For crying out loud.

So we purchased a place in Austin at the beginning of the fall. That, by the way, is where we’re staying on this trip. In our new home, aka, The Money Pit.

It probably appears I have abandoned not only my own blog, but reading all of yours. I swear that’s not the case, it’s just that all my time has been spent trying to work out problem after problem with our place. I wrote a little last week about discovering the refrigerator was about to blow, and then realizing two hours later the dishwasher is also broken. Those two things are only the tip of the iceberg. And please, don’t ask me whether or not we checked the appliances before buying. No, we didn’t. It never occurred to me to run the dishwasher when we checked it out over the summer. But you damn well better believe that the next place we buy, I will check every damn switch and plug.

Needless to say, we are more than a little stressed. Yes, we planned to make a few changes and knew we would have one significant remodel. Hell to the no did we know we’d start bleeding money from the get go. We figured we’d be able to do things slowly over the course of time, but suddenly there are all sorts of issues that must be addressed right away. I have cursed the assholes we bought the place from on an almost hourly basis since our arrival. There’s a special place in hell for people like them. We spent two solid days cleaning, and that was just to make it habitable. It would seem that the moment we put on offer on the place, they stopped cleaning. Crumbs, pubic hair, puke, you fucking name it, it was somewhere in this joint. We took photos of everything when we looked at it in August, and so we are absolutely certain the carpet was in pristine condition then, now, ugh, I won’t even go into details. It’s, like, bio-hazard disgusting. The mere thought of it makes me angry all over again. For anyone it would have been horrible, for a germaphobe, it was like a death sentence. I raged for days, not only because they were such revolting pigs, but also because we willingly handed them money to take over the home.

And, to make things even more interesting, we hired a contractor to do some work which was supposed to be complete two weeks ago, and still isn’t done. So tomorrow we will have two different people here working on two projects, just in time for one of my in-laws to show up. Awesome.

As you can imagine, my husband and I are bickering. We spent a couple of hours at Lowe’s today looking at shit, and while I didn’t count, I’d say there were at least a half dozen snide comments per person. After having a little food, we’ve called a truce and decided to not spend the remainder of the trip at each other’s throats over stupid stuff like what kind of dishwasher to get.

On a positive note, we did have a lovely Christmas. Yesterday my dad and I made the drive to visit my grandparents, which was wonderful, and tomorrow my father-in-law gets into town. In spite of all the drama, seeing our family has been fantastic.

We have another week before we return to California, so I wouldn’t be surprised if my posts continue to be sporadic until we get home. I hope all of you had a happy and stress-free holiday!

Thank you, Stoners One Two and Three for ruining the song.

A couple of months ago I read about Nick Cave’s new art opening in W Magazine. I assumed they were writing about this Nick Cave:

Not so much. Yesterday while driving through downtown Austin, we passed the Jones Center, which is currently exhibiting Hiding in Plain Sight, by a completely different Nick Cave. Rather than go into detail, suffice it to say he does stuff involving fibers and pogo sticks, among other things:

Anyway, all this reminded me of some moronic neighbors I had about a decade ago. After several years of weird roommates, I decided it was time to live by myself. Being that I was in school and working at a restaurant, I could only afford a certain amount of rent. My choices were limited, and I ended up in a crappy studio apartment in a building filled with some interesting characters. And by interesting, I mean thugs and stoners. The people directly across from me fell into the stoner category, and there were three of them living in a tiny studio. None of them were employed, so even though the rent was only $700 a month, the apartment manager was constantly threatening to evict them for non-payment. Keep in mind this was well before the economy went south, and all three dudes were about my age. They could have gotten jobs, but that would have involved getting up in the morning, and possibly passing a drug test, neither of which was going to happen.

To supplement for the lack of living space, the stoner dudes decided to put an entire living room set of furniture outside of their apartment, which was mere feet away from my front door, and because these were some of the tiniest studios ever, my bed. I went round and round with those guys. There was no AC in any of the units. I went out and bought a wall unit, but Larry, Curly, and Moe were only able to pull enough cash together for weed, so they sweated it out. Rather than hang out inside, they spent all their time outside on their what I assumed to be flea and lice infested couches. All their time, by the way, was at night. All night. Every night. And none of them gave a damn if they woke me or anyone else up in the building. I started by politely asking them to keep it down after midnight (which is beyond reasonable), to which I only got a blank stare. I asked not so politely, same blank stare. Between the three of them they had an IQ of about 10, so I don’t know why I bothered.

