I Heart Water

We went away for two weeks.

Now, since we've owned this house, we've not left it alone for more than hours at a time. I did not honestly think we had to sit around looking after the house, as it's a house. We've lived in a house before and left it for extended periods. It was always perfectly fine when we returned home.

Of course, this one wasn't okay.

Yeah, it looked fine. Everything was where we'd left it and from the outside it appeared to be perfectly normal.

It felt good to be back, out of the car, and not going anywhere anytime soon. The whole upheaval of the holidays was over. Brilliant!

I went to get the dog some water, as she hadn't had any in quite awhile.

I turned the tap and nothing happened.

"Did you turn the water off?" I called out to Pilot Boy.
"No. Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. It doesn't work," I replied, moving the tap up and down some more.

Nothing happened.

Seriously. Nothing.

It is winter. Since it got "cold" we've seen signs telling people to leave their taps dripping, which to us former residents of Alaska sounded idiotic. It doesn't get that cold here.

And it DID NOT get THAT cold here while we were gone. Sure, they had some winter weather, but it wasn't THAT cold. And our house is NEW(ish).

Pilot Boy didn't think the pipes were frozen (it was 60 degrees), so he called the water company. I  payed the bill (and the new bill I had in my hand claimed I did as well). But, he called them and asked if they'd turned it off.

Nope. Our pipes must be frozen.

It was sixty freaking degrees out. And the day before it'd been forty. Why are our pipes frozen?

Pilot Boy went about calling plumbers and "thawing" the pipes.

Nothing happened. At least unlike the a/c guys, the plumbers all ANSWERED their phones. They couldn't show up that day but they ANSWERED.

Pilot Boy at some point talked to this guy he knows down the street who'd been around and he told him it'd been warm throughout the entire time we'd been gone. (Except the day we left, of course.) Basically, our pipes shouldn't have been frozen.

(I lived in Alaska for three years. It actually GETS cold there. Our pipes never froze. And we left in the dead of winter quite a few times during those three years and never came home to frozen pipes.)

Let me tell you something: it sucks not having water. You do not realize how much you use water until you don't have any. Yeah, our toilets flushed and you could get two flushes out of them before they needed to be reloaded and yeah, we went out and bought drinking water, but you can't do dishes, you have to carry around water to wash your hands, and you cannot bathe. (Well, we could if we went to the gym or the neighbor's house, but still. I'm pregnant. I don't want to shower in a stranger's home or a gym.)

Luckily, the plumber showed up the next afternoon. He was confused when he was told we have frozen pipes and no water pressure.

"It's been warm," he informed me.
"I know," I said.

He went to investigate at the water thingy in the front yard and discovered it was turned off.

"Did you call the city?"
"Yes. They said they didn't turn our water off."
"Someone turned your water off."

I could only shrug.

He turned the water on, then turned it off.

During his quest to find the water thingy (you know, the thing that turns water to the house on and off), Pilot Boy had done something to cause the sprinkler system thing (I've no idea what it is but it's for the sprinkler system) to spout water off straight into the air next to the house. The plumber had no clue how to fix it, as he'd never seen anything like it before. He suggested in the spring we call the company that installed it and have them look at it. Or they (the plumbing company he worked for) could look at it. He did shut it off, cutting off the water supply to the sprinkler system.

Then he turned our water back on and oh, how it was lovely to have water again. (After I spent an hour running water through the pipes and getting all the stale water out or whatever my dad said I ought to do. I had no clue, but it made sense at the time.)

Moral of the story?

Someone turned our water off. Our pipes were not frozen, our water was off. Thanks city. You're really on top of things.

Bubble Gum and Tape

Pilot Boy and I bought a house.

At the time, it sounded like a great idea-- own our own home, be able to paint, decorate, destroy, etc to our heart's content and not have to ask a landlord if we could. Also, no longer throwing money away on rent! Whooo!

Granted, if I had to choose a place to buy a house, the one where we did, I wouldn't have done it. BUT, there were like no places to rent, we need a house, and we'd spent three years saving for a downpayment. (Of course, we assumed we'd be going to either South Carolina or Washington, not middle of nowhere land...but WHATEVER.)

