Thursday, January 13, 2011

The House is Trying to Kill Us

Anyone that knows us well, knows that we are trying to get the hell out of dodge. We made a SERIOUSLY bad error in judgement in buying our home due to it’s location across the street from a ghetto mart. But, it is what it is, and until we sell it we are just trying to survive. I say that because this house is trying to kill us.


Here are a few of the ways our house has tried to kill us:


1)  The Stairs 
 A few years back, before children, G.R. tried to make a simple trip down the stairs. Somewhere along the way this went horribly wrong and he began a violent descent down the stairs. He slid down the steep stairs, landed hard as hell on one step, and brought the whole thing together by smashing his fist into a photo of the exact moment we got engaged- shattering the frame to pieces and causing shattered glass to spill all around him. Hearing all of this, I ran to help him because I am a loving wife. Unfortunately, G.R.’s solid tumble had caused him to actually break one of the stairs (this house is a total piece) and when my foot hit that stair it caused me to fall down the rest of the stairs, and ended when my feet planted themselves solidly into G.R.’s kidneys. I don’t think he was actually hurt until I gave him internal bleeding.


2)  Basic Upkeep 
 Due to the craptasticness of this house, our gutters seem to hold on to leaves far better than the average house. It’s also a bungalow so watching someone attempt to get to some spots is like watching a circus freak contort themselves. This is why G.R. ended up climbing out of a window on the second floor, onto one of the peaks of the house. What resulted next was about 30 minutes of me sitting at the window he climbed out of crying and thinking about our life insurance policy, while he sat on the roof paralyzed in fear and completely white. We are both pretty pasty, so to notice that one of us has turned pale means we are nearly translucent. Finally he gathered all his courage and jumped back to the window and through it. I think that gutter is still full of leaves and sticks. I don’t care.


3)  The Driveway Becomes a Glacier
 Our driveway becomes the ice rink from hell during the winter. If we pour all of the salt in the entire county on it, it still rivals an Olympic rink. I finally had a giant meltdown about how tired I was of ALL THE FREAKING ICE and G.R. went out and spent over an hour chipping it all away. He did a great job and the entire drive and walk way were perfectly clear. I left to go get ice cream for us and enjoyed walking to my car without putting on ice skates. I was so happy to be able to walk to the car without doing the splits. I pulled into the driveway and was thinking about how it was a miracle that neither of us had gotten hurt or had any bad falls with all of that ice, and was glowing with happiness that my husband had fixed the situation. I got out of the car and started walking to the ice free house without fear for the first time in a wall, tripped on a stair and face planted right there on the driveway. No ice, just the stairs trying to kill me. I did protect the ice cream by not using my hands to shield my face, so that was at least good. I looked up from my ice-less driveway and saw G.R. laughing hysterically. It’s probably fun to see something like that after your wife has a melt down that leads you to doing a sucky chore. Jerk.


4.)  The Entryway
Let me just start this by saying when I’m pregnant I’m......less loveable. That’s a nice way to say it. But in my defense I have giant G.R. sized babies that cause me to vomit for 9 months straight and obsess in terror about the day I finally birth the toddler sized child. As a kicker to that, this pregnancy my husband had spent most of his week days in Texas for work, leaving me to be pregnant and in charge of Nora. That’s a lot for any person. So we bought a new couch to replace the ones that did not allow us to wallow in the way we prefer. The couch is a giant sectional and is a small piece of heaven that made us happy. So of course, the house tried to sabotage. It all began on delivery day when two men who spoke no English came to bring it into my home. G.R. was in Texas so it was just me there to let these fine fellows in with the biggest couch imaginable. The nice man came to the door, took one look at our entry way and said “Oh no Ma’am....oh no. Not enough room”. See, G.R. and I had carefully measured the living room about 180 million times, knowing it was a large couch. We seriously measured for days and finally decided it would work. We never once thought about how the biggest couch that ever lived would fit through the entry way of a bungalow built in 1928 when people were shorter and smaller (no McDonald's or Old Country Buffet). So thus began an hour of the nicest Mexican man in the world trying anything he could to help me get the couch in. He took off our porch door, screen door, main door and french doors. He made the other guy, who sucked by the way and just sat there looking bored, pick up the coach with him and spin it all different ways. Through the entire hour or so he must have said “Oh no Ma’am....oh no” about 74 times. I just kept saying “Are you sure?” over and over. Those were the only things we could say to each other through the language barrier. Finally it was time to call it a day. I tipped the nice guy, hoped he’d keep it all for himself and watched my new couch speed away from me in it’s giant truck. Then I did the only rational thing. I called G.R. and lost my shit.


So, long story short; our new awesome couch came through the window in the front of our house, that doesn’t actually open, no it had to be pried open and the glass taken out and everything. It involved a day off of work, my brother-in-law, and very patient husband. Had I not been pregnant, it probably would have involved Xanax for me. I wish my Mexican friend could come back and lay on the couch with my family, it’s seriously comfy.


What’s great about this topic is that the fun will just keep coming. I am willing to bet that on the day we try to move out, the driver of our moving truck will become distracted by a flashing sign advertising sugar free red bull and accidentally run over our entire family in the driveway. It would be a fitting end.

3 comments:

Jake & Lesly said...

This made me laugh hysterically, and from the living room Gabe just kept asking,"hey mom, what are you laughing at?" ha ha!! You better write a book someday...seriously. You better.

Angela said...

thanks for the deep belly laugh!

sabrina0024 said...

I can't believe I had never read this one...almost in tears laughing. :)