there's no place like home

 let's talk housing, shall we?

my current apartment lease is expired, i have a few months of missing rent from unemployment/falling behind during covid- no unemployment benefits or rental assistance came through, the rent is increasing by quite a bit, maintenance has not been completed...it's been a lot and i've been...well...me.

would it be august if i wasn't yelling at a CEO via email somewhere?

*sigh*

i've shot myself in the foot so many times during the course of my life it's no wonder my feet hurt every morning.

there's a nationwide housing crisis happening, but it's not exactly a new crisis in my world.

this too shall pass. my housing guardian angel has FOR SURE worked their share over overtime the last 24 years and has yet to fail. i'm absolutely terrified of what the next few months will look like as the nationwide eviction moratorium is fought over in court- both for what i means personally and nationally. i can't even wrap my head around what it will look like when MILLIONS, of people are suddenly not just without a home but without the ability to GET a home. once you have an eviction on your record renting is nearly impossible. add on top moving cost, first/last/deposit, rental requirements x3.5 rent: income ratios, no pets...

ok...don't get distracted by an anxiety spiral self. stay on point.

HOUSING.

yeah. this is not my first rodeo. and let me tell you this, for a FACT, doesn't matter how many times i've moved, i've NEVER gotten used to it, it ALWAYS sucks, and it is draining on EVERY SINGLE FRONT: financially, emotionally, physically, mentally, time, health...

you know how moving goes- late nights, crap food, sprained ankles, rain/snow leading to colds, so many stupid trips to the store for more tape and more caffeine. fuck. i'm tired just thinking about it.

i got my first apartment in 4/1999.

babies raising babies

it was BEAUTIFUL and brand new. a lovely little two bedroom with a washer and dryer and a dishwasher and a play area. and i was the FIRST one to live there.

but, it was NOT easy to get into.

i was 17 when my kiddo was born: graduated high school in june, had my kiddo in july, turned 18 in september, started community college in october. it was a busy year.

i made a very specific decision when i chose to raise my son. several families had written to ask to adopt and i actually had a family picked out (that is a fascinating story for another day), but i very specifically chose to raise my son. it was a long and hard decision, and part of that was providing for him, on my own. my decision, my responsibility.

i needed to:

get a job

finish college so i could get a better job (running start in HS gave me a head start on my AA)

get my own place

the trick is, when you're 17, you can't sign a lease. and when you don't have a job you can't pay rent.

i was able to get a job doing work study at the community college while taking classes. i qualified for daycare assistance to take care of my kiddo, and, i found a fantastic advocate through rural resources that helped me find my first apartment, a brand new low income apartment complex literally across the street from the city park.

yeah, my housing guardian angel does some WORK.

to get into the apartment however, was my first lesson in learning to work inside the system to work the system, and technicalities matter.

*technically* when i gave birth, my son and i became our own family unit in the eyes of the state. i was covered under my parents insurance, but my son was covered under state insurance. as soon as he was born, it started a parenting plan and child support case with DSHS that made us an official family, and as an official family, we were technically homeless. YES, i was living at home with my mother, not, she was not going to kick me out, but i needed out. i NEEDED to be my own family.

if you are, indeed homeless, you need to show that you have used the resources available to you, to show that you deserve their help.

getting help from the state is a hard lesson in letting go of your ego. there's nothing like proving to people, over and over and over how poor you are and that you really do need help and you really don't have any money or any back up plan and yeah, your car is worth money but you can't sell it because you need it to get to work. humiliating and degrading and all the motherfuckers that think people are just making a living off "the system" have never had to be in the system. it is MISERABLE. having to prove you're poor, when you LIVE it every single day...it makes you question EVERYTHING. then when you learn later in life you have been living with massive anxiety FOREVER which amplifies everything...getting off track again.

you do what you need to do to get the help you need.

it was suggested to me that if i spent a night in the homeless shelter, it would help move my application to the top of the pile for assistance.

the homeless shelter in the town where i lived was an old house in the "bad" section of town (according to my evangelical mother). it was next to a known pot grow house in an older section of town. it was pretty run down and completely empty. there was a TV with aluminum gum wrappers on the antenna on a TV tray in the middle of the living room with a metal lawn chair. the second story was completely empty. i wore several layers, took a sleeping bag and sat in that metal chair WIDE AWAKE all night. i was TERRIFIED, alone in the dark in this strange empty house. the worker signed my in at 5 in the evening and i counted every second til 8 the next morning when i could sign out.

but it worked. i got approved for assistance and between that, my financial aid, and my work study i was able to get into my first apartment.

i stayed there until heading to EWU to continue college for my BA (financial aid covered tuition, 3 months rent and books each quarter, i worked part time and work study to cover the rest).