We found a house on the ONLY day we looked at houses. It was like we were in our own House Hunters episode. We had three houses lined up to look at and choose from (not going to count the last house we looked at, as it was a duplicate of the one we bought, only plastered with carpet). We picked third house, as it felt right and didn't require a lot of TLC. I liked everything about it except the paint. You can change paint.

Flash forward a month and here I am, sitting in MY house sweating to death because the A/C broke last night.

Yeah.

It broke. The motor that pushes the air through the house gave up it's battle to cool me down and went kaput.

I lived the last three years without A/C. Anchorage doesn't do A/C. What do you do in Anchorage when it gets too hot to exist in your house because while the weather man keeps telling you it's a lovely seventy degrees, he fails to tell you that in direct sunlight it's 110 and no breeze?

You go to Fred Meyer. (Seriously, it was the coldest place in town when it got "hot" out.)

I think the hottest it got in the house the three years without A/C was maybe seventy-five. And I was MISERABLE. (I managed to drag my trip to Fred Meyer out for two hours that day...)

It's seventy-seven in here right now.

And it's just gonna get hotter.

Brilliant.

After discovering the reason it was so overly warm in our bedroom, Pilot Boy tried to solve the problem. Upon discovering the issue, he called the so called several twenty-four hour, seven days a week maintenance places.

No one answered the phone.

Bloody brilliant.

So, the first weekend with furniture in our house, we're going to bake to death. (Along with Basil Bea, the black dog who sunbathes while outside then wonders why she's hot.)

I expected the house to have some minor issues...besides the whole let's paint the ceilings the same color as the walls, find the most annoying shade of gold and use it and some sort of strange paint effect, but whatever. Paint can be changed! (You keep telling yourself that, Ireland.)

Yeah, it was annoying the oven and fridge weren't cleaned. Yeah, I don't understand why the microwave sometimes turns itself back on to move the tray back and forth after use. It was annoying when the water dispenser in the fridge spewed out water without prompting the first few times we used it. (It finally stopped.) Sure, it was irritating that there was no dryer tube to connect the dryer to the wall. (Pilot Boy later found the one that came with the dryer inside the dryer with all the packing paper...he failed to look before buying a new one.) Yeah, it was maddening they took the shower rod for the guest bathroom. (Why do people take shower rods? Seriously, just leave it behind.) Sure, the fact the dishwasher makes a god awful noise each time you open it is kind of vexing. (It sounds like a dying animal.)

But, you know, it's the kind of stuff I kind of expected. (Well, not the dirty fridge. It wasn't even wiped out, people. It was seriously disgusting and if I was bothered, that's saying something.)

However, did I think the A/C would DIE literally seven days after we signed the papers?

No.

Was I all that surprised?

No.

Pilot Boy said this morning this place is simply held together with bubble gum and tape. I would have argued before, but I'm currently doing a slow bake within my own house, so I'm thinking yeah. Bubble gum and tape.

It Won't Stop Snowing!

I live in Alaska. I know it snows. I know it ought to snow quite a bit.

PLEASE STOP SNOWING.

I can't see while driving. I'm pretty sure my yard is going to be FULL by the time spring finally shows up. And it won't be un-FULL till summer. (Yeah, it's that full.)

After thinking it was hazardous to drive through the streets due to snow MOUNDS, not street conditions, I took Basil out to the backyard. Okay, I let her out the door and she shot out.  Pilot Boy, months ago it seems, carved paths for the poor mutt when the snow got too deep for her to swim through on her own. She had been only using her well beaten path to the tree and never tore around the yard. But she's got paths now.

Though, under the tree is still her favorite spot.

I'm sure if she could, she'd chew that tree to bits. It did crack earlier this winter and a huge branch fell down into the yard during an ice storm. Since then, Basil Bea Dog has been slowly chewing the tree away. Today, while I was out with her, she discovered part of the branch that had been buried. I was minding my own business checking out our snow covered yard when I noticed her digging. Basil Bea loves to dig. It's an activity she learned from my father and brother during her stay in Chicagoland. Before she watched them dig a huge hole for the drywell for the sump pump, Basil Bea did not dig. Now she digs. Often. Today, she went digging in the snow. Strange on many levels, I went over to see what she'd found.

