Friday, June 13, 2014

Crack Real Estate

"Is that a daisy in your lapel or are you just here to fix my drywall? I'm sorry, that made no sense."

Morning Readers,

The kids just broke the mini trampoline. Which is great because I was afraid we weren't going to be transitioning into the weekend as smoothly as we usually do and, miracles.

Then again, a small part of me rejoices every time one of our worldly possessions breaks, if only for the reason we don't have to drag it to a new house. The crap we've accumulated in the last five years is shocking.

(Anyone interested in a B. Smith serving bowl set that's never been opened? What if I told you it's been living amongst the spiders for the last half decade? No? You're loss. I'm almost ninety-nine percent sure it's not broken.)

Besides hawking my sketchy wares and trying to find a place to put my shower radio, renovations to the Split level are moving along. Not moving along in the sense things are getting done quickly, but more like we're enjoying getting quotes on things, then sending people away with much fanfare, created by waving our empty checkbook above our heads in a sweeping and showy manor.

"We have no money, but see how we selected the personalized "garden" background the bank offered. It's even got deposit slips in the back. Ya know, if you're into that sort of thing."

Monday, the electrician arrived. This was the only service I've managed to justify so far. From everything my research has told me, people in market for buying a house prefer that it not burn down in the first week of ownership, so I was able to get over my penny-pinching just enough to pay to have things re-wired and outlets put in the holes that should be outlets and not storage for baseball cards and small change.

I really had high hopes for the drywall guy.

No money, but high hopes.

That's how all those VH1 Behind the Music success stories start, so, obviously we'd follow suit.

"Seven hundred dollars."

I nodded casually while I looked for my jaw, which had hit the ground and rolled under the changing table.

"That gets you nine patches of your choice. We're pretty booked though, so you wanna go ahead and schedule the work right away."

"I found it."


"My jaw. Listen, I'm sure you guys are expert crack patchers, but I'll have to run it by my Husband."

"You guys do have a lot of cracks."

I shrugged. "You know, I never thought I'd own seven hundred dollars worth of anything, but to own that much in cracks makes me strangely proud. Thank heaven it wasn't an even thousand. No living with my ego after that."

He looked skeptically at the hole the kids had been working on so they'd have a way to see from the floor of the living room to under the porch. "Just let me know. Oh, and I'm sorry your dog ate part of the upstairs hallway."

"Your condolences are accepted. Honestly, I wanted to ship him to Alaska after that, but the son-of-a-gun's still here. The things that don't happen because you can't afford the postage. I tell ya what."

So where does that leave us?

I won't go into it right now, but I spent the afternoon watching Youtube tutorials and I'm off to the hardware store, so I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Ok, the kids are sitting in the broken trampoline. Time to go convince them it's an airplane so I can figure out how to use drywall tape.

Until Next Time, Readers!