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.
  

The Grand Tour

I've had many requests for pictures of The House, but I've been so busy being unemployed that I just haven't gotten around to it (seriously). These are definitely just-moved-in yet-to-unpack Befores, but that will make our After pictures all the more impressive when we're done painting and renovating. And once we get some furniture.

The below picture could be titled "Ignorant Bliss." Little did I know that at this exact moment, I'd already locked myself out of the house. (I clearly didn't learn my lesson.) Thus, the Great Lockout of 2010 had me at the library just two blocks away, reading until Alan could come save me. Thank goodness they let me use email to alert Alan to my plight. Also, you'll note that the painted tire marks on the driveway are not our fault; the removal of the dumpster left by the previous homeowners caused a spilled bucket of paint on our street so that we could mar our house on Day 1.


The living room, just as you walk in the door. It's now being used as a store-all facility. There are boxes, decorations, and our office, as our real office is still in reno stage. You probably can't tell that the living room is pink, but it is. There is also a fireplace beyond that mess, as well as a pug. Can you find Marti in the mess?


Now onto the dining room. Yes, that is ripped out carpet that we're throwing out. And yes, those are boxes to be recycled in the middle of the floor. And yes, that is quite the makeshift window treatment. And you're right, that IS the box spring that wouldn't fit up the stairs, necessitating that we get a split box spring. We may not be doing any formal dining for a few months.


Our den, off the dining room, which can only be described as "cozy." It's small, but it manages to fit our TV, so that means it's big enough.


The eat-in kitchen portion of the kitchen. The brown door that you see is a half bath and then to the left of that is another door leading upstairs. But I'll get to that in a second.


Off the backdoor is the backyard and deck: Perfect for Marti; perfect for grilling; perfect size for mowing. Perfectly rickety back fence.


I won't show the half bath because there's really nothing to see besides painted wallpaper and a missing mirror, but here is the view upstairs from our second staircase. It almost looks a little creepy from this angle.

And more of the kitchen. We're taking votes on the wallpaper. Yes or no?

The upstairs. Here is the master bedroom. Calling it a master really makes me laugh because it's about the same size as all of the other tiny bedrooms. I think it beats one of them by like a foot? But it does have a pretty good walk-in closet, so I think we can work with it. Once we get rid of the yellow.


The pastel pink has to go. The beginnings of painting project 2.

Seriously, the closets rock in this house, even if they are currently seafoam green in this room.

The bathroom, which will probably be home improvement project No. 163. Note the blue bathtub. Retro!

From behind where I'm standing in the bathroom, a door goes to the stairs and this "storage space." Fantasy is knocking out the wall and expanding the bathroom while putting a laundry room off the kitchen, but that's thinking majorly long term. We're still in the painting stage.


The office, our first project. It was major, too, because it involved spackling, sanding and painting everything from the ceiling to the trim to the baseboards to the doors. And with four windows, a massive set of shelves, and a closet, it was no quick and simple task. Once it's not a storage facility, it will be an office and guest room fit for a queen!

Want to go downstairs? Sure you do! We're planning to use this bar to throw lots of rockin' Jersey parties, dudes.

And this is more space we don't have anything to do with yet. I envision a TV room once that paneling is outie 5,000.



Also? Laundry! Whee!

And a dedicated workroom and storage area. Marti warily eyes the boiler.


And there you have it. Now I know why I was putting this off: It took forever. But now you've seen it all.

It definitely needs some major love. Every time we start a project, we wonder what the previous owners (or the ones before them) were thinking. Why tape over a light switch when you can just paint it? Why do two coats of paint when you can just have one see-through coat? Why have doors that shut or knobs that work? But we are having so much fun being new homeowners. We're at Home Depot like twice a weekend. This weekend, tackling the pink room!

The Unemployment Line

You know how infuriating it is to be on hold listening to elevator music for hours? Yeah, it's a nightmare. You know what's worse? Calling the unemployment office over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and not getting hold of anyone.

I started with New Jersey because that's where I live. Their unemployment website leaves a bit to be desired, but after calling for days to no avail, I eventually found a bit of information telling me to call California because I just relocated to New Jersey. Thinking California might have its act together, I got online to find out more info. They're so nice that they let you file online. Quick! Easy! Unless you have just moved out of state, in which case you're special and need to call. So I call. And call. And call. This is Wednesday, what they report to be their slow day. Each time I call, I get a "We're currently getting more calls than we can answer...try again later, sucker" message. Then, about one in 20 times, I'd get a "Welcome...." Yay! Something different! This surely must mean success is imminent!

Ha! No! They just waste more of your time, making you push buttons until you again get a "Gotcha! We're still unable to take your call!" message. You don't even get to be put on hold, which at least makes you think your call will be answered by the next available representative. You get a big fat "click" and you're done. Oh, but they do keep directing you to the unemployment website, which I can't use, which makes me want to punch them in their big fat nose.

After doing this at least 100 times, I'm getting to the point of it ruining my day. I'm using my most colorful language when describing my situation to Alan and my mom. Lots and lots of sailor language. Seriously...why not HIRE SOME STAFF and kill two birds with one stone?!*

I finally get so frustrated that I look online to find out if other people have had this problem. Lo and behold, I'm not the only jobless Joe to be having the problem. One tip said to enter "130" as soon as you hear the "welcome" message. Numerous commenters attested to the effectiveness of "130."

