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[Too Tired for Titles]
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Over the last two days, plaster and wood lathe has been busted, apertures have been punched with hammers and fine-tuned with chisels and jig saws, and wires have been fished from the basement, up two flights of walls, through various holes in the attic, and dropped adjacent to studs where boxes were installed, wires were diced and spliced and affixed to outlets. One bedroom is done; though, for some stinkin' reason the ceiling fan is causing the arc-fault breaker, dwelling in slot no. 3 on the left side o' da box, to flip out a bit (most likely the blue wire which I think is supposed to be grounded -- I don't know, the fan was already at the house -- is being stubborn).
Fuckin' arc-fault breaker. Forty bucks each! What will the code think of next?
Tomorrow, I'm taking a break from house-related madness and dust. On the agenda: E-check, for car-registration-and-tags issues, and Organized Living, for possible kitchen-cabinet-related issues. I ought to pack more tonight. There are boxes of clothes that I could go ahead and take over to the house, as they won't get worn any time soon. However, my upper back is so sore from hunching over outlets, that I think I'm better off lounging on the couch, eating more Chinese food, and watching television like a Lazy American.
If ambition kicks in, I'll work a few hours tonight, as I've been slacking enormously with my work-at-home-part-time job, to which I normally commit 10 hours a week. Not last week, and certainly not this past week. When that first mortgage payment bites me on the arse January 1, I'll be a cryin' yes! |
[That was educational.]
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The closing, in an ideal world, will be Friday the 19th, the day before my birthday. For the twenty-seventh anniversary of my birth, I have given myself a mortgage, 30 years of debt. The gift that keeps on taking. Joy.
My mom seems to think everyone ought to have a mortgage. "It would cut down on idiotic behavior," was what she said. Or something like that. I guess the whole responsibility factor comes into play with owning a home and, in turn, being owned by the bank. I know a lot of idiots. Most of them will never own a house, I'm sure. They're the types that pay fifteen-hundred dollars a month to rent a house and think it's a great deal when splitting the payment with three or four or five roomates. No thanks. I'm far too private and far too selfish. I don't play well or share with others for shit. |
[Tidbits of Joy]
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Biggie Fries and three large chilis at Wendy's is $6.66.
Rock |
[-must not pop the bubble wrap-]
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Seven boxes filled. Only half of them packed up and ready for the move. How in the hell did I end up with over 600 books (600-and-change being the count three years ago)? |
[On the dotted line, next to the "x"]
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The closing is approaching, as are days of packing, unpacking, rewiring, carpet-ripping, and window-painting. I will be spending Thanksgiving--and the following three days--working on my house, which is preferable to the family get-together I would otherwise be obliged to attend. And, most likely, I will spend my four-day Christmas-weekend taking care of final moving particulars and cleaning the apartment in hopes of receiving my full deposit in the end.
Today, I shopped around for a dining-room furniture. I found a 1910 mission-oak table and chair set for $2400. And, no, I didn't make a purchase. But, if I can get a sweet deal via my mother (my mom, the former antique dealer, knows the shop's owner), the table, its five leaves, and its seven chairs will be mine. Of course, I'll probably lose twenty pounds if I do make the purchase, as the cupboards and my wallet will be full of cobwebs. To sorta-quote Catullus, "I will throw you a fabulous party . . . if you bring the wine, the meat, and the girl." Any bored souls are more than welcome to visit chateau Amanda on to celebrate the New Year, but I will be a very tired hostess.
Monday, I will get an additional quote for my homeowners insurance. Apparently, with fair-good credit, I can get a rockin' mortgage rate; however, to insurance companies I'm a risk. Hopefully, my co-workers hook-up (her brother-in-law) will beat the quote I received Thursday. Monday, also, I will need to write an addendum into the house contract. The owers are upping the amperage, at my request, and I am paying half at closing, and, of course, the whole thing needs to be made official and good. I've signed my name more times in the last month than I have in the last ten years.
Tonight, I'll pack a few things, some books, drink a few glasses of wine, and celebrate the fine city of Cincinnati while watching COPS. That's right, kids. See Cincinnati's finest take on mulleted, beer-bellied, hairy-backed rednecks at 8pm! |
[It's the little things.]
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Look for the guy with the "FUCK THIS SHIT" shirt on CNN.
He is my new hero.
(link added at 9:53pm) |
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