Besides, who knows what else we'll find up there?

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I remember our Renter days when we'd just call someone (the landlord) for any house problem, and that was the extent of “dealing with it.” Just call someone (the landlord) and you get one-stop shopping, free of charge, never worry about it again. But now, as every first-time homeowner comes to realize, we can’t “call someone.” We are the someone. We have to figure out what kind of an issue we’re having (Electrical? Pipes? Pestilence? Meaning of Life?) and then find another someone we hope is experienced and trustworthy and bonded (what does that mean anyway?) to fix the issue in a timely fashion and without forcing us to take out a second mortgage. It’s enough to make a person crawl back under the covers and cry for mommy, really.

Two Sundays ago, I hopped out of the shower and into my Massage Therapist costume, veered downstairs into the kitchen to grab my keys and run out the door, when something made me stop short. Rather, something made me stop short, stare at the kitchen table, look up at the ceiling and gulp theatrically. There was plaster and water dotting the table and the items on it, and a nice chunk of our gag-o-rific popcorn ceiling had fallen away to reveal a groovy crack threatening to become a gaping hole. Of course we have a major plumbing problem. Why wouldn’t we want to add this to the growing list of Things We’re Putting Off (like the kitchen makeover we’ve had planned for months, the carpet that’s about to throw itself in the dumpster and the backyard fence that's on the wobbly verge of collapse)? Someone needs to let the Universe know that if it thinks we have this kind of money, it’s been sneakily thumbing through the wrong checkbook.

Meanwhile, we’ve been showering in the guest bathroom which, by the way? So much nicer than our bathroom. What the hell is wrong with our out-of-town friends that they wouldn’t want to come and enjoy a higher standard of bathing than we, the hapless residents of this crumbling abode, allow ourselves? The guest bathroom has everything our "master bath" does not: Full bathtub, great water pressure, room to turn around, fluffy towels, and blindingly orange walls, people. That’s all I’m saying. Feel the temptation. Taste the fucking rainbow.

Or something.

Monk called me as I sniffed bumpers towards home with the rest of the rush hour suckers yesterday. A plumber had shown up unexpectedly (apparently “call me back” actually means “come by whenever you want” in plumber-speak), and ran some high-tech tests (i.e., Plug the Drain, Fill Shower With Water, Wait for Water to Come Pouring Out of the Ceiling Downstairs; also impressive is the Spray Water All Over Bathroom & Again Wait for Water to Come Pouring Out of the Ceiling Downstairs test), and when nothing happened and the ceiling proved to be dry (ugly and threatening, but dry), they bonded with Monk (AHA! Bonded!) in bafflement and went on their merry way, presumably to pay a Surprise Plumber’s Visit to someone else.

According to the Unplanned Plumberhood, the next step is to cut into the ceiling over the kitchen table and “look around.” While the professionals can do this for a hefty fee, Monk says we can do this ourselves. Well, sure. But before we go all Tim the Toolman on our unsuspecting ceiling (which is also a floor, Monk. Which is part of a structure called a… frame, or something? Which I’ve heard is kind of an integral part in our house not falling down around us), we will be seeking guidance from my parents whose week-long Texas visit starts tomorrow (and is preventing me from attending a sex toy party on Saturday and, oh wait, getting off track here). At the very least, my parents can help carry the patch-up-the-ceiling supplies we will surely be purchasing this weekend. Plus, they are parents. Which makes them grown-ups. Who know things about owning property and having said property rear up on its hind legs and spit in your coffee.

Awfully nice that this parental visit is happening so soon after we broke the house, eh? I didn’t even have to crawl back under the covers and cry. Then again, they’ll be here for a week. I may end up like that anyway.

1 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

I hear ya. Our first house was like that. And the parts that were usually needed were never standard ones. And projects took 3 times more time than expected and 4 times as much money...

3:33 PM  

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