So I give 130 a shot. Lo and behold, after getting to the "Welcome..." message a couple of times, I actually get through to someone. A human! Alan had to stop me from making out with the phone. I don't know if it was 130 that worked, or just the mere fact that it was late in the day and the volume was probably decreasing as people either got through or killed themselves trying, but my day came back from ruin.

Then, of course, because I had moved, I was deemed "special" and had to wait for a call back. But just getting through to a human gave me hope that there were people working the lines. And luckily Barbara, my bestest buddy at the unemployment office, DID call me back. And helped me. And is my hero forever and ever, amen.

Now I can take "Unemploy" out of the number 3 spot in my speed dial.**

*Probably because California is broke.
**That spot? Used to be my work/home number. Ha!

Jobless in Jersey

So last week, I got The Call. The "I'm sorry, your services are no longer needed" call. The "It's not you, it's the lack of advertising" call. The "Please send your company-owned items back to the office because you'll no longer be needing them" call.

I'm officially unemployed.

Thanks to a wonderful co-worker who let it slip that our magazine was going from 10 issues a year to a meager six issues for 2010 (because no one else was going to tell me lest I be prepared, apparently), I had some sort of inkling that business was bad. Had it not been for her, The Call would have nearly blindsided me. As it was, I knew exactly what was coming when I saw that number pop up on my caller ID. Alan had even joked hours before via email to "Let me know if you lose your job today!"

Even when it's expected, it's still surreal to be on the other end of that phone call. I expected it. I knew that there was no way they could justify keeping me on for a mere six issues. But it's still surprising. Like getting a C on a test you thought you aced.

So the news knocked me off my feet. For about 15 minutes. Then? I was so over it. Actually, I've been told I might be the happiest unemployed person ever. And I think I am.

I told Kyle when I was in Phoenix for a work trip in November that if I was still there for the same work trip in 2010, he officially had permission to kick my ass. I've been applying for jobs and sending out resumes here and there since we moved to New Jersey. I'd even been considering cutting down to part-time so that I could stop going insane doing both it and FBG (doing both was causing mental breakdowns and several "I quit" conversations with Jenn).

The job, while it was a huge blessing, had run its course. It was perfect and convenient when Alan and I relocated (twice) because I didn't have to find another job in California or immediately in New Jersey. The job lasted exactly the amount of time we needed it. It got us to New Jersey. It got us settled. I even started on Alan's insurance just three days before being laid off. Could the timing be any more perfect?

Funny enough, just the day before the layoff, Alan and I went to see "Up in the Air."* In the movie, George Clooney's character fires people for a living. Fitting, no? One of the scripts they follow when firing someone (loosely translated):

"Everyone who's ever built a major empire has sat where you're sitting right now."

In other words, make lemonade. Find that new door, that new opportunity. Maybe I won't be the head of a major empire. But I won't be doing a job I don't like. And I never have to write about construction ever again.

Next up in the unemployment chronicles: Calling to get unemployment benefits. NIGHTMARE.

*Seriously, who sees a movie about getting canned, closes on a house AND actually gets canned in the same week?

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Here to Stay (alternate title: Her Very Own Backyard)

Looks like we're here to stay. Alan and I have decided that we love New Jersey so much—the accents, the aggression, the weather—that we might as well plunk down an exorbitant amount of cash and sign away our lives. That's right: We bought a house.

After years of apartment living, I can't wait to be a homeowner. I know it comes with a lot of work and maintenance and gutter-cleaning and snow shoveling and paying for garbage pickup. And property taxes. Holy mother of all property taxes, by the way. New Jersey ranks No. 1, as in, most expensive in the nation. We know how to pick 'em!

But it also comes with a sense of relief that maybe we won't be moving once we hit the two-year mark, the freedom to paint the walls any color we choose, renovation adventures that are sure to come, and most importantly, a backyard. I cannot wait for little Martikins to have her very own backyard. (Also nice is that I won't have to put on pants and a coat at 5 a.m. and walk down a long hall to take Marti out.)

The house we got is pretty much adorable, if I do say so myself. Which is surprising and lucky, because after looking at about 30 houses, it is literally the only one of the lot that is actually livable. Our criteria wasn't all that stringent either. My priority was a backyard. Alan's? A dishwasher. Little did we know that we should have put items on our must-have list like "No standing water in the basement" or "Alan's head doesn't hit ceiling" or "Absolutely no gaping, muddy monster's lair holes in the basement walls."

So our house is not only cute, but it satisfies important criteria. Alan can stand up in the basement, the main floor and the second floor? Check! Backyard? Check! Dishwasher? Check! Add in the fact that it's got a fireplace, a bonus den, a finished basement AND a formal dining room? You can imagine our excitement. Sure, there is a random second flight of stairs that goes from the upstairs bathroom down to the kitchen, but maybe they did things differently in 1927.

We close tomorrow and will camp out there tomorrow night. Our official move-in day is Wednesday, at which point I will hopefully be able to unearth my camera charger and start taking pictures and documenting my life via blog again. You know you want pictures of that random second staircase.