It was a STICK.

Basil Bea also learned to love sticks during her stay in the Chicagoland area. She learned to love a lot of things while there: walking, cold weather, snow, sticks, digging, turkey, carrots, cheerios, sleeping like she was drunk...(Side note: I miss my little drunken sailor. That bed bit the dust, so I no longer get a performance of Basil Bea hanging her head over the side of the boat.)

So, while Basil Bea dug and chewed on the branch, I ventured down the paths Pilot Boy carved. Partly to beat them down, partly to get far enough back to capture the snow on the roof. So, off I went.

Then I fell off the path. Right down into the snow up to my thigh. I was unable to photograph that, so I took this one, where it was up to my knee. I managed to get myself out of the hole, with Basil's help.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Basil was no help.


I fell in a few more times in my attempts to get myself back on the packed path. Basil came over after I was topside and sniffed out all the holes I'd made. Evidenlty, they smell good.

I did finally get a photo of the snow on the roof. The snow that is on the bay window, there? The snow is creeping again, away from the roof. It's annoying.

I also looked at everyone else's roofs. Even the people who "cleaned." We all look like we've got the same amount of snow.

It was snowing while I had Basil Bea out this afternoon. It has just finally stopped after a few hours, thank god. I don't think I can handle another major snow fall. Unless it takes out the tree in the backyard fully. I hate that tree.

Hazards of Alaskan Living

Snow.

We've had snow on the ground since October.

We do not own a snow blower. We own a shovel. Actually, we don't own it. It came with the house. It's a very nice shovel. Except when you want to shovel. I hate it when I have to shovel.

Our driveway is a slight disaster for a wide array of reasons. Snow, ice, snow, ice, rain, melting snow, the fact we only use one side of it because Suzi hates Alaskan winters. We got a good couple inches these past few days, so I ventured out to shovel.

I thought I'd make the driveway better.

It's worst.

For one, the tire tracks left by the Monstrosity are a combination of frozen snow and ice. I can't shovel them up. They are also growing as the winter continues, so they are pretty much one half of the driveway. I struggled for almost two hours trying to get the driveway shoveled till I gave up. It looked like a disaster area where I attempted to shovel and you still couldn't see blacktop. Also, it was REALLY SLIPPRY.

At least it snowed last night. So now you can't tell I even shoveled. Well, except on the side of the driveway I didn't get to and began new snow piles, as the ones in our driveway are over eight feet high. I can't throw things that high. With the shovel.

In the past few weeks I've also seen people cleaning off their roofs. The guy next door has some sort of special motorized roof shovel to clean it off. No one told me I'd have to worry about shoveling the freaking roof. Pilot Boy thinks it is stupid to shovel the roof.

"Takes away insulation."

So, we still have snow on our roof. All of it. Every layer.

Do I think if I had a snow blower, my attempt to clean the driveway would have gone better?

No.

I can't use a snow blower. Ask my mother.

How To Tell You Hate Your Home

1. Let your house get messy.
2. Then let it get dirty (It totally helps to buy a black dog.)
3. Wait at least a month between spot cleans.
4. Wake up one morning when the sun is out and think "I MUST CLEAN HOUSE!"
5. Begin to clean house.
6. Realize the carpet is gross.
7. Realize several of the baseboards are popping off the wall.
8. Cringe as you dust the ugliest brass fixtures known to man (which have never been dusted.)
9. Spend a half hour cleaning off all the soot your husband got on the kitchen window and discover the window is gross as well.
10. Scrub down the counter tops and discover they are stained and who ever cut them didn't cut very straight.
11. Clean the baseboards that are around the counter tops and realize the caulk is coming off. Gross.
12. Clean the tile in front of the fire and suddenly remember its PINK. My god its pink...
13. Open the door to the laundry room and shut it quickly. The room is too scary.
14. Clean the bathrooms.
15. While cleaning the bathrooms realize the counter tops (same as the kitchen) are coming off from the wall.
16. Clean the floor and ponder why it won't come clean. Scrub a lot. Still drity. Give up.
17. Fall over and remember why you never clean the house this much: It reminds you how crappy it is. And how in desperate need of updating it is.

