on the walls. There's a large fireplace with a real mantel and a large mirror on the wall above that. To the left is the dining room, with adorable built in cabinets (on my list of wants) in each corner, a large mirror on the far wall just across from the large, original old school windows. Turn right and you're in the kitchen. It kind of took my breath away. All brand new, stainless steel, super nice appliances. Massive amounts of counter and cupboard space. A double door fridge! Oh my.
From there I checked out the massive master bedroom, with a walk in closet (the only one I'd seen on my 2.5 month long search of houses). Right next to the master bedroom is the door that leads to the basement. There's also a second door on the landing of the stairs that leads out to the back yard, and another large mirror on the wall. The basement was finished, not creepy like I expected. The washer and dryer were down there. It was all painted a beige-y color and didn't give me the heeby jeebies like most basements do. It didn't smell weird and it was well lit. I wouldn't be terrified to do my laundry down there (washer and dryer, another thing on my list of wants). I headed back upstairs and then upstairs again (!!) to the loft space. A real loft space. All carpeted, aside from the one end that has a random patch of laminate flooring by the window (also an original to the house), and a door on the opposite end that leads out the the MASSIVE sun deck. Oh my lord, a sun deck! It even has a porch light out there. I went back downstairs and checked out the bathroom. It has an incredible amount of mirrored medicine cabinets on the wall above the nice pedestal type sink. It has one of those giant shower heads that makes it seem like you're showering under a heavenly rainfall or something and the tile in the shower is all pretty and new. Then to the second bedroom, which is small, but has a door that goes outside to the carport (on top of which is the sun deck). There is crown molding around the entire house, and it's all hardwood floors aside from the loft which is carpeted and the kitchen which has some hardwood looking flooring. The guy told me how the last tenants had completely trashed the house and they basically had to tear it down and rebuild everything but the floors and the few old school windows. The owner of the house works with Standard TV and Appliance so that's why there are all those nice shiny things in the kitchen. I was completely smitten. The guy told me to call the woman I had set up the appointment with to get an application and I went on my way. I called the woman from my car outside the house. I left a voice mail and then I had to wait.
Waiting is always so hard. On Monday morning I called again to make sure she had gotten my message and she faxed an application to me at my office. I filled it out as fast as I could and returned it and then I had to wait some more. After some urging from a coworker friend, I added a letter to my application that said how much I love the house and the reasons why and pledged to take good care of it which would be easy for me as a single woman with no pets or children. More waiting.
The following Friday was Veterans day so I had the day off and had plans to spend time with my mom and grampa for the holiday. First though, there was an inspection at the house I was currently living in. It was the first time I was able to be home when the inspector people came in. They had been there twice before and when I came home from work I found all the blinds in my house open, my heater turned down, and my closet door open. Since I didn't have to work I planned to give them a little piece of my mind about how it's not cool to do that. I know someone is buying the house, but in the mean time I do still live here and even though you're coming in to do inspections you shouldn't touching all my stuff and messing with things. However, I didn't have to say anything. The buyer was with the inspection guy and her realtor. She had been the one opening the blinds. To make sure the house got enough light. She apologized for leaving them open and then her realtor thanked me for my time and patience and gave me a gift card to Starbucks. Forgiven.
Well played people, well played.
I drove to meet my mom and her friends at an Applebees (naturally, since they have the free Veterans menu) and I brought her some flowers cuz we're sappy like that. As we're sitting at the table, I get a phone call and jump up to find a quiet place to answer it. It's the woman about the house calling to ask some clarification questions about my application. Are you the one that has pets? And you don't have kids? And do you have the first, last and deposit all ready to go? Can you explain the misdemeanor theft on your record from 2004? With questions answered she got off the phone to consult with the owner (she's his assistant) and promised to call me back. I went back to the table and my mom asked if it was good news. I told her it wasn't news at all, just questions. I continued to eat, since my mom and her friends had finished before I got there. Another phone call and another jump and run to the corner of the restaurant. Assistant woman asks me if I'd be available that afternoon to come sign the lease papers.
I GOT THE HOUSE! I literally ran back to the table. I jumped up and down while squealing "I got the house! I got the house!" over and over again. My mom and her friends started clapping. Other tables started staring. I started crying from the overwhelming amount of joy I felt. I got the house! I got hugs and congratulations from people I had never met or only met a time or 2. It felt like a scene from a movie. I had never had such a public outburst of emotion like that. It was kinda fun.
Mom and I went to see grampy, and then she tagged along with me when I went to go sign the papers. There were still a few things to be done at the house so I didn't get the keys just then. As I signed the papers I couldn't help but think about how much my life has changed. I felt so adult. I didn't have to have someone else sign anything. I did it all on my own. Well, ok...I did it with help from my grampa. Without him I wouldn't have had the first, last and deposit to put down right away and from what the assistant lady tells me, that was one of the things that gave me an advantage (as if I didn't have enough going for me with the full time job for 6 years, no kids and no pets thing). Still, I was signing a contract as an adult, all on my own. It's the first time in my life I've done that. I've always had other people on the lease, if I was even on the lease at all. It felt...amazing. There's really no other word for it. I felt self sufficient and proud and excited and happy.
