Friday, July 31, 2015

A new house, an old house, and midget who is a prick

Our Crepe Myrtle is lovely, but will be removed when we build a driveway and garage.  by the way, this is just one half of our new back yard. 

So, what has Cookie been up to these last two weeks? 

Well, we moved. 

We have left Tudor Cottage cozy for Dutch Colonial Center Hall granduer.

First the new house, which is substantially larger than the old house.  Everything is in the new house, although about half remains boxed up.  We had the locks changed because at the closing the out going owners handed us about twenty sets of keys, and they couldn't be sure that these were all the keys.  Each set contained anywhere between two and three keys per door, excluding the storm doors. The only thing that we didn't get was a pore key (obscure Green Acres reference) and the pad lock to the shed.  I guess at Contentment Gardens, their new retirement community, a pad lock is called for.  

The dogs are still a bit freaked out and very edging.  The scare quite easily in the new house and the boxes have them a a bit confused.  I say in a month, once the fence is completed in the back yard, they should start coming around. 

The old house, Tudor Cottage, is still an albatross around our necks.  Neither of us wants to go there and work on it, but this is crunch weekend with yard work and the final painting.  The kitchen is primed, but we have to get it painted "Agreeable Gray", a Sherwin Williams color that everyone agrees is lovely.  

I will say this - Cookie loves houses and becomes very sentimental about them.  But Tudor Cottage is a place that I never bonded to, and for that matter miss.  Indeed I walk in and immediately my inner voice says "ugh."  It seemed like a prudent thing to buy, but in the end, it "just didn't work for us."

Today I am home - fuming.  We hired an electrician to deliver more power to our second floor.  I had used him before and he seemed nice, albeit a midget.  Yes, he's a midget.  Well my idea of a midget.  He's about five feet tall, maybe 4'11".  A cocky little bastard.  But he shows up on time and doesn't gouge you.   Mr. Midget Electricians: "No job too big, and every job small priced."

Well, he turned into a massive prick today when he dropped the ball on the project we needed done and was supposed to be finished today.   This was a job that I didn't want to start on a Friday, because you know it's going to drag into Saturday then Monday and....  He promised me that his guys could get this done in a day. 

At noon today, guy one comes in and tells me that he doesn't have the right ladders and equipment to do the heavy duty line to the second floor and the third floor.   So I call Mr. Midget and ask if I get anything off for the inconvenience.  

Mr. Midget says he doesn't understand.  

I explain to Mr. Midget that because he didn't get his guys here first thing this morning that the work won't be finished, and that delays us in getting our offices set up.  PLUS, I shelled out a days wage for the dogs to go to daycare because he told us the night before he would be here first thing on Friday morning. 

"I don't recall saying that," says the little prince.

I do and it is in your text to me, along with me asking if it might not be better to start this on a Monday, and he said no, his crew would "just need one day."

"Look," says Mr. Midget, "I can pull my guys out of there right this minute if you are going think you are getting something for nothing."

And this is when Mr. Midget became a huge prick. 

We need this done, I just told him "fine," but added that I was not happy.  And he hangs up the phone in my ear.  Evidently Tom Thumb is a prick.  

Monday this will be done, and I will have electric, but he will always be a small, small man.  

And like I told the husband we just need him to get the job done.  And his people do beautiful work. 

Still, there is a part of me that wants to channel Dorothy Parker and say "With this crown of thorns I wear, why should I worry about a little prick like you."

Now, I need a nap. 

Friday, July 10, 2015

Honey, the abomination is how you dress...

Rowan County, Kentucky, Clerk of Courts Kim Davis has been in the news because she refuses to issue a marriage license to same sex couples.  Davis, a relative newcomer to office (sworn in January, 2015) believes in the Bible and only supports marriage between a man and a woman.

She feels that between two men or two women, it's an abomination.

Davis also doesn't like to make public appearances.  There is little doubt as to her reasons, but we can start with her hair, her glasses and her dress.  Make that her *sun* dress which she pairs with a perky gray long sleeve top.

Yes, Ms. Davis, your appearance is an abomination.

And then there is that pole of Jesus stuck up her ass. Doesn't do a thing for her posture, just makes her feel superior.

Now Ms. Davis, I think with a little help, and a little EFFORT you too can look PROFESSIONAL.

Just work with me, people. 

See, if we slap her head on a plus size model, because she looks like a plus size girl, slap some semi tailored clothes on her that didn't come from Wal-Mart, do something with that hair, she might feel a bit better about herself.  And people who feel good about themselves want others to feel good, too.  

Remember folks:  "Hurt" people hurt "people".   

Look, Cookie doesn't even know how to operate Photoshop, but my point is that she isn't a lost cause, she just doesn't feel pretty.

And come Monday when a Federal Judge orders her to start issuing licenses or be held in contempt of court, just might be being dressed by the county sheriff and discover that Orange is the new black.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

On schedule for the packing, mostly.

Well, the husband and I are on schedule with the packing for the move, mostly.  When packing for a move you have to be careful that you don't pack too much too soon or you'll find yourself unpacking what you have packed because you need something.

Nothing worse than needing something important, only you can't find it so you start unpacking what you just packed.  Or WORSE, and you go buy what you can't find, then you have two items when you only need one.

Yesterday was basement day, and I'll say that about 80% of the basement is packed and ready to go, more or less.  We did some culling - emphasis on "some".

Today was the garage.  Since the new house doesn't have a garage, but it does has a very large shed, a lot of what is in the garage that isn't garage stuff, is going to the new basement, which can absorb it, no problem.