The Wrath of Carpet

I hate carpet.

I am dead serious. Who ever thought carpet was a good idea should, well, be forced to vacuum it with a vacuum cleaner that 1) doesn't seem to pick up dog hair and 2) cuts out because the cord if frayed.

I think my husband has a deep mental connection to the vacuum cleaner we have. When it needs "help" he just ignores it and says its fine. When I first married him, he had an Orek vacuum cleaner. My mother has two Orek vacuums. She got one for her wedding and like it so much, she got another one. (I think after we moved into a two floor house? I don't remember. I was three.) They have lasted and I never hated using them. I thought it'd be fine with Pilot Boy's Orek.

Hell no. I couldn't PUSH THE THING. Our first apartment was all carpet. I was trying to be nice, since I had no job, and clean the joint. The vacuum and I DID NOT GET ALONG. It was very hard to push and I was pretty sure it was not picking anything up.

Pilot Boy just said I was weak. I yelled at him and said he could vacuum.

So he did. (This often happens. I announce I am no longer doing something and he can do it, and he just usually does it.)

When we lived in the Dirt Hole, my mother came to visit me. She had heard me complain about the vacuum and couldn't believe an Orek would suck. (And not in the way it should.) She took one look at it, flipped it over and proclaimed it needed a new rubber band thingy. (She used the right name.) Oddly, the vacuum cleaner came with this little slot to keep a spare, so she put it on, while chiding Pilot Boy. I think she also cleaned out the brush and said we needed a new one.

Pilot Boy said we did not need a new brush, so we never got one. I would look online, I would contemplate going to the Orek store in the Dirt Hole (so surprised there was a Orek Store in the Dirt Hole...) But I never got one. I never ordered one because the shipping cost more than the brush and most places that were not HEB or Walmart freaked me out in the Dirt Hole. (Well, actually HEB and Walmart freaked me out, but they were so big, I felt like if I vanished, someone might notice, or at least a CTV camera would catch it.)

So, then I went home and my mother yelled at me for not ordering one. She tired on several occasions to get me to order one, but I had all ready decided I was going to get a new vacuum cleaner when I got to Alaska. I dreamed of a day I would have a super sucker. I also wanted to get one that was also a hand held vacuum, as I did not have one and with Basil Bea, I figured it was time to get one to clean the couches she dearly loved.

I got to Alaska and got the old vacuum back. The first time Pilot Boy got it out and turned it on....it started on fire and blew up.

I was THRILLED. (Other than the rancid smell.)

However, after telling my mother it blew up and telling her the familiar smell of yucky vacuum had appeared, she informed me that Pilot Boy had just broken the belt or something and I could get it fixed. Unfortunatly, PIlot Boy saw this email, so he sent me to get a new brush and rubber band thing. I took the parts with me to the shop and the guy said, "Yeah, you have a dog dont' you?"

I  nodded.

"I bet you have long hair too?"

I nodded again.

"You're going to have to clean this brush out or its going to get stuck and blow up again," he told me. He then told me I should bring my vacuum in for a tune up.

Pilot Boy scoffed at the tune up. "Its a flipping vacuum cleaner."

Our whole house is carpet. I am surprised they did not carpet the kitchen, in all honesty. Our dog is a shedding wonder. I have mysterious allergies. Least to say, I am not a happy camper in this house in the winter when I can't go outside and sit there for two hours to wait out a sinus headache.

Today, I was vacuuming. Yesterday I vacuumed. It takes an hour to do the upstairs. It takes another hour to do the downstairs. It takes almost a half hour to get the stairs really done. I was doing the stairs today and realized the tiny hand held I had gotten from my grandpa for free (it had come with the new vaccum my Grandma had ordered and she had stashed it away even though she could have given it to me since she all ready had a hand held vac that worked...but I digress.) was no longer sucking up anything. I changed the bag. It was kinda full (not full, but kinda full). I put a new bag in and tried again. Still wasn't really picking up dog hair, but the stairs look clean(er). I vacuumed the downstairs and sat down to look at the floor. Still had dog hair.

I do not mess with the vacuum. Mostly because I tend to break things when I mess with them. I just sat up, looked at Basil and said, "We're getting a new one."

