Disaster Area

You know the adage "Things always get worse before they get better"? Alan and I are currently living that adage. To quite the grand effect. We've painted the entire upstairs of our house, including but not limited to three bedrooms, three ceilings, three closets, windows, door frames, trim, a hallway, and Marti. We've been in our house approximately six weeks, and have spent every weekend slaving away in some form. So the house? Parts are improving by leaps and bounds.

We've been slaving away hurriedly so that we could pull out old carpet and get glorious new carpet installed. And because the hardwoods are in disrepair and the carpet was nasty, we wanted to do it as quickly as possible and be done with it. Carpet was supposed to get installed today, except that I heard "22nd" when the installers scheduled the "27th." I rescheduled for tomorrow, but this delay allows us a critical bonus day wherein we will do some touch-ups without worrying about marring the carpet. We've also moved everything downstairs, so it also means one more night of camping in our den and a couple more days living with THIS:

And this:

You'll recall that while we were living in a state of disarray before, it was nothing compared to the squalor of today. I can't wait to have my shoes in the closet where they belong, paint cans in the basement, and carpet I can squish my toes in.

But as of tomorrow (and the days it takes us to settle in upstairs), we will be finished with our first set of updates and will be able to take a breath. The only day we have officially taken off from the house was when we went car shopping. Which reminds me. For those of you waiting for an update on the shady car dealer: Yes, I have gotten my $300 back. I earned every cent of it, too. After calling and calling, my friend John assured me that the money would be sent, and I quote: "Not this Friday but the next Friday."

So when the Wednesday after that Friday came around without a check, I left a message for my friend John. And wrote him an email. I gave him 24 hours to respond. When he didn't respond by Thursday (which also came and went with no check), I pulled the manager card when I called. A lovely gentleman assured me he would look into things and guaranteed I'd get a call the next day. Sure enough, my friend John called the next morning, a week after the check should have been mailed. He apologized for any "confusion." He "didn't remember" telling me that it would mail Friday. Apparently it was supposed to magically appear somehow, someway, in my possession without any effort on his part. It was sitting in front of him though, so I could come pick it up from the receptionist.

So I did. Date on the check? The very day I picked it up. Meaning that it was only after enormous hassling from me that the check even got written. It actually surprises me when obvious stereotypes like "shady car dealer" turn out to be so right.

The remote starter though? Awesome.

Winter Wonderland

I won't pretend that we're snowed in to the degree of Washington, D.C., but 16 inches is a lot of snow, no matter how you slice it.

Alan woke up yesterday to an office closure, so he got a snow day. And it was really a day filled with snow, as we shoveled the driveway and sidewalks three times just to try to keep up. Our backs are feeling every inch of that 16 inches today.*

This is my second pass on the porch, after initially clearing the whole thing of at least 6 inches.


And because the snow would swallow Marti otherwise, I cleared a path for her outside.


Marti says "WTF?"

She's so tempted to go into No Pug's Land, but she's restraining herself. She's gotten swallowed too many times when it was slightly shallower to brave it again quite yet.

Still loving home ownership? You bet!

*I measured 16 after shoveling Marti's path. It was still snowing, so it could very well be more than that.

Adjusting to Housewife-dom

I'm coming up on a month of being unemployed. Contrary to what you might imagine, I'm keeping myself quite busy as a stay-at-home wife and pug mom. I never eat bonbons nor do I turn on the TV. How do I pass my days? So glad you asked!

• I have FBG, of course, which takes up a good chunk of my time and keeps my professional skillz sharp.

• Applying for jobs so I can remain gainfully unemployed. I have to prove that I'm looking for work, so I have to keep track of where I send my resumes and the result. The results so far? No one is banging down my door, but I expect that soon.

• Calling the trash company when they decided to skip our house. Twice. It was attributed to laziness. At least they're honest.

• Painting, spackling, cleaning, cooking. It makes Alan and I feel like we've stepped back in time when he comes home and dinner is ready. Granted, I did most of the cooking before I was unemployed, but now that it's all I have to do, there is definitely a 50s-housewife dynamic that wasn't there before. Next thing you know I'll start using rollers in my hair.
  

• Dealing with conniving car dealers. Seeing as how the Saturn now has 155,000 miles on it (God bless her), we decided now was the time to go ahead and get a second vehicle. We've been a one-car family since we moved to California in 2007, so I feel very spoiled having the Saturn during the day (the Saturn, a luxury). Except that the Saturn has been in the shop since Saturday. But we've got to keep her purring; I'll be damned if she decides to keel over on me now, leaving us in the same one-car boat.

  But I digress. The point of this bullet is that car dealers are thieves! After a Shady McShade-a-lot experience at one dealership—in which Alan pulled out one-liners that made me both proud to have picked him and want to make out with him on the spot—we had a wonderful buying experience at the next dealership. Until we got home and the numbers weren't matching up. We'd opted for a remote starter for the car, a pricey little bonus, but one that would make morning commutes just a littler toastier a little more quickly. Except for the fact that Mr. Finance failed to tell us about a hefty little $300 install fee on top of the price. He'd even written down the cost of the equipment when he was trying to upsell us, NEVER mentioning this $300. So furious am I about the blatant deception that I am still "working it out" with him. I think he thinks I'll give up. LITTLE DOES HE KNOW I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO WITH MY TIME.