my son (eventually sons) and i ended up moving so many times after that...

i went to college, then got a different apartment at college, then got married, separated (the day the sun stood still: moved a full townhouse on zero notice in less than 8 hours while he was at work while 3 months pregnant), then moved back in together, then moved out. for good.

i thought it was hard to find an apartment at 17 with one baby?

finding an apartment at 23 with 2 kiddos coming out of a domestic violence marriage in a small town?

i honestly thought i was going to die- for a few reasons.

i had to be EXTREMELY careful who i even talked to about renting. in a small town everyone knows everyone and if a wife is suddenly asking about an apartment without her husband...word travels fast. and if you even MENTION the words "domestic violence" on the phone landlords instantly hang up on you.

on december 13, 2003 i was able to move into apartment 13. i found a landlord...mccurdy...i said "domestic violence" and he said HOW CAN I HELP. i cried on the phone. my domestic violence advocate was able to help me get approved for a housing grant- i was one of two grants approved for the TIBRA/THOR program for domestic violence assistance.

ONE. OF. TWO.

to this day i still don't know...like...was it a real program? i've tried to research it since then and can't find records of the program. but it paid half my rent for 6 months until i was able to get on my feet and get things sorted with the divorce and get financially stable. they told me i was approved for a full year, but i told them it worked. it did what it was supposed to do. it got me out and got me stable. use it for another person. i don't need them any more, and then they'll be available for someone else to be able to get out and be safe and start over. save another family.

wasn't i adorably naive at 23?

silly child. that isn't how government assistance works.

i'll never forget the social worker who just stared at me then laughed the first time i went in with all my receipts and a balanced checkbook ledger for my first food stamp review.

SHE. LAUGHED.

don't you want to check my receipts? make sure all the numbers match? make sure i'm buying approved/healthy foods?

oh sweet silly child.

but i was approved for a domestic violence housing grant, i was able to move, get the restraining order served, and get away. he left to plow the snow at the fire department in the morning, my mother took my kids, and my friends pulled in the driveway with a uhaul. i took only what was mine and got the fuck out. 

he came home at one point and asked if we could go somewhere to talk. the only thing i heard was my domestic violence advocate telling me: once he knows you're leaving that's it. there's nothing left to lose. that's when women die. do not go anywhere alone with him. do not go anywhere alone with him. do not go anywhere alone with him.

she saved my life.

i was lucky. i moved out by 4 pm and his girlfriend had moved in by 8.

he was distracted and glad to be rid of me. he wanted his dirtbikes back, that was the only thing he was mad about. his dirtbikes and the 4 wheeler. 

i was lucky. i was able to get a housing grant. find a landlord willing to help. get away. my work moved me to full time after that and after a few years i was able to transfer to the corporate office and move to spokane.

well, it wasn't *quite* that simple.

i had tuned in my 2 weeks notice at my corporate job because i found out my manager was intentionally blocking my career by not turning in my applications for job transfers because he didn't think i was ready to move forward. i was 23, had worked for this company since 19. i had gone to college, married, divorced, and my boss thought i wasn't ready for the challenge of the corporate office. yes, that's literally what he told me when he sat in my office and accused me of blackmail because as part of my exit interview i let HR know i was concerned he was assigning contract work without going through the required bid process. i stood my ground, stood by my two week notice. i deserved a chance to advance my career. i deserved the change to try at least. and what he was doing with contracts was illegal. i stand by every part of my decision.

however...i had no clue what to do. it was december, i didn't have another job lined up, i just..jumped.

about a week later, i was contacted by my company, and, suddenly, one of the jobs i had applied for opened back up BUT i had to be able to start the first of the year. in spokane.

two weeks.

i had 2 weeks to find a house, pack, move, DURING THE HOLIDAY, with 2 kids, transfer schools (pre-k specialized IPE and elementary school), and show up to the corporate office first thing January 2, 2007.

that last week of december between driving an hour back and forth to meet with landlords and look at places on the weekend, as i was able to "reactivate" my employment and use PTO to cover days between the paid holidays, get everything packed, and then i was notified of an officer involved shooting in seattle.

two officers with their FTO (trainees) had responded to complaints at a house party. one of the officers was shot during the interaction and died.

i waited for about 12 hours to find out if it was my brother or his partner.

my brother (and his trainee) and his partner (and his trainee) flipped a coin to see who would talk to people inside and who would talk to people outside. the office inside was shot in the back while leaving. his trainee shot and killed the suspect.

the news didn't identify the officer but talked about his young widow with a young son. in 2007 my nephew was 2.

the flip of a coin saved my brother's life but cost another his. my brother and his partner had gone through academy together. gotten married at the same time. had kiddos at the same time. but my brother got to live that day.