She still looked freaked out. She hates the vacuum, but still follows me around looking freaked out. At least she doesn't throw up in front of it any more like she used to.

But, this whole vacuum drama just makes me hate carpet a little bit more. I haven't like it since the Dirt Hole, but I knew I was in trouble when we walked into this house and it was ALL CARPET. I saw hours and hours of my life drowning in dust and hair while I fight with the vacuum. Recently, its been cutting out randomly and turning itself out because the cord is frayed at the top. I could tape it, but it just makes me mad that I have to put this stupid thing together all the time.

I just want a new one. I want one where I can just dump out the crap at the end of my time. I want one that will suck up the dog hair on the first go and I do not have to spend an hour vacuuming my home. (Well, two hours. But I never do both on the same day.)

I have dreams of Dysons. I am serious. I have dreams about vacuuming with Dysons. I also have dreams I have wood floors and just have to swiffer up the dog hair. Which would never take me an hour and I would not have a dog barking at me while I was doing it.

Total Winter Wonderland

It snowed on my birthday. I don't think its ever snowed on my birth date before in the location I have been located to celebrate it. But it snowed, like a real good snow fall.

And I shoveled it.

And then it snowed again.

And again.

Today, while waiting for the sun to show itself in the cloudy sky, i realized my back yard tree (the one I hate almost with as much flaming passion as the tree in the front), looks like it needs to be on the front of a Christmas card. The trees in other people's back yards look similar. The tree looked like this when we first moved in (granted it was burried in at least two feet of snow), but I loved the tree then. It was not till I began mowing the lawn in the spring did I grow to hate the tree.

How can I hate a tree? Easy, it attacks me. I am serious. I always looked horrible after mowing the lawn due to my battle with the trees. The tree in the front always bashed me in the head with its branches as I tried to mow under it. The tree in the back yard pulled my hair, threw bugs on me, threw leaves and other things on me and scratched me numerous times. Thus, I hate the tree. Both of them actually. Then, after beating me up all summer, they lost their leaves. SLOWLY. But they had so many leaves. I was not sure where the tree in the front got so many fracking leaves. Two WEEKS. TWO FREAKING WEEKS of raking and FOUR TRASH BAGS EACH WEEK. SERIOUSLY.

WE never raked the back yard. By the time we did the first week of raking, we gave up on the back yard. Pilot Boy mowed it, but then the next week, we just stared at the pile and told Basil Bea to go have fun.

Basil refuses to use the yard for fun unless it is covered in snow. She is my snow puppy and I love her. She ran at least a mile in the yard yesterday while I was out trying to clear the deck. Round and round Basil Bea flew, snow flying everywhere. She loves snow. What this poor snow loving dog was doing in Texas is beyond me. She hated Texas. She loves snow and cold.

Two Posts in a Day? You Better Run and Hide....

Oh! So, I start the mower up this morning (why is someone mowing their lawn at nine pm at night? I know the sun it out, but its nine pm at (add choice word) night! what if I wanted to go to bed?) and started to mow the "side yard" we have, that butts up against the Neighbor With Many Kids's yard. As I swing the mower up to head towards our fence, I see it.

The wood pile is doing its best impersonation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Seriously, it was at a 45 degree angle. Some wood in the first row had failed at the impersonation and the other pieces of wood were busy mocking them by making them lay in the wet grass.

I went about my mowing, then stopped as it occurred to me the children who all congregate at the Neighbor With Many Kids's house might play over by the wood pile and it might fall on them. So I sighed and stared at the Leaning Tower of Wood and decided to just try to push it back against the house. That was when I discovered there was a thing to store a hose behind the wood pile. Confused, I spent 15 minutes pushing the top of the wood pile closer to the house. This was rather gross task as the wood was...wet from the rain, and infested with bugs. As stated earlier today, I hate bugs. And mud. But I hate bugs more than mud.

I backed up and looked at my handy work and the Leaning Tower of Wood was leaning now more.

It was misshapen, but at least it wasn't leaning at a 45 degree angle.

And then I realized I had managed to scrap my wrist so it looked like I was, well, slitting my wrist or something. Then, later, I was really smart and sprayed with perfume, so then it seared in pain.