I decided to hire movers for the second move. I couldn't fathom putting my friends through all that again and after only a couple of months. I figured I might as well do this as stress free as possible. And it just so happened that my counselor lady had a moving company recommendation. I called and set up a move date for the Saturday after Thanksgiving; No hassle, and super affordable (if you're in the Portland area and need some affordable movers, check out Super Movers).
They showed up on time and ready to get to work. I can't lie, I was excited to see that I got 2 cute guys around my age as my movers. I showed them where everything was and they went to work. They were fast, efficient, and had a good attitude the entire time. They were cracking jokes the whole morning. The shorter one was calling the other one cupcake and making fun of him for not using his "magic words". When I asked him to please move something he would yell "See cupcake? She knows how to use her magic words!" After an hour and a half, all of my belongings were packed safely in the giant truck and we were on our way to the new house.
They checked out the new house and asked me if I liked to have parties. Apparently that's the only reason you have a big house as a single person. It's true for me though. They started to unload things and asked me where to put boxes. I told them to put everything in the living room and dining room. They asked me if I was sure about a hundred times. Honestly though, I didn't really know what was in most of the boxes so I wouldn't know where to tell them to put them. They told me I was making it too easy for them. They put my mattress in the bedroom without me having to ask, along with my dresser and all the bags of my clothes (what? I ran out of boxes). Then came the pool table. I wanted that to go in the basement. "I knew there was a catch!" said not cupcake. I thought for sure it wasn't going to happen. They thought it might not happen. Not cupcake was ready to give up, but cupcake was determined. And you know what? After about 15 minutes, somehow they got that thing down there! It will stay there forever now. Those guys were really awesome.
It came time to pay, and it was significantly cheaper than I was expecting (under $300 for nearly 4 hours!). As not cupcake wrote out the receipt he told me "if anything is broken, cupcake did it" with a laugh and handed me my copy and their card. Then they were on their way and I was left alone in my new, beautiful home.
That was last weekend. I have barely unpacked anything at all. I love my new house so much, but I have been really feeling overwhelmed with life. I have to unpack everything, but there is so much space I don't know where to put things. What a good problem to have. The walk in closet in the bedroom only came with one short rod for me to hang my clothes on...and that's just not enough for this girly girl. So before I can put all my clothes away, I have to install a rod in the closet. I've been living out of bags in the meantime. There's a small cupboard under the stairs to the loft that I call my Harry Potter cupboard. It's perfect for storing my holiday decorations and wrapping paper...but it looks all gross inside. Dark and dingy. So I want to slap a coat of white paint in there before I put anything inside. Same goes for the cupboards in the hall. They're dark and dreary and dirty, and before I put things away I want to clean them up. But I have no time to do that it seems. I have a house warming party, a pj party, volunteer shifts, holiday parties... all of them scheduled before I knew about my move. I have vacation time coming up at the end of the month, but I need my house to be set up and functional before then because I have things to do. And I still have to put together and wrap up all the Christmas presents I've got and my vacation time conveniently lands right after Christmas.
Add to all that normal happy type stress the fact that the holidays this year are totally bringing me down, and I'm going just a little out of my mind. I don't mind having a small family, I don't mind not celebrating holidays that a "majority" of people partake in, and I don't mind being on my own. What I do mind is when it seems that people pity me for not having holiday celebrations. I hate the fact that everyone seems to assume that we all celebrate the same holidays. I hate the fact that when I get asked about my holiday plans, I get a look of sadness when I say I have none. I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad. Somehow they end up making me feel bad. I know people love Christmas and all...But I don't care about it. I never have. Sure, I like getting presents and giving presents. I love the feeling when I give someone something that is just perfect for them and they love it. I actually love wrapping presents. And I'll admit, Christmas lights are pretty. But I don't like the massive consumerism behind the holidays. Thanksgiving is less about giving thanks and more about the food and preparing for Black Friday. Before Halloween was even over, Christmas was being shoved down our throats. We're supposed to decorate accordingly, prepare baked goods, plan out a holiday meal, buy and wrap presents for our loved ones, find the perfect outfit for holiday parties, spend the day (a whole day!?) with your family and don't forget New Years is just around the corner! Does this not seem like a lot of pressure to anyone else?
I suppose most people just grin and bear it because it's the holiday season and that's just what it's like. I totally understand that. Just try to realize that not everyone in the world celebrates the same holidays. Why is there so much talk of Christmas, and almost nothing about Hanukkah? Why do you look at someone with sad eyes when they tell you they had Burger King for Thanksgiving? The holiday season is about love and kindness. Try to remember that, because when you forget, it just makes people sad. That's the end of ym little PSA.

So now you're all updated. Obviously this doesn't cover everything that's gone on in the last few months and I have some good stories to share, but for now, this is all.