that was a REALLY long way to say: i didn't get much packing done for a few precious days, but i did it. i found a great little house less than a mile from the corporate office. it was blocks from an elementary school and a wonderful babysitter/home daycare provider. i was able to have a friend move to town and work as a live in nanny for a little bit while we settled in (my first failed attempt at being a roommate). it had a great fenced back yard with a swing set and a massive tree and vines all over the fence and the sweetest young couple neighbors. the owner lived in seattle and had bought it planning to move to town with his family but for some reason it fell through. it was a nice 2 bedroom/1 bath with 2 unfinished rooms in the basement and an upstairs living room and a large family room space downstairs. it was a great house. it was perfect. so close to school and work and daycare and a grocery store. *slightly* haunted, but what in spokane isn't?

one day in february of 2009 i got a call from the landlord asking if i would be interested in buying the property. i NEVER, EVER had the desire to own a home. EVER. renting was my jam. fuck yeah i'll mow the lawn and keep it looking beautiful and take fantastic care of it and stay there FOREVER. but YOU deal with the roof and the furnace and the water heater.

so, no, i wasn't interested in purchasing...why?

i had been paying rent. the landlord had been paying the owner. the owner had not been paying the mortgage.

i had 14 days to find another place to live before it went to auction as default repossession.

i am NOT lying when i say my housing guardian has worked straight up miracles over the years.

i was able to find a city owned surplus property on craigslist and move in right away. withing DAYS of getting everything moved out there was a notice of default stapled to the front door of the house.

the city house was...for sure a surplus home. it was turn of the century, lead pane windows, plumbing installed well after the home was built. it had a creepy attic and a creepier basement. one tiny bathroom where i could pee, shave my legs and brush my teeth at the same time.

but it was beautiful in a way. it has these high ceilings and a formal parlour and the original stained glass. that house holds such a weird chunk of time in my memory. one of those weird gaps of time you can't really account for. we didn't stay there long; by august we were moving up to a 2 bedroom on the south hill. the city turned out to not be the greatest landlord. i was honestly surprised. i really did think the city would appreciate a good tenant wanting to improve surplus property and keep it up. oops. my bad.

i really, really am a slow learner when it comes to how the government works.

surplus property means: no one wants it but they don't know what the fuck to do with it, so see if you can make a couple bucks renting it but don't waste any money on it because we'll probably just tear it down in a few years anyway.

i know this now. i have updated my dictionary accordingly.

the place on the south hill...holy jesus it was a moment to breathe, even if in the midst of storm.

august of 2009, the week i was moving in, was the week my oldest son was attending the funeral of his stepmother and infant brother. at the same time, my younger brother had been in a traumatic accident and was in a medically induced coma with a portion of his skull removed until the swelling could go down.

august and i have had issues for a few years. it fights dirty. really. really dirty.

i don't even really remember how i ended up moving. i remember it was hot and dry and friends, and trucks and too many trips because everything was a mess and falling apart but i HAD to move. school was going to be starting and i had to make sure to get them both settled into bus or drop off or carpool and still work. but everyone was dying and everything was falling apart.

but we did it.

i don't know how we did it.

that was the 11th or 12th my oldest kiddo had made at that point. we literally had boxes that we kept in storage with what to pack already written on them. keep the boxes, we'll be using them again before we know it.

with one kiddo on the spectrum, a personality quirk that makes change NOT the most fun experience, and a kiddo who has been through it ALL with me...housing was hard.

i was WELL aware of the stigma around having single mothers as a renter. i worked my ass off to NEVER be later on rent. i had excel spreadsheet and graphs and charts tracking my budget to the penny every month, i made sure we were good neighbors. my kids weren't too loud if we lived on the second floor, we didn't ruin the grass if we lived on the main floor. we were polite to even the mean neighbors. always take care of the little things yourself. never bother management unless you HAVE to. figure out how to make it work. a few yards of fabric and a sewing machine worked magic many a time. keep the yard up. make sure there's not a lot of toys left out. NEVER have a reason for the police to stop by. NEVER, EVER, be even a day late with rent. never question the lease. sign whatever they hand you. keep your credit good. it was a LOT over the years.

but the south hill space was a good space. it was a sturdy brick apartment. it had a cute fireplace. MASSIVE closets. good sized bedroom for the boys to share (two bedroom was affordable, three bedroom impossible, they could share for a few more years before puberty). there were good people. good friends. good memories there. i got rid of the last of my divorce furniture there. i bought a beautiful (way too big for the space) dining room table and chairs AND a sectional couch. LIVING THAT HIGH LIFE. a new sectional couch. whaaaaaaa???? you know the one. the multi-tonal beige to brown square microfiber/leather one that was in EVERY furniture store in 2010. that's right. i had fancy furniture. in a nice apartment. ON THE SOUTH HILL.

