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.