The Money Pit. Part 2.
This post is a running post. To start from the beginning, please see Monet Pit. Part 1.
With our new pets safely tucked away in the chimney, and three new doorknobs installed on the doors, Poptart drops a bomb on me.
“My parents want to help us unpack.”
I am a VERY private person. I don’t like people in my shit. Period! Not to mention there were two bags of dried out weed I had been traveling with since California. My emergency stash. You never know. If the end of the world is coming, there is no reason for me to be sober. Trust me, it’s not going to help anybody. There is also one vibrator. These items have been packed away for over three years because Poptart’s job has required us to move from place to place. We have moved from LA to San Diego, San Diego to Colorado, and Colorado to Houston. They are somewhere in this giant mountain of boxes and I have no idea where. They could be stuffed in flowerpots, or they may be with the China we never use, who knows. The cats may have even smoked the stuff. All I know is, I have exactly four days to locate these items before Poptart’s parents do. The clock was ticking.
Having accumulated so much crap over the years and never officially unpacking the boxes, we had a lot of stuff. I seriously had no idea where to start. Coffee beans. Coffee beans. Look for coffee beans! I know I packed the weed in coffee beans. I started opening up boxes and shoving my hand in them. Box 1: shoes. Box 2: shoes. Boxes and boxes of shoes, glorious shoes! Stacy, focus! I need to find these items, and I plan to, but can’t I at least do my hunting in a beautiful pair of red 6-inch stilettos? Hey, look a cassette tape. Cyndi Lauper… what ever happened to her? Focus Stacy damn it!
After a number of huge boxes and a couple of “Why the hell do I own this?” finds, I found the first bag of “coffee beans” in a large plastic storage bin with old pictures, stationary, and other various paper products. Bag o’ weed number two was in a box of pre pregnancy clothes I have yet to fit back into. I have kept the clothes because sometimes I like to close my eyes and pretend I’m that skinny again. So the weed has been located. Phew! But I still had to locate a certain battery-operated item. If Poptart’s parents found this I don’t think I could ever face them again. Where the hell could I have put that thing? Knowing Poptart would probably throw it away if he came across it, I probably hid it in some personal items. Ooh! Purse Bin!
I must explain something about myself. I am a clotheshorse. I have more clothes, shoes and purses then anyone should ever have. If I let people into my closets they would faint from sheer exhaustion. Poptart has not only tolerated this, but he also allowed me to turn a guest room in our last house into my very own walk-in closet. God made Poptart just for me. She knew no one else would be able to deal with me. So when I say “Purse Bin,” I mean PURSE BIN. Tons of them. After about the 10th purse I started thinking I was on the wrong track. But sure enough, I eventually found what I was looking for and hid it and my precious coffee beans in a place no one could find them.
Poptart’s parents showed up ready to go. These two were on a mission. I have never seen people more driven. They got everything put away in a matter of two days, which would have taken Poptart and I probably weeks to put away. Especially considering I would have worn a different pair of shoes for every box I opened. The thing is, we have no idea where they put most of the stuff. I do remember putting all my glass wares in one cupboard and coming home after a quick trip to Ikea only to find them in a completely different cupped.
“I thought they would go better over here,” my mother-in-law says.
“Uh…okay,” I say. I’m SO moving those back once she leaves.
I’m missing vases, the fire extinguisher is now in the windowsill, there is broken glass on the floor but no one has yet confessed to what it is that has broken. And I’m waiting, but I know deep down inside this confession is never going to come. Now would be the perfect time to break out the coffee beans. Once my in-laws left and went home I immediately put my glasses back where they came from. And I finally located the source of the broken glass. It was a champagne flute. Not a big deal, I could live with it. They made it up to me by finding my long lost crimping iron. I have yet to use it again but I’m waiting for a special occasion. Maybe the next wedding we’re not invited to.
Things were going well for a while and we hadn’t heard anymore from the critters. Then the dishwasher broke. I called the home warranty people. Thank God we have the home warranty because with the hell this house has put us through we would be screwed without it. We desperately hoped that we would get a new model to replace our current model with wood paneling. Yes, it has wood paneling on it. It’s pretty sweet. The 70’s are alive and well in our kitchen. Considering the house was built in 1986 I have to wonder if the original owners may have watched one too many episodes of The Brady Bunch.
The woman from the home warranty talked me through the dishwasher problem. Did you know there is a switch that looks just like a light switch in the side of your sink? If you switch that into the ON position your dishwasher will work.
“Thank you so much,” I told her, feeling like a complete idiot. The 70’s continue to be alive and well in our kitchen.
So the Dishwasher was fixed, and the in-laws helped us unpack. All in all it was a pretty productive week. But we still had damage left over from the flood that occurred before we bought the house. We had a contract with the previous owners that the repairs were to be made. So we needed to get those started. I was about to make some new friends. Friends I thought were never going to leave.
Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: firstname.lastname@example.org