after the storm of losing tyra and roman and then my brother that october, it was a good apartment. it felt sturdy. we had GREAT neighbors. a nice lawn with massive trees. it was a block off the main street. my oldest could carpool to school, my youngest was a drop off on the way to work, i picked them both up after work at daycare.

we had a good routine there for a minute.

the corporate job was holding steady. boring, but steady. it paid well. i had good insurance. benefits. retirement. 401K. seniority, and my rent was always covered without question.

that risk of turning in my notice years before with NO IDEA of how or what i was going to do to take care of my kids had really stuck with me. i was lucky. a few hiccups, but i had landed on my feet thus far. this place was good. stable. i loved that south hill apartment.

then 2010 happened.

after my dad passed, i had this inheritance money, REAL MONEY, for the first time in my life, and no idea what to do with it.

for YEARS, my dad had always said: "i wish i could just buy you a house and take care of you."

well, he did. just in a really unusual way.

i did NOT want to buy a house. it was not in my plan. i loved that south hill apartment.

but, i mean, i had this money, and isn't that what you're supposed to do with inheritance money?

it seemed like the right move at the time.

i made a cash offer on a house the day it was slated to be auctioned as a VA loan repossession.

the full circle irony of life does not escape me.

i was able to buy the house, cash, with the inheritance from my dad dying in a house fire.

again, the full circle irony of life does not escape me.

 fuck that house.

dad, i love you. i love that you wanted to take care of me. i love you for wanting to provide for me.

but fuck that house.

i tried to finish the projects that had been abandoned by the former owner (their loan money had run out and they couldn't finish flipping it and it had gone to auction).

i needed to move the washer and dryer out of the kitchen, into the downstairs bathroom, which needed redone anyway. then i could finish the kitchen. then someone my mother knew could refinish the (original douglas fir) wood floors for me. but oops, he fucked up and there's not enough wood left to refinish them again. you need to replace all the floors. oh, and the front porch needs redone. and the garage door won't open, so you can't use the garage at all. you need to build a foundation under the garage before the door can be repaired. and by the way there's red mold that grows on the walls, even through killz, that looks like blood splatter. and there's lathe and plaster. and knob and tube wiring. and abandoned underground sprinklers. and mice. holy fuck the mice are impossible to get rid of and they are everywhere. well, fuck, there wasn't THAT MUCH dead dad money. now you're completely out of money, and by the way, PROPERTY TAXES.

did you know about property taxes? i mean, i KNEW about them, in theory. they're that thing affects the rate of your mortgage/payments. you know, the thing property owners complain about at election time- the school levy old people hate kids levy money.

UNLESS YOU DON'T HAVE A MORTGAGE.

then suddenly you're out of money and you owe a few thousand dollars to live in the house you bought.

but again, you're out of money because you paid cash for the house. and tried to finish repairs.

oh yeah, and you quit your job while you were doing all this in the middle of what you now recognize to be probably a massive break down after a huge amount of death and trauma and life changes.

property taxes are an asshole.

fuck i hated owning a house. that was the worst...what...7 years? contractors are TERRIBLE. door to door milk men try to sue you. you have to wear socks or get slivers in your feet. nothing ever felt clean. everything felt too big and too small at the same time. every project was dreaded because NOTHING worked the way it needed to. 

owning a home was a TERRIBLE experience for me.

i am for sure meant to be a renter. i dream of just having a steady, quiet little house with a tiny little yard with flowers and plants and a hammock and enough space for stella to get tired playing fetch outside and i will take the absolute best care of it but someone else has to deal with all the bullshit. i want to be able to call someone when the water heater is fucked up and never have to worry about it again. i want to be able to know i paid my  rent, i'm safe. i'm taken care of. i'm respected. my home is valued. i'm valued. i would be fantastic as a long term rent controlled renter. i'd take THE BEST care of a property and help keep the value and make it a solid investment. 

instead i get the place where i am now.

a negligent manager, a management company who blatantly ignores and dismisses concerns for 2 full years. a place where no maintenance is done. money is valued over community, there is no green space. there is no one that cares about making it a nice place to live.

housing should not be this big of a struggle, and i have been one of the LUCKY ones.

the universe has provided for me time and again in ways that are nothing short of a miracle. i did not get this far without help. i am absolutely, blindly, inexplicably LUCKY. the line between landing on my feet and seeing how much i can fit in a suitcase has been beyond razor thin at times, but somehow i've always managed.

i was able, at 18 to find a brand new low income apartment as a single mother first time renter.

