Crackhouse Down

Sweet flaming terrycloth jesus, it's finally over. Our adventure in "Flip this Crackhouse" ended officially when Phillip called me in Richmond and said "I've got the check." I'm so shell-shocked from this experience, I'm still not able to assume we're clear. I have to watch our bank account for a bit, make sure it isn't a trick. We've owned this "quick flip" almost a year to the day when we bought it. To be fair, we couldn't control the drastic real estate market downturn and we couldn't have known how many weeks (no, months) it would really take to fix this place up. I also have to be honest and say that my husbands aesthetic demanded that we fix it so that it will last another hundred years. I'm not so sure most renovations are quite so conscientious. In terms of what he (we, but mostly he) did with this place, I couldn't be more proud. Sow's ear, silk purse, that's all I have to say.
Was it worth it?

Monetarily, no. We lost about three thousand dollars all said and done.

Emotionally, hell no. I dreaded weekends because we were going to work on this nasty money pit. I performed tasks I don't enjoy and am ill-suited for.

Relation-shippy, again, no. It wasn't the work part that wore us down on each other, it was the negotiation.

Me: Please just agree to the ridiculous terms and sell this place.
Him: We can do better.
Me: No, we can't. Unload it.
Him: Seriously. You are so risk averse!
Me: I am dying of risk averse angry rage!!! Aaaaarrrrrrrr!!!!!

We only had one actual fight about it, but that's one too many for me.
Knowledge? Well, if you mean knowing not to do this again, yes, for me. This goes back to being ill-suited. I really have no skills in this area. If we ever do this again (please, no) I am strictly the business manager. My job will be to beat Phillip about the head and neck and stridently yell "Respect my forecast!" Just like I do at my real job. Heee!

I thought I would want to delete this experience from my hard drive, but I am considering getting a color print of the finished product. I painted that house, inside and out, just me a brush and, for a short time, the Stupid Spraytech Apex 1920 Paint Sprayer. I've never painted the outside of a house before. I thought the idea of one person doing such a thing sounded ludicrous. Teams of people paint the house, right? So maybe I should remember that I can do something even if it sounds ludicrous.

Check it out, before:



And after:



Phillip is working on a far, far, more interesting recap on this project. It will be filled with pain and hilarity, much like life.

I don't know why we talk about this stuff either

Phillip didn't believe me that there is such a thing as nipple makeup. Fool! Test me at your peril! So, yeah, it's called Agent Provocateur Titillation (hee!) Lip and Nipple Balm. I think this technically means that it's a lipstick that you can also put on your nipples if you're so inclined. But wouldn't that get all over your clothes? Eh, whatever, I'm not out to justify it, I'm just proving it's existence. I'm not saying I'm competitive, but I am willing to google for nipples to prove my point. Nobody has ever proven to me that viruses exist. Take that modern technology! My reward for my bravery was this bonus picture of nipple stick-ons! To...make one more nipply?

One more cookie

So I want to lose the eight or so pounds I've put on since I started traveling regularly. To that end I've been going to O2 several times a week and watching E! or Soapnet while I elliptical. It's motivating because everybody on E! is skinny, except for that show they did about rednecks winning the lottery. Even rich, they still likes them some KFC.
Today started off with brunch at Tir Na Nog. We met a few other couples at the restaurant, two of whom were from out of state so they didn't know about the North Carolina prohibition against drinking alcohol before noon on Sunday. Drinking on Sunday morning makes Jesus cry, but only people in the Bible Belt know that. We were early enough that there was nothing to do but eat for an hour. Spinach salad with gorgonzola and walnuts, sun-dried tomato ziti, orzo with parmesan cheese, waffles, sausages, omelettes, biscuits, fruit salad, glazed ham, apple pie...it was one of the best buffets I've ever seen. I made more than one trip through the line and we counted the minutes until noon. You'd think our hands were shaking the way we were so intent on getting some alcohol. We finally got the sweet nectar of Satan and after a tall bloody mary each, we were free to go our separate ways. I ended up at Williams Sonoma after that where they were having a cooking class. It looked like they had chicken skewers on a grill. They smelled real good y'all. I shouldn't have been remotely hungry, but I still wanted them. So I bought spices and reduction sauces and decided I needed to go home and do some cooking!
Why is it taking me so long to lose eight pounds? I'd like to blame my aging metabolism, but I think the truth is clear.

You do not talk about puppy fight club

Charles Wallace got neutered this week. He's on meds and has to wear the embarrassing lampshade so he's understandably miserable. We're supposed to keep him quiet and still as much as possible so he won't pull out his sutures. It's a challenging task because our normally shy, sedate dog has a new, exciting little friend to play with. We got another puppy two weeks ago and he's all the hotness around here right now. He's half sheltie, half tasmanian devil. He's so different in temperament from Charles Wallace, who spent the first two months he lived here cowering under Phillip's desk, that I wonder if we really have a baby bogart living with us. I started the vacuum cleaner on Sunday expecting the puppy to have his first full-on brush with terror because all animals are afraid of vacuum cleaners. I could have a mountain lion living in my den and he'd freak out at the sound of a major appliance. It should have been "Goodbye childhood! Hello rest of my life peek ing around corners so the horrible machine won't eat me!" But, no. He attacked the vacuum cleaner. I knew at that moment I will have to give this dog treats whenever he wants.

Ender doesn't live with us anymore. We gave him back to the same people we got him from. They weren't exactly happy with us, but that was part of the agreement, that if he didn't work out for any reason, we return him, not send him to a shelter. And it was as simple as that, really. He wasn't a bad dog, but he wasn't a good fit here, even though we tried tons of ways to modify the habitat. It was a really hard decision to give him back, because it wasn't his fault, but after it was done, it was so glaringly obvious that we'd made the right choice. I feel really bad for hesitating for so long and trying to force the situation to work. It was a real injustice to Charles Wallace, who, it turns out, is not the naturally fearful dog I thought he was. He was just afraid of Ender. I saw the evidence of it all along, I just completely misread what was right in front of me. Since then, CW has absolutely blossomed and he's as playful and happy as I've ever seen him. So much so, that it seemed like a good idea to get him a friend, because, as much as I'd like to, I can't spend all day playing with him. If someone will just pay me six figures to play with dogs, I'm there. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll quit my job to play with your dog if you give me beer and cable tv.

We named the new pup Little Brock Sampson after the Venture Brothers Swedish killing machine, because he's kind of a little terror and I think he's all the guard dog I'll ever need. I'm a tad concerned about the aggressiveness factor, but if there are dominance issues later on, at least he'll be picking on someone his own size.

He taunts me a second time

An owl has taken up permanent residence in our back yard. Every night he sits on the same branch, overlooking the pond. Every night I sneak out the back door, thinking this time, if I'm so quiet, I can get close enough to get a picture. Then his head swivels around in that creepy Exorcist way owls have. He stares at me silently while I stand perfectly still, wondering if he could get airborne with my upper torso in his claws. He looks almost disdainful as he flies away. I think this is probably the best picture I'm going to get.

Bear in mind, this picture is not blurry. That's his aura. Of evil. Click the picture to see the full size. I'ts worth it.

Oh no....

I do not feel comfortable having sexy thoughts about Harry Potter.



No. Just no, no, NO!