We were a bit more ruthless in the garage.  My junior high school art projects went into the trash heap.  The pile of antiquated and broken yard tools joined the art projects.  The mummified squirrel who go itself trapped in the garage when we sealed up the big ass holes up by the soffit?  He too is in a better place and has joined my art work and the broken tools.

The husband wanted to bury it, but I pointed out that the new owners wouldn't visit his little grave as they never knew him as we did - a moldering carcass in the corner that cause two adult men in their fifties squeal like two teenage girls.

I will have you know that I was the one who put on the Big Girl Panties (this is figurative, mind you, not literal) and scooped up said mummified squirrel (with a shovel, of course) and dropped him in the contractor bag.

For those of you who have never seen a contractor bag, it's like a black plastic garbage bag, only heavier, but not like a body bag that Quincy* would unzip and look at a victim and then zip back up and solve the crime.  So it was fitting that squirrel went into it.

Then I became appalled, because my ancestors ate squirrel.  My mother remembers eating squirrel during the depression, until my great grandmother found out.  Great grandma was a farm wife, and they were mostly broke, too.  Then my great grandfather died and my great grandmother's cousin in Columbus introduced her to one of her husband's lodge friends and that man married great grandmother.  He had money, even in the depression, so when great grandmother found out that the family had been covering and eating squirrel, she sent her driver (yes, in the Depression) up home with weekly veal shipments.  Yes!  Veal!


Because in the depression, veal was less expensive than chicken.  And get this - my grandmother would make something out of veal called "City Chicken", which was veal cubed up to look like chicken.

Now look what I have done - gone and made myself hungry for veal.

Don't look at me that way.  Eating veal is the sacrifice we make so that children can get all that milk that they drink.  Besides, I only eat free range veal.  I am a meat eater because it tastes good.  But I won't eat veal if if it was raised in cage.  I am not a monster.  Well, not that often, at least.

Anyway, my point was when I started was to tell you that we are on schedule for the move.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go and pack some more.

* For those of you too young to remember, Quincy was the proto-Medical Examiner who also solved crimes.   Before their was CSI, their was Quincy, who looked and sounded like Jack Klugman, who was married to the absolutely divine and foul mouthed Brett Sommers.  Don't believe me?  Well fuck you and the horse you rode in on, then. 

Thursday, July 2, 2015

The one in which I tell the realtor to grow some balls.

Well, we are on the road to closing on the new house, mid-month, and today, the husband brought home 75 boxes for packing.  People, this shit just got real.

Up until yesterday, however, things were in flux.

We had our house inspection and we found most of the usual things that you find in a house approach 90 years old.  Old termite damage that was fixed when Eisenhower was in office, a few outlets with reversed polarity, sloppy caulk (and I hate that) around the shower, squeaky get the idea.

But we also found something unpleasant.

The first floor half-bath had a badly cracked waste pipe vent right under the toilet and the pipe elbow was leaking.

Now to me and the Husband, this was a must fix on the part of the seller, because raw sewage is gross, a vector for disease and sewer gas not only can kill you, but it can explode.

So we submitted our issues (fix the cracked vent and replace the bad joint) and we waited.  The "Seller" (aka Doug and Audrey) said they needed another week to get estimates.  So like Dante we were parked in (moving) purgatory.  We were damned if we started packing, and damned if we didn't.

Like good buyers, we didn't push - let them take their time and do it well, and then Tuesday we get their response.

The would fix this, and fix that, and reroute this and that to conform to building code, however they didn't think that the sewer line was anything they wanted going on around them.


So the realtor called us and said, hopefully, "Well?"

Shall we say that I conveyed to the realtor that all this other little shit was nice, but the sewer was non-negotiable.

"Well, let me see what I can do with their realtor."

Good enough.

Well, the next day I get a call while I am working at the Beef House Strip Club in the gift shop, and my cell phone rings.  I am not to be on my cell phone per Corporate, but it was our realtor so I took the call.

He starts out saying the sellers feel that...and that they really don't want to deal with the mess...and since we all know each other socially, its only going to be a $2,000 repair and do we want to throw a monkey wrench in the deal over such a paltry sum...

And reader, my limit had been reached.

I told realtor, that this was a business deal and not a friendly game of cards.  I reminded him that Seller - no longer Doug and Audrey, but "Seller" - got not only their asking price BUT a couple grand over their asking price.  I reminded him him that Seller tinkered for a WEEK extra getting estimates, and out of everything on the list, that this was the one that is a health issue.

"Well, what if they gave you $500 towards fixing this..."

And I said "Bob, grow some balls."  Go to their agent and tell them that we will pull the deal if that sewer line isn't fixed, and then you tell her that if they don't fix that sewer line and we pull out we get our good faith money back, they have to start from square one. And they will have to fix said problem now that they have been made away of it  No skin off our nose.  "You and I and the husband will find us another house with a better commission for you.  But seriously, dick's out and balls on the table this is a non-negotiable."

"Wow, you seem intent on this."  Think so? Uh, yeah.

So, yesterday we get the Seller's response.  They will fix the sewer, all costs, and that includes the foundation work.  In turn, we, the buyer will agree to pick up $500 of the little shit repairs.


To me, the crapper being in sanitary condition was the point.  And the little shit?  $500 I can swallow.  
And our realtor did grow some balls.  One day I hope to see them in the flesh.  

But as the Husband pointed out, could we have set our selves up for a major karma backlash?  Could be.  But generally, I expect the buyer of this house to want a house in good condition.  That's just the nature of the beast.