i was able, after a traumatic marriage, to find a safe space and financial help. it was a beautiful 2 bedroom apartment on the ground floor so i didn't have to worry about the boys being quiet. there was a courtyard of grass straight out the front door, i could prop the door open and watch the boys play with neighbor kids.

i was able, on 2 weeks notice to find a perfect home, blocks from a new job, blocks from a new school, school, in the middle of winter, during the holidays, in another town.

i was able to buy a home. cash.

as much as i hated owning, NOW I KNOW. how many people ever, EVER get the chance to find out?

housing is scary for me now. i know housing is scary now for a LOT of people. i know that as absolutely blindly lucky as i have been, other have not been.

people deserve a home.

a young teen mother deserves a beautiful new apartment.

a divorced mother of 2 deserves a safe apartment.

people making a once in a lifetime investment deserve to know it was the right choice.

a tenant (renting by force or by choice) deserves rights and protections just as much as any home owner.

EVERYONE deserves the right to safe, fair, clean, stable, affordable housing.

housing should not be this big of a struggle for the MAJORITY of the nation.

people should not have to rely on the hope that they somehow miraculously made it through last time, let's hope that luck holds...

obligatory review

well. it's a week into a new year. i suppose i should take some time to reflect and learn and all that crap.

overall: 2011: not too shabby. not great, but for sure didn't kick my ass like the two previous years.

month by month shall we?

january: whatever. can't remember.

february: quit my job. the start of the new, different, year of changes. so many goals, so many things to do.

march: i'm bored.

april: i'm bored. oh, and lost grandma to bone cancer. sudden, fast, but hell, she made it to 88.

may: I BOUGHT A HOUSE. this is what happens when you're bored.

june: worked on the house.

july: worked on the house.

august: moved into the house. started making coffee. started working as a secretary.

september: kids back to school. hired/fired contractors that fucked me over.

october: halloween. i'm sure there was something else.

november: family holidays, whatnot. oh yeah: no more work.

december: more family holidays. more work followed by no work.

and here we are back to january again. there was so much more in there. looking back over blogs, looking back at kids, friends, pictures, there was some really good things and some really terrible things. overall though it was a pretty ok year.

now. the important things: what did 2011 teach me?

death sucks. if you haven't been expecting it, if you have, if it pounces on you, whatever. it wasn't any easier to watch my grandmother get sick and fade than it was to wake up one day and hear my dad was gone. you never want it to happen. you never want to let someone go. 25, 27, 55, 88 years...it's never enough.

family sucks: i still haven't been able to write about it but there was a huge shift in what remains of my family this year: in a way i lost all the family that i have left. i faced a really damn hard truth that my mother will never believe me, will never stand up for me, and would rather lose my kids and i than face some unpleasantness in her home. i also learned that my brother will unequivocally side with her. that sucks. it’s the only blood i have left and i don’t really have them. kind of a sucker punch, but at the same time i know i’m not alone, i do have good people and the world does go on.

contractors suck: i’ll expand this one to include: way too many people suck. i found out the hard way this year that there are way too many people out there willing to take the easy way, screw people over, do every dirty damn thing they can with no remorse. i had “friends” that disappeared when i stopped paying for every thing they could think of. i had a company i had been loyal to for 10 years fuck me without blinking twice. i had contractors that took advantage of my trust and left me broke and without a bathroom. i watched friends get screwed over. i watched my kids get screwed over. i watched employers get screwed over. it really sucks when you work so damn hard to do the right and best thing you can at all times only to realize you’re one of the very few. i guess i’ve was protected in my little cubicle world before. being out and around people now you see how many of them really do honestly suck. i LOVE that the people i’ve allowed in my life aren’t like this. i would like to believe the old saying: like attracts like. we all have a few exceptions, shit happens, but i’ve found some really awesome people that bust their ass and would do anything they could to help each other. i’m finding out how rare and precious that is and i like that i’ve learned to appreciate it more now.

fear is my biggest obstacle: i want to do so many things. but i’m scared. and i haven’t kicked my own ass enough to get over it. i’m honestly scared of dating- what changes will i have to make? what if he’s terrible? what if my kids don’t like him? what if they DO like him? what if i get rejected? what if i DON’T get rejected? i’m a pansy! it’s easier to stay single and bitch than step into the unknown. i’m afraid of failure: i want to start a business. i want to do all these great things in my head and work and make it amazing. but what if people don’t get what i’m trying to do? what if i don’t get customers? what if i fail and have to close? what if i’m a success and it’s too much to handle? what if i get shitty employees that try to fuck me over? what if i get good people and i can’t support them? and writing- remember all the writing i was going to do this year? i’m terrified of it. all the blogs that are still in my head- there’s a LOT of heavy subjects up there. what if people don’t like the serious side instead of the wry humor? what if i say something i shouldnt? what if it crosses a line and i can’t go back? i’ve been stuck since this summer. there’s one GIANT road block and i can’t decide if i need to bust it down and lay all the shit bare or skirt around it or avoid it all together. what if i say things about myself that causes me to lose more people? lose my support system because it’s just too much?

