Oh what a night!
I'm a new homeowner--just closed on our first house June 15th, and moved in a week later. It's been great--no need to worry about other tenants in the building who might be loud, think we're loud, leave doors open, let stray cats in (that's a story for a whole 'nother blog)...it's quiet, it's perfect, it's OURS.
But, as is the case for all homeowners, owning property comes with responsibilities and stress. Take, for instance, what happened last night:
I guess it all began a week ago Sunday, when my husband cleared the poison ivy plants I had sprayed with "Death to Poison Ivy" (not product's real name) from our front yard. He was very careful to keep all skin covered--long sleeved shirt, long jeans, gloves, boots--but his caution was for naught, as he got a poison ivy rash several days later on his arms, legs and stomach. Unfortunately, at the time he was doing the yard work, my mind was not in the right place, and I didn't tell him to keep his clothing separate from the rest of the laundry. He did keep his jeans and boots separate, but not his t-shirt, and I'm not sure what became of the underwear. So, on Sunday night, when hubby informs me he needs clean shirts for the week and he's going to do laundry, I asked him if we could put it off until Monday night, since I wanted to buy gloves to wear while separating the laundry, since I knew some poison-ivy-infused clothing was in the hamper. Sure, says he. (By the time he informed me on Sunday night of the dire need for clean clothing, the stores were closed.)
So, we get home after dropping my car off at Hyundai for service last night, and I start preparing dinner. I had a nice recipe for grilled salmon with cheese sauce (aside for Tash: I usually don't eat seafood, but salmon I tolerate with a nice sauce to camouflage the fishiness) and I prepped some veggie kebabs to go with the salmon, since we needed to use the veggies before they turned.
Most normal people would realize that transporting almost perfectly round vegetables (slices of zucchini, yellow squash and whole cherry tomatoes) on a flat cutting board would be a bad idea. Do you have that voice in your head, the one that goes, "STUPID ALERT. STUPID ALