Posts Tagged ‘my house’

Here are some possible reasons why an abandoned wheelchair has been sitting in the front yard of the vacant house next door to mine for the past two days:

  • Someone in one of the neighboring houses needs a wheelchair some of the time, but they don’t feel like actually storing it inside their house.  Where it would be, you know, safe from the elements, like the snow that fell overnight.
  • Some punk kids stole a wheelchair from a nursing home and used it to push each other up and down the sidewalk. Then, not knowing what to do with it, they dumped it at the vacant house.
  • Some person was going down my street in his or her wheelchair, when they were abducted by the mafia for their role in a scandal involving the mafia boss’s daughter. The person was picked up and shoved in the car, leaving the wheelchair behind.
  • Someone who had just robbed a bank obtained a wheelchair to use in order to look less suspicious. He or she casually rolled away from the scene of the crime, until reaching my street, when they ditched the wheelchair and ran.
  • It’s not abandoned, and the vacant house isn’t vacant. Instead, the vacant house is inhabited by GHOSTS, and… one of the ghosts suffered a spinal injury?
  • My street block could have restorative powers similar to those of the island on “Lost.” Maybe there was a total John Locke situation, in which someone who needed a wheelchair visited my street, and then suddenly discovered that he or she could walk again, thus rendering their wheelchair unnecessary, and a part of that person’s past that he or she would rather forget.
  • It’s not abandoned. It actually has Jacob from “Lost” sitting in it, and I just can’t hear him.
  • Someone who knows how my imagination operates put it there just to freak me out.

I myself have taken to calling it “Jacob.”

All this brings me to this question: is there something I am supposed to DO about the fact that there is an abandoned (HAUNTED?) wheelchair sitting in the yard of a vacant house? Far be it from me to shirk my neighborhoodly responsibility, but I am at kind of a loss.

From the looks of the wheels, it has clearly been used. I believe wheelchairs are fairly expensive, and there is probably an organization out there that could use an extra wheelchair, or could match it up with someone who does. At the same time, I am hesitant to assume responsibility for it, and then get accused of stealing someone’s wheelchair.

Plus, you know, there is still the possibility of ghosts (or JACOB), and I really don’t want to get too close to that business.


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One of the thing that irks me most about my new home is that it is in a location where people apparently feel it is appropriate to throw trash in my yard.

In the five months I’ve lived in my house, I have found an incredible amount and variety of garbage.

The trash includes, but is not limited to:
– a tire (found sitting in my yard this morning)
– a used menstrual pad
– a package of ramen noodles, opened slightly with the dry noodles spilling out
– unopened, slightly crushed tootsie roll pops (months before Halloween)
– a Mountain Dew can (currently in the smack-dab middle of my front yard)
– the cardboard box from a twelve pack of cheap beer
– countless plastic cups, usually in pieces
– countless plastic soda bottles
– at least one plastic soda bottle with a suspiciously amber-colored liquid inside of it
– individually packaged cookie wrappers
– countless cigarette butts
– countless chip bags
– countless piles of dog poop left behind by inconsiderate pet owners

Tomorrow, on Thanksgiving, I will be thankful that I have a place to live, and I was lucky enough to be able to buy a house, and all that.

But for now, I will feel indignant about the fact that I have to pay $3 and drive to a city drop-off if I want to responsibly dispose of the tire that someone dumped in my yard last night!

Come on!

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135 Days At Home

I have been living in my house for 135 days now, and I am happy that it is finally really starting to feel like home.

Sometimes I am filled to the brim with love for my house, and I find myself thinking, “I just want to live here forever! I never want to have to move!” And then I realize that, assuming things continue to progress well for me financially and barring any tragedies, I can live here forever. I moved so many times when I was young (10 times in 10 years) and it’s jarring in a nice way to think about how I am really truly in control now. (Mostly. Aside from destiny, crazy random happenstances, natural disasters, etc.)

Although, I probably won’t live here forever, because while this is a perfectly lovely house, I think there are other houses that will one day be in reach and will be even more perfect for me. Dare to dream. Some people fantasize about traveling the world, and I fantasize about owning a house with a white picket fence, mine, ALL MINE.

The longer I live here, the more I am cognizant of the things I like and don’t like about the house–and presumably what I want to look for in the next house I buy (assuming that ever comes to pass). I like my front porch with the porch swing. I like that my house is new, so things are in good working order. I don’t like living on the corner of a street that gets a fair amount of vehicle and foot traffic. I don’t like not having a drive way. I don’t like not having a fence.