Flash forward to finals week. I stayed up half the night cramming for a test, and was trying to catch a few hours of much needed sleep. Instead, I listened to Red Right Hand over and over and over again, because The Stoners had brought a boom box outside and were playing it on repeat. Also on repeat was their conversation. They kept talking about how Nick Cave was so high during the recording of the song that, “You can just feel his eyes rolling back inside his head, maaaaaaaaaan!”

Every time they replayed the song they turned it up a little louder, which meant they had to yell a little louder to make their asinine observations heard. The fourth or fifth time it happened, something snapped in me. Clad in PJs, I opened my front door and let loose a torrent of pent up anger.

Pent. The Fuck. Up.

I had finals, and had put up with their nonsense for far too long. The funny thing was, they just could not understand why I was upset, you could see it in their bewildered and red-rimmed eyes.

After I finished flipping out, they replayed the song at full blast, and I’ve never been able to listen to it since without feeling a tinge of annoyance.

***

By the way, the next two days will be a whirlwind of travel, so I won’t be posting again until Thursday. Happy Holidays to all of you!!

You can’t kill my Christmas spirit, Karma. But it would be nice if you’d stop trying.

Most of yesterday was spent cleaning up Wednesday’s disaster-fest. In no particular order, the fridge began making noises that sounded like sparks were flying in the motor, followed by water and green fluid leaking all over the floor, and we discovered the dishwasher was broken. We had to have someone come out and take a look at the refrigerator to make sure we weren’t going to burn down the place. On the plus side, even though both appliances are a lost cause and will have to be replaced, the repair guy was very nice and honest. He explained he could give a quick fix to the fridge, but it would be time (and therefore labor) consuming, and the cost would be high for something that might prolong its life for a little while longer. Bad news or not, I appreciated his honesty, because he could have charged us out the wazoo and we wouldn’t have known until it broke again in a couple of weeks.

Then, when we turned in around eleven at night, we discovered one of the dogs had peed on the comforter, and it seeped through to the sheets and bed. Awesome. So we stayed up another hour and a half or so doing laundry. The comforter, however, needed to be dry-cleaned and would have to wait until the following day. To pass the time we watched a bad television show on Netflix, and my husband poured himself a glass of scotch, which I promptly knocked over. To top it all off, the temperature dropped to ridiculously cold in the middle of the night. At about three in the morning I seriously considered pulling the comforter out of the bag and using it, dog pee or not, because it was so fucking cold (I did not, by the way).

All in all it was a fantastic day. I assume Karma decided to kick me in the ass, probably for any number of reasons. Fortunately I’m so thrilled to be home for the holidays that I don’t care. Take last night, for example. My dad worked late, so we brought dinner to his office  and chit-chatted with him for a while. Little opportunities like that don’t happen when you live so far away from home, so it was really nice to take advantage of our close proximity.

Now, if things could just stop breaking and dogs could stop being tiny little pains in the butt* so we could go out and enjoy ourselves.

We have no idea what you're talking about.

*Not so much, my husband just told me one of them peed in another room. And we have no idea which one it might have been, because they are totally sticking together on this.

 

The day in pictures, because I’m too lazy to write a post.

If I’m ever in need of a lawyer, I’m pretty sure I’ll call him. This, by the way, is not my photo. Mine had a stop light covering the dude’s face.

Looks a little like Rob Zombie, no?

 

 

 

 

 

 

So today we went to a gallery that was in the middle of an industrial wasteland-ish sort of place to see an exhibit that opened a couple of days ago, which contains two of my husband’s photographs. The exhibit itself was very art-y, complete with flashing video installation set on a loop, and a piece that required you to walk through black curtains to view in complete darkness. While it was interesting, it didn’t capture my attention quite as much as the bizarre location of the art space. It would appear they rented out some abandoned storage space and set up shop. The doors to the gallery, studio, and office were all completely wide open, but no one was around. Empty beer cans and packs of American Spirits were all over the place, and it’s super windy in Austin right now, so debris was blowing everywhere, smacking into corrugated metal. I actually got a little creeped out. It was like walking into a horror movie, you know something bad is going to happen, it’s just a question of what. Obviously I have an overactive imagination – we left without incident, but also without the awesome t-shirt of a big ass deer with bats flying out of its head that I wanted. Oh well.

The lounge