so. 2012: the year i kick fear’s ass.

also: a friend told me this year: “i believe the way you start the new year sets the whole tone for the year.”

i spent quite a bit of time thinking about that on new years eve. i wanted to do something different. i want this year to be different. i DID go out (just for a few minutes, and no adult parties...baby steps). i DID do something different (no disney channel). it was movies with my kids and sparkling cider at midnight followed by a movie with a very good friend and waking up in the morning to a hot cup of coffee and happiness. not a bad start at all. different, GOOD, and exactly what i want to make 2012 be. different and GOOD.

i’m applying for jobs. i’m working on my house. i working on writing more. i’m working on kicking fear’s ass. i’m watching my kids grow up. i’m learning to ask for help. i’m learning to accept help when it’s offered. i’m learning to discuss things as they happen instead of reaching an point of no return. i own a house and damn it, i want to own my life too. so. it’s a few days late, but welcome to 2012.

hurry up- I HAVE TO PEE!

so. i have a house. and it’s an old house. and it needed work. and i decided it needed more work that it *actually* needed. and then i pulled a ham string kicking myself in the ass for deciding it needed more work than it needed.

they say the two worst things you can pick on in a house are the kitchen and the bathroom. guess what two things i did in my house?

the kitchen turned out pretty damn good (minus the hole that’s still in the floor where the threshold is STILL missing).

the bathroom?

*sigh*

here’s the story on the bathroom:

the house has two full bathrooms- one upstairs with a standing shower, toilet sink, and the one downstairs that had a full shower, closet, sink. downstairs there was also a closet in what i’ve claimed as the office.

after the remodel of the kitchen there was no place for the washer/dryer (yes, they were in the kitchen before. no thanks) and i decided, in all my infinite wisdom, why don’t we bust out the closet in the office, expand the bathroom, and add the washer/dryer in there? strike that: initially i thought i would just run lines into the closet for the washer/dryer, THEN i had the bright idea to knock out a few walls.

if you were wondering, here’s what it looks like when you start knocking out walls in a 110 year old house:

that picture was taken on june 23, 2011 when the first work was done on the project. that day the bathroom door was removed (frame and all), the sink was removed, the walls were knocked out of the closet, and the ceiling was opened up.

then the pause button was pressed.

and held down.

and held down a little longer.

i FINALLY got around to hiring a contractor to finish up the work. he came over, looked over the project, looked through the basement, looked over all the plumbing, electrical, everything and gave me a quote of $5,000 and said it would probably be LESS if i paid by the hour instead of a flat bid.

yes, i’m an idiot. i believed him.

his worked started on August 8, 2011. walls were ripped down. the ceiling was ripped down. the floor was ripped out (all three layers of hardwood. yes, THREE.) the plumbing was changed out, the electrical was re-run. the floor was put back in. the walls went back in. things were going GREAT. i was working with mac (the worker bee) on things, talking about where things would go, what we would do with the space, what parts were needed. we had a good process of cuss and discuss working- we would both toss out ideas, talk about what would work, what wouldn’t, come to an agreement and on things would go. it was great. it was easy. it was taking a little longer than i wanted (and a little more money since i was paying by the hour) but it was good. we discussed about me doing the tile work and painting to save money and everything was good with that. i suggested putting in the shelving between the stacking washer and dryer to give me a place to store soap and they liked the idea so much they started using it on other sites. things were going along smoothly.

and then the shit hit the fan.

tim, the main contractor and the official owner of the company started coming in to work. and it went from great to FUCKED UP over night. i was sitting on my couch one of the first mornings he came in doing paperwork for one of my jobs. i could hear mac and tim in the bathroom talking- the french doors haven’t been finished and there’s no door in the bathroom so i could hear everything pretty damn well. the issue at hand was some light switches that mac and i had talked about installing two inches lower than standard to accommodate a recycled mirror that i wanted to use. mac and i had discussed it, if it would work, if it wouldn’t, decided there was no particular reason they couldn’t be lower, and so all the switches on one wall were lowered two inches. no big issue. right? well, according to tim it was a HUGE issue. they were all wrong and needed re-done. i sat and listened to the conversation progress, listened to mac explain why they were done that way, how he and i had talked about it, measured the mirror and decided like we did. and then i hear tim: “well, sometimes when you have a difficult home owner you just need to tell them how it is.”