And if there is one thing I really, really, really don’t like, it is the damn yard work. I knew that I hated yard work when I opted to buy a house over a condo, but I chose a house anyway. While I have grown to enjoy cleaning my house and making it pretty on the inside, there is nothing in me that has stirred with fondness for doing yard work outside.

I spent this afternoon raking leaves. I filled eight paper yard bags with leaves. I did not rake my entire yard. And there are still many, many leaves left on the trees. I have blisters in my hand. My allergies to the outdoors have led to the forceful expelling of mucus from my lungs. PLUS, there are many varieties of awful mushrooms that are growing around a tree stump in my backyard, and fungus really creeps me the F out.

If I do stay in this house forever, then presumably one day I might be able to afford to pay someone to tend to my yard for me. That day is not today, and it’s not going to be a day any times soon. Certainly not before I have to rake the rest of those leaves. Woe.

But on the bright side, I now have a hanging pot rack in my kitchen, and it is completely awesome. It doesn’t cancel out the leaves, but it is a perk.

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(I am walking my dog down the street one over from mine. There are two houses next to one another, with people sitting on the front porches. One house has a old man sitting on the porch. The other house has a young couple sitting on the porch.)

Old Man: THAT… is a nice poodle you have got there.

Me: (not wanting to get into conversation about how it’s actually a bichon frise) Thank you!

(I smile in a “Hello, there!” type of way to the couple in the house next door.)

Old Man: I will give you a hundred dollars for that poodle.

(I try to determine whether or not the old man is joking or serious. As best I can tell, he is serious.)

Me: Oh, this dog is pretty cranky with people he doesn’t know! You’d end up paying me to take him back!

Guy From The Young Couple: Hey, that could be a great deal for you!

Me: You’re right, it could work out really well for me!

(I walk away, feeling that there has been a natural conclusion to the conversation. I am several houses away before I hear…)


* * * * *


(I am walking down the sidewalk on my street. I see two small kids, a boy and a girl, run out into the middle of the sidewalk. They are staring at me and Felix excitedly as we approach. I dread, because I know what they want, and I hate telling kids that they can’t pet my cute, fluffy dog.)

Kids: CAN WE PET YOUR DOG?!?!?!?!?!

Me: Oh, I’m sorry. He’s really shy with people he doesn’t know. I’m afraid that’s not a good idea.

(The kids stare at me in silence, as kids always do after I tell them they can’t pet my dog.)

Kids’ Dad, standing on the porch: See? I told you.

Little Girl: But that’s why we asked.

Kids’ Dad: No, I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on DOGS. You don’t have to pet EVERY DOG. It’s just a DOG.

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My new house is starting to become less threatening.

I’m still stuck dealing with an air conditioner repair dude who really creeps me out, in a way that goes beyond a mere suspicion of the integrity of his business practices, but who gives me that cliche women’s intuition red flag of NOPE NOT OKAY. However, I’m hoping that one day very soon, I will be finished with him. Forever.

I used my detective skills to figure out the source (I think? I hope?) of the mysterious water spot on the ceiling. Instead of a four-horsemen-doomsday-faulty-plumbing scenario, I think I just need some caulk to prevent pooled water on the bathroom floor from sneaking its way in between the tub and the tile.

When I was walking my dog the other night, I was welcomed to the neighborhood by a Cute Guy On My Street. After two weeks of living in my new house, this was the first time anyone on my street has spoken to me, other than some occasional shouts from crazy/drunk people emerging from the bar down the street. He was doing yard work, and he was incredibly friendly. I can’t even say how much this perked me up. It’s not that I expect that anything will ever come of Cute Guy On My Street, but it is frankly comforting to know that he exists. Thank you, Cute Guy On My Street. Thank you for being welcoming, and thank you for being cute.

Now, for the first time in about six weeks, I am going to be able to sleep in this weekend. I am not going to have to spend my entire weekend freaking out about painting, packing, moving, or unpacking. I’m not finished unpacking in my new house, and I am far from finished with everything (including painting) that I need to do at the old house. But, by god, this weekend will be mine.

No one has (as far as I know) attempted to steal anything from my car, house, or yard. Evan has made it to the top 10 on So You Think You Can Dance. I’ve discovered a new way of cooking kale that I really like. My dog is peeing on the carpet slightly less. If the government could just get it together and send me my $8,000, things would be totally aces.

Of course, I feel anxious about even writing this blog post. I am sure I am jinxing things for myself by celebrating all that is going well. So, friends, what do you think is next? The check engine light in my car has been randomly coming on, so that could provide some financially tragic excitement. Hey, the possibilities are endless.

