On Houses
IT STARTED WHEN GRANDMA PASSED, the urgency to have a place to call our own, a place to call home again. We talked to builder after builder, picking out floor plans and granite countertops and available lots all up and down the county but for one reason or another (or a hundred, as it seemed) it always fell down around us with a resounding boom, boom, boom of our hopes and dreams crashing to the floor.
So we rented a townhouse with three freaking flights of stairs that have become the bane of our existence, and neighbors who walk around like they weigh 1,000 pounds, and a group of HOA whores who will report you if you don’t pick up your dog crap the very minute that steaming turd hits land.
And we love it here, we do. But one day the conversation came up that it would be nice to have our own house so we could landscape and decorate and hang stuff on the wall with real nails! and so many other things – but if I’m being honest, another reason being so we wouldn’t have to hear the neighbors bed squeak when they’re having sex. That may sound too graphic but let me tell you – I can also hear every time they go pee. Every time they go upstairs. Every time they FREAKING BREATHE.
But home buying remained something that was a Far Off In the Future type of deal. That is, until we went through a model home that we fell in love with and we started to think: could we?
Turns out, we can.
So that’s what we’re doing – going back into the world of house buying (which feels a lot like dating because of the back and forth communication, the uncertainty and the worry of if your mother will approve. I’m not sure which is scarier – marrying someone or signing on a thirty year mortgage. Ask me in a few months). We are to the point that we have everything picked out and wrapped in a pretty bow, and there’s a part of me that is so thrilled, but also freaked the freak out. I spent the whole time thinking it was too good to be true, but it’s looking like we’re actually building and buying a house.
If this post jinxes that, I will be so pissed.
Baby, Baby, Baby Oooh!
JUST IN CASE YOU EVER FELT like beating the crap out of Justin Bieber?
Now you can.
You’re welcome.
They also had Dora the Whora, but I’d never say never to an opportunity like this.
Those Cat People
ASHLEY JUST SUFFERED A DIAGNOSIS.
Diabetes.
More specifically, feline diabetes. Meaning her cat, Glade, now needs special cat food and insulin shots twice daily. It certainly explains why he’s taken to using her dirty laundry pile as his personal litter box. We thought he was just being spiteful.
This is an ugly cat that I painted for Aspen who declared it to be Glade. However, it is not an accurate rendering because Glade is pure orange and roughly the size of a large raccoon.
My friend Diane had a different opinion when it comes to treating pets for peopleish diseases.
Diane: wow I’m not a cat lover and that sounds like a lot of hassle and money so plug your ears I’d probably put it to sleep.
Or drop it off in a nice town like Mona.
Aubrey: DIANE!
You’re going to Hell.
And it’s going to be a room full of 2,000 cats.
All clamoring all over you.
Cat Hell.
Diane: No kidding that’s pretty close to my definition of Hell.
But Ashley is pretty compassionate when it comes to pets. I know this because when I was twelve, our sister dropped our Chihuahua and broke both his front legs, and Ashley held him on her lap afterward even though he pooped all over her. I wouldn’t say that’s love, as much as it was just an oldest-child obligation type of deal. But still, she wanted to do what she could for Glade so we trooped of to Target to get his medicine, and those Target people, they are really compassionate.
Pharmacy tech: What’s the patient’s date of birth?
Ashley: I don’t know. It’s for a CAT.
Pharmacy tech: Oh, you’re one of those people! How admirable of you! You know, I had a dog who was on Prozac once because he was depressed, and I swore after that I’d never do anything like that for a pet again, but that is just so nice of you. I hate that you have to go through that.
This is where I took the opportunity to remind Ashley that I wasn’t crazy when I almost bought a cat that had aids. His name was “Sunshine” and he would have been a great conversation starter. Sadly Kevin vetoed it. EVEN THOUGH IT’S TOTALLY NOT TRANSFERABLE TO PEOPLE, KEVIN, I was only going to leave that part out when people are over that I don’t like, or for people who piss me off, like don’t mess with me, my cat has aids. It could totally keep me from being kidnapped.
The Ceasar Way
WHILE KEVIN WAS GONE (and okay, I’ll admit – a bit before he’d left) I got really into watching Ceasar Millan, the Dog Whisperer. I watched so many episodes that when Kevin would hear the mysterious voice announce, “when good dogs go bad, there’s one man who’s their best friend. . .” he’d groan, this again!?
I fancy myself an okay dog trainer. I mean, my dog knows the commands, “get in your bed” and “go poop”, which will come in handy with kid-training some day. (I kid, I kid. Sort of). So I thought, you know what, I’m going to pull a Ceasar Millan and actually walk my dog. Become the pack leader, and bond and all that sort of stuff. He recommends an hour walk a day, but Ollie is a wiener dog with a dash of El Chihuahua, so I took his length, divided by his height, multiplied that by four short legs and walked him for fifteen minutes.
And you know what? It was wonderful. I found the prettiest tree. Kevin thinks I’m crazy because it happened to be swarming with bees, but some pictures are worth risking a sting for.
Also, I really wish the dog spoke English, and not Spanish or German (his ancestry) because then he’d know that I’m the one who truly loves him. Kevin called this picture ugly.
His exact words were, “it’s a face only a mother could love”.
Shoot, now that I think about it, I sure hope he was talking about the dog.