*ahem*

WHAT? did i just get called a difficult home owner IN MY OWN HOME? did that REALLY just happen? over something that i had discussed with mac and we had decided on TOGETHER? not once during the whole project had i ever insisted on anything. EVER. i tossed out ideas, if they worked, they worked, if they didn’t i was more than happy to come up with another solution. SEVERAL things were changed, adjusted, moved around, made to work. i wasn’t married to one single idea in that bathroom. it was a blank slate to me. and suddenly i’m called a difficult home owner? last i checked? it’s MY house. I’M paying the bills. shouldn’t it be how i want it to be? difficult or not?

from there it went from bad to worse- suddenly the door to the closet (we closed off the original door to the bathroom) needed to be ripped out and changed- $105. suddenly tim needed to do the painting- several hours at $35/hour. suddenly tim needed to do all the tile work- even more hours at $35/hour. oh, and the BRAND NEW COMMERCIAL TILE SAW that a friend loaned me? not good enough, tim decided he needed to go out and rent one. which he then set up on my front porch leaving a huge mess on the porch and tile drips all the way across my hard wood floors that he didn’t bother to clean up. AND? the tile work? worst i’ve ever seen in my entire life. he used CARDBOARD spacers for the tile. really? tile spacers are approx .53 cents for nine million. why the fuck would any contractor EVER use cardboard?

also: why would you leave the cardboard in long enough that the thin set dries and the cardboard is STUCK in the gaps? and it just kept getting worse. a friend came over to help with other projects outside the bathroom and suddenly tim was VERY territorial and flat out rude to my friend. ALSO: “accidentally” switched one of his shit beat up tools for my friends brand new one. classy. another darling friend came over to help me pick out flooring for the bathroom. again tim was flat out rude and actually refused to install the flooring i picked out (and so i had to pick out a different floor which, of course, turned out to be more expensive. *shock*).

the kicker? all this started because spokane remodeler magazine had approached tim and asked if they could feature one of his remodels in their magazine. tim decided mine would be great for that and all these changes and expenses needed to happen AT MY COST. ummm- NO. #1: you should have been doing your best work from the beginning. things shouldn’t suddenly change and need to be the best because a magazine is coming in. #2: if all this needs to happen for a magazine shoot: read: ADVERTISING FOR YOUR COMPANY, why the fuck should _I_ pay for that? if you want advertising for your company? YOU pay for it. we had an agreed price, we had an agreed scope of work. if YOU suddenly decide to change things, that’s not MY responsibility to foot the bill. i could have done the tile work and done a better job. the pictures i took are hard to see but ALL the tiles are off on the alignment- top to bottom, side to side, depth, every way tile can be off. ALL the big 18” tiles were cut the WRONG way (on the rented saw). ALL are chipped and most are crooked. _I_ could have painted and done a damn good job. i did the rest of the house and it turned out beautifully.

and so i fired him. well, that’s not true. i’m a chicken and i am TERRIFIED of confrontation so i actually had two wonderful gentlemen step in and handle things for me. it was rough, tim got very angry and defensive and confrontational- everything i was worried about. but, in the end, he left.

and so the story ends.

HA HA HA...if only.

when the gentlemen fired tim for me they asked him to leave immediately and send over an inventory of what was left at my house that he needed to get back and then someone would meet him and facilitate the pick up. part of an agreement i had with him was that there were some cabinets in my garage that he was going to do work in trade for. after seeing the tile work that he did in trade, knowing that it would ALL need taken down and redone, the gentlemen that were helping me and i decided that tim really should NOT get those cabinets in trade. i bet you can guess how well that went over. there were a few intimidating voice mails, a few text messages (all saved), and finally one last text “see u in small claims court” sent october 3rd. it’s been quiet since then. *knock on wood* all said and done i paid $6200ish for the work that was done. i paid in full, every friday as things progressed. i also paid for the tile, the tub, the sink, the flooring, the lighting, and quite a bit of the plumbing parts outside of his bills. my TOTAL for the bathroom is over $8,000. sounds like a bit more than $5,000 unless my math is that bad.

so. after over 6 weeks (it was supposed to take 4) i had NO bathroom: no toilet, no shower. no washer dryer, no door, no window, unfinished floors, shitty tile work, a busted pocket book and a threat for small claims court. insult to injury: when time picked up his tools after he was fired he left one last invoice for another $600+ trying to charge me for the tile saw rental, additional labor, and parts (some of which i’ve never even seen).

all that drama and i STILL have to stumble up the stairs to pee every time i get home from mommy’s wednesday night out.

here’s the GOOD news though:

since then i’ve had help getting a few more things done- my washer and dryer were installed a few weeks ago, the electrical has all been finished up and switches finally installed, the last light fixture has been installed, and this last sunday the flooring was laid out and cut and prepped to be installed (it needed to flatten out after being rolled up in the corner for too long). the sink has been set into place and will be installed right after the flooring and it’s actually starting to look like a bathroom.

i can’t wait to be able to pee without having to do a jane fonda stair stepper work out first.

so. there you have it: i picked one of the worst projects a home owner can pick, hired a TERRIBLE contractor, spent way more money than i was supposed to, and STILL haven’t finished the project.

excellent.

at least i’ll get to learn how to pee cool designs into the snow soon- winter is just around the corner.

the good, the bad, the excited

well, there are MANY updates waiting to happen- don’t worry, i’ve kept a list of all the goings on so you won’t miss out on all the shenanigans.