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Reminds me of home

I moved into my new house last Friday. Since then, it has kind of seemed like my new house is out to get me.

The air conditioning hadn’t been working, so a repair guy came out last Friday to take a look. He told me that my air conditioner was not working because it appeared that someone had attempted to steal my A/C unit, and the unit had gotten damaged in the process. Someone must have been watching the house, knew it was vacant, and decided to go for it.

It was unsettling that my first day in my new house, I learned that some threatening stranger had violated it (and me) by attempting to steal the air conditioner. It made me feel uneasy and a little unsafe and kind of uncomfortable. After all, you know what they say about those air conditioner-stealers…first stop, air conditioner theft, next stop, rape and pillage.

Since then, in the six days I have lived there, my sister fell down the steps at the new house, and broke her ankle when it slammed into the house’s ceramic tile floor. A mysterious water spot appeared on the ceiling beneath my upstairs bathroom, leading me to panic about whether or not I am going to have to spend an ungodly amount of money on a plumbing crisis. The air conditioner still is only temporarily fixed, because there is supposedly a recall on a coil in my furnace, and the repair guy wants to fix it all at once.

The house is filling up with weird smells as my dog pees on the carpet, and I follow behind him with carpet cleaner. His pee and the carpet cleaner all combine with the smells from the person before to create something really funky. I’ve tried using Febreze, but that only adds another unpleasant layer of scent to the smell cocktail. My dog has been throwing up, too, likely because he keeps eating dog poop in the yard from the last dog that lived in the house.

And to add insult to injury, when I was out walking my dog the other night, some punk teenager threw a used menstrual pad into my yard. Which is not only rude, but puzzling. Because why in the world did someone decide to take care of that issue while outside?

“Welcome to home ownership!” people are telling me.

Thanks, people Thank you for perpetrating the myth that home ownership is this great goal to strive toward, when really you’re just going to end up using a plastic bag like a glove to pick up nasty sanitary products out of your yard.

I moved from a house that has been “home” for the last eleven years, even though a few of those years were spent in dorm rooms and apartments. I miss the sameness of my old house. I miss my old grocery store to the extent that I am tempted to drive 20 minutes to go to the old grocery store, rather than go to the one that is 2 minutes from my house. (I take grocery shopping very seriously.)

I like my house, essentially. And it’s got all my stuff there, my sister, and my dog. I can watch So You Think You Can Dance there, just like I could at my old house. My room at the new house is practically the same color as my room at my old house. The new house reminds me of home. But it’s not quite.

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Melody, what have you been doing with your time lately, since you clearly have not been updating this nice blog?

1. Buying a house. Yeah. The house isn’t officially mine yet, so I’m not going to say too much, although all signs currently point to go. I will just say that the house is fantastic, and as far as I can tell, it’s even better than what I was hoping for, and that I am excited.

2. Obsessing about all the stuff I will need to buy for my house. I already have most of my furniture covered. I am lucky. But I am going to need to put up a fence. I am going to need to buy some sort of little outdoor shed. I need to buy a lawn mower, of the environmentally-friendly push-mower variety. I really want to buy a compost bin. And wouldn’t it be cool to have one of those outdoor fire pit things? But most importantly, I REALLY want a hammock.

3. Obsessing about how awesome it will be when I can finally realize my life-long dream of owning a hammock. When I was four years old, I tried to convince my mom that she should take the bed out of my room and replace it with a hammock. Cruelly, she refused to do so. I could not understand her logic. She has never wanted a hammock. But soon, I will be in my own damn house, and I can fill up the entire backyard with hammocks if I want to. THERE WILL BE HAMMOCKS!

4. Losing seven pounds. Since my “seven in seven” post, I have lost five pounds. And I have two weeks to go until the dance recital. In a rare moment, I am actually accomplishing that which I set out to accomplish. I may actually not look terrible in my dance costumes. Go! Team! Melody!

5. And speaking of that, relearning how to tap dance. You know what happens when you don’t tap dance for six years? Your brain forgets how to do it. And I used to be such a competent little tap dancer. Thank god my dance teacher always puts me in the back row.

6. Pretending I’m not a complete introvert. Hey! It’s Derby! Hey! Your cousin is graduating! Hey! It’s Mother’s Day! Hey! You and your BFF live in the same city for the first time in years!

7. Writing blog posts and never finishing them. Right now, I have three drafts of blog posts started. One is about the Derby, one is about Anne of Green Gables, and one is about the dream of getting a PhD in history. I hope none of those topics sound terribly interesting to you, because apparently none of them were terribly interesting to me, and I seriously doubt that they will ever be completed.

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