VG Kitchen Remodel: The Demo Begins

Remember this?

-Where the style of the seventies overdosed on weed and died, but not before painting flowers on itself.-

Yeeeeeah...

-And now we've begun to dig a proper grave for it.-

The demo has begun. Brian has built a new gate and is redoing the cabinets. I've been packing the old house, doing yard work, and chipping away old floors with a hammer and chisel. It's a work in progress and we aim to be done by mid-June assuming I don't have a stress-related conniption and end up painting my walls with my grey matter. 

VG Kitchen Remodel: Edibles Abound

-Bing! You have cherries.-

Did you know that a furnace costs about $3000? I do now. For that kind of money you think I could at least get it in a nifty color like ochre or maybe zebra print. But nope, it had to be replaced because the replacement guy was all, "Well, it has to stay disconnected so that means no air conditioning and if you plug it in you risk blowing the place up," etcetera and so on.

I tell ya', it's this kind of things that force feeds me three big helpings of flaming bitch and puts me in such a mood that even Satan won't screw with me.

So yeah, there goes some of my flooring budget. Not sure how I'm going to work that out anymore, goddamnit. This is nothing to say of the surprise duct work that needs to happen and the discovery of the totally broken under the seal guest room window. (We'll be buying cheapest vinyl window I can find. It will be made of old The Monkees records.)

Remodeling is stressful. So much I just don't have the energy to rant about it, which greatly reduces the amount of f-bombs the Internet has to Iron Dome itself from.

But let's talk about some of the positives I have discovered. Most of it edible.

VG Kitchen Remodel: The Before & The Plans

I'm back. Sort of. Kind of. As you may or may not know depending how often you visit the blog posting has been rather sporadic as of late. Between planning a book tour, a massive fund raiser at my work, and the fingernail ripping pains of escrow I've been rather busy.

Still, I finally closed escrow and come Friday - unless HUD decides to continue being a dick and delays itself again - I should have keys in my hand.

And while there is no running water, or garbage cans, or service to pick up said cans, and a front gate that doesn't latch, there's also crayon on the walls, a turd in the toilet that's been there for two weeks when a homeless guy broke in and stayed the night, and there's a bit of wood rot in the eaves with a moldy shadow that whispers anti-Semitic remarks at me... this house is mine! This piece of crap house is finally mine!

I suppose this sort of euphoria is normal, the way mothers are completely mindwiped of the previous twelve hours of vagina-ripping birth horror the second they pick up their child. House keys do the same thing with memories of escrow. Had I not documented the fact that it was such a nightmare I would probably just pass it off in conversation as, "Oh yes, it was unpleasant. You'll get through it though. It's so worth it!" 

I have yet to see this be the case for myself, but after looking at my interest rate and mortgage payments that are scads lower than what I was paying in rent it's certainly shaping up to be. 

Until that time comes around there must be construction. The kitchen, to be exact. The rest of the house consists of lots of little projects. (Well, okay, the yard is Lovecraftian Beast formed of neglect and spite and crowned with a dilapidated hot tub; but that can wait.) 

The kitchen has gas. That's the plus. The only plus.

Currently, the layout as it stands is crap. It's tiny and impractical for functional flow or movement. The oven is totally busted and there is no fridge or dishwasher to speak of. There's a poorly painted door where someone didn't tape up the glass that lies about four feet away from the front door for no logical reason. A tiny nook for a table the size of a footstool is provided for your convenience. The cabinets are ugly and covered in fairly horrifying stencils I assume a bored housewife popped on back in 1978 when it was cool and cable T.V. couldn't fulfill a bored housewife's needs all hours of the day. 

I could go on, but allow me to show you instead...

Escrow: Vermouth Cocktail with Grapefruit

-The cure to pre-home ownership woes. Also, my current loan company people are pretty awesome. I just need to vent so bear with me here.-

Congratulations! You are in escrow! The home of your dreams is soon to be yours! What? It's a HUD owned home? No worries, this won't be too much different from a regular escrow.

Confused about what to do first? Follow this handy step-by-step guide!

1. Collect all the information your loan company needs to move forward with escrow. This includes a government-issued ID, a month's worth of pay stubs, a credit report, and information on any major loans you currently owe on.

2. Oh, you already gave them that? Hmm, something must have been lost in the mix. Well, just re-email the electronic copies you made. Or fax the hard copies you have again. No worries!

3. Time to get your inspections done. This means that some people will come out and make sure your home is in working order. This is kind of pricey, about $500 to get the roof, pest, and general inspections done. However, this will save money in the long run if they find major problems.

4. Write out another check to the appraisal guy who will tell you what your house is worth and what needs to be addressed in order to receive your loan.

5. There's nothing majorly wrong with the home aside from a few tiny fixes that need to be addressed. Huzzah! You got the appraisal back, too! The house is worth more than what you will pay for it. Double huzzah! You just have to fix a small leak in the kitchen, too. No biggie, right?

Card Not Needed: Chia Lemon-Thyme Cocktail

-The oddest cocktail ever.-

Ask me. Ask me, you cock-holstering bitch. Don't you dare not. I swear to God if you don't I will kidnap you, smuggle you into a Slovakian whore house for leprosy patients, and tape dollar bills to the inside of your colon. ASK ME!

"That will be $21.20. Will that be all for you today?" the teen behind the register asked.

"Sure. Fine." I handed him my debit card trying to hide my boundless anger and disappointment. 

Fuck you, you son of a bitch.

"Thank you for shopping at Total Wine."

You won't be twenty-two forever! Someday you'll grow old, too! En-fucking-joy it! *internal and incoherent rage ensues*

This was the sixth time in two months I wasn't asked for photo identification when buying alcohol. I'm only two months short of thirty! I eat well! I work out! I look young for my age! 

Or... apparently not.

God. Damn. It.