I’ve written quite a few posts mentioning the house I bought, also known as the money pit or the house we accidentally renovated.
Well, this weekend was the big move and I just knew there’d be some blog material. Admittedly, I thought it would come from the characters moving me, but I was wrong. You see, I’ve used the same moving company 3 times in the last 4 years. And last time, the captain of the ship was a kimbo slice look-a-like named, Diesel,who took a liking to me. He spent the day calling me boss lady, walking behind me every time I went up the stairs making the “mmmm mmmm” sound, told me i didn’t “need no treadmill, you perfect baby”, as he was moving it, and told me to sit down and relax like the queen that I am, he would take care of everything. And forget it when my mom walked in. He was like, “Say what? That your mama? Pshhh you got some good genes, I’m finna take you straight to the courthouse and make it official.”
Guys, I may as well have been at a resort sipping a hand-muddled mojito. That’s how much fun I was having.
So naturally, I requested “D” (or Heavy D as my mom called him) for my recent move. Sadly, he was not available. So the crew did not present the same entertainment factor as last time. But, it’s like the universe knew, because there was stuff brewing for later.
Movers showed up at 9am and we arrived at the new house at 2:30pm. Why so long, you ask? Because there are a few things in life I do not do and there’s no compromise. Packing for a move is one of them. (Ironing is another). I basically took my jewelry, important documents, things of value (namely the Louboutins and Louis), and my underwear (because the idea of them packing that seemed weird). Other than that, they packed every last thing down to the W(h)ine and CheezIts!
So I arrived to a full house – Jason, his mom, my parents, the cable guy, and the alarm guy. I was basically hosting my first house party and I hadn’t even walked in the door. Jason’s mom immediately rolled up her sleeves and got to work unpacking the kitchen (and as she likes to say, we’ll be calling her for a week to ask where everything is). Bob was puttering around fixing stuff, Jason was organizing a million things, I was unpacking the master bedroom, and my mom…well, she was hovering over the movers and tattling to me when they dropped or dragged something on the new wood floors. So I gave her a swiffer (which she had never seen before – true story) and put her to work.
I’m trying to fit everything I own in this house and still save room for Jason when he moves in at the end of the month. It’s not easy, people. It’s like shoving a size 10 body into a size 2 dress. And I can’t possibly trim any more fat. I have literally donated or thrown out dozens of giant garbage bags.
So as things are winding down and we are getting ready to host our first dinner party (and by dinner I mean 2 of my favorite food groups – pizza and red wine), Bob calls me over to the front door with the frightening beckoning finger motion typically reserved for high school principals wearing hair pieces, too-tight trousers and cheesy tie tacks.
“Oh god, what, please, don’t tell me something that is going to cost me more money. This well is dry.”
Wait for it….wait for it….
“Rachel, the front door was installed backwards.”
I must have just hallucinated.
“What???? I don’t understand the words coming out of your mouth.”
Yep. I am not fluent in door installation, so I probably wouldn’t have even known the difference. But aside from a bunch of annoying bullshit that comes with a backwards door, I guess one of the tells is that giant, obtrusive metal threshold, which is meant to be on the OUTSIDE was very much on the inside. FML. Within 24 hours I had a locksmith here fixing the damage so I could have one less thing eating away of what’s left of my sanity.
They made me take a dinner break. My mom had already quietly calculated in her head how many slices we would be rationed based on the order and informed us that we got 3 slices each.
Everyone left, I didn’t sleep a wink, woke up bright and early and tackled every last box in the house. If you’ve known me for 5 mins or have been in my life through one of my many moves, you’ll know that I do not like boxes in my house for a minute longer than they need to be. If I move on a weekend, I’m unpacked completely by Sunday night. Every. Damn. Time.
Then the homeowner’s errands were about to begin late Sunday morning. But not before a call to Bob because my brand new washing machine was displaying an error code and there was no water. Is this real life?
“Ok, Rachel, take everything out, and literally put one thing in. Might just be an unbalanced load.”
“Roger that. Nope…that wasn’t it.”
“Ok, take everything out and see if it runs.”
“10-4. Nope…not that either.”
“Ok, see the valve on the wall?”
“Which one, the one with the broken handle or the other one?”
“The broken one. Turn it all the way to the left.”
“Praise the baby jesus, we have water.”
20 mins later, thinking the crisis had been averted, I walked into the garage and the washer is off, same error code, but this time filled with soaking wet, unwashed clothes.
For everything in the world that’s holy, put me out of my misery.
I was about to call Bob, but was sidetracked by a simultaneous text and call from my credit card company asking if I made a purchase for $500 to a company I’d never heard of to which I replied, “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet much less dropped 5 bills on anything.”
Bob called, I explained the washing machine dilemma and he said he was on his way…from Aventorture (that’s Aventura for those of you still enamored with it).
After a 30 second assessment of the situation, Bob the Builder determined the root of the problem. The HOT water valve was not turned on. Yep! That’s right folks, Bob made almost an hour’s drive up to turn on the hot water valve so I could have laundry. And he wasn’t even annoyed or mad. How did I get not one, but TWO patient and understanding men in my life? (SLS is totes the other). I’m pretty damn lucky.
Because I like to torture myself, SLS and I
were forced by our mothers decided to go register for some loot for our upcoming nuptials, but that my friends is a WHOLE separate blog post. Let’s just put it this way, if Bed Bath and Beyond had xanax and a tranquilizer gun, that’s what would have been on there.