BUT: the biggest update:

I BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE!

that’s right- me, the gypsy, the girl who has moved 11 times in 11 years (soon that will be 12 for 12). the girl who swore buying a home was not in any plan in any future in any way.

A HOUSE. a real house. a 1901, covered front porch, back deck, 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom, dining room with a small bay, purple kitchen HOUSE.

i’m still a fuck-ton scared of it. i mean- this means if the water heater shits out _I_ have to replace it. if there’s a leak in the roof _I_ have to repair it. when the lawn needs mowed...well, you can bet your fucking panties i’m calling someone else to do that last one. but it’s MINE. i can knock out walls or rearrange the kitchen (both of which i’m planning). i can PAINT it, rip up carpet, dance nekkid, ANYTHING I FUCKING WANT TO.

but. you know me. for every good there has to be a wrench in the works...here it is:

i called my brother the other day to wish him a happy birthday and he mentioned that one of his friends had let him know i bought a house. why hadn’t i let him know myself? well, because i knew something like this would happen. i’m chatting along, telling him a little about the house, how i’m nervous to buy it, how it’s a TON of money to spend all at once, and he drops this bomb:

“well, it’s not like it’s your money anyway.”

yes, asshole. i realize it’s not _my_ money. i realize i did not earn this money, this is not a nest egg that i saved up for years to make a purchase like this. i realize that this is my fucking lottery ticket. LUCKY FUCKING ME. you fucking asshole. i’m damn well aware of where this money came from. and, more than anything, that makes me extra nervous to spend it because i means that much more to me. i’m that much more on alert about buying a house my dad would be proud of. he always said he wished he could buy me a house and take care of me, and now he’s doing it. i want to make sure to pick out the best house i fucking can and make the best use of the money he left me. it’s been a HUGE pressure to me to not let my dad down. i realize that this is death money. i realize that several people died to provide me this opportunity. i’m more than well aware of that fact EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.

i remember more than once when my dad helped me move he would just shake his head and look around and be SO UPSET looking at the places i was going to call home. more than once he chewed my ass for picking a place he thought wasn’t up to his standard. he was always worried about me having a nice roof over my head. this is his way of taking care of me. it’s a shitty fucked up way, but it’s happening. and i want to make damn sure that it’s one he would approve of. in my head i know he’s still skeptical. he’s a dad. i know he would be looking around, poking at things, worried about something or other falling apart on me. but i also know that he would be so proud that i’m giving my boys a place of their own. i know that after the last two moves he learned to trust me that i can take ANY place and make it a good home for my spawns.

“it’s not like it’s your money.”

FUCK YOU. fuck you for shitting on such a big event for me. fuck you for not realizing how much time and thought and emotion i’ve put into this. i know it’s not what he wanted me to do with the money so therefore it must be the wrong choice. i know i was supposed to not quit my job, invest in college for the kids, make smart decisions.

WELL GUESS WHAT: THESE ARE FUCKING SMART DECISIONS. and they’re the RIGHT decisions for me. NOTHING can replace time with my kids. nothing can replace having a whole summer with them. NOTHING can replace giving them their own spaces to OWN.  they won’t have to move again. they won’t have to share a room. they can decorate, paint, make it THEIRS. i never had that when i was a kid. sure, my mom bought a house, but i wasn’t allowed to decorate it or put up things i wanted or make it my own space- i want that for my kids.  i want the quintessential hollywood kids room with wacky paint and posters all over the wall and a mess that keeps you from seeing the floor. i want them to have ownership and security.

and i ran out of steam about half way through that.

brass tacks: it’s the RIGHT FUCKING DECISION FOR ME.  IT’S A GOOD DECISION FOR MY KIDS.  i am damn well aware of where the fucking money came from.  i’m well fucking aware of how it isn’t really mine, and i’m making the smartest use of it that i can. i KNOW, hands down, that my dad would be proud of me for doing this.

back to the excitement:

I BOUGHT A HOUSE! i’m writing the check out for it today and i will OWN it, free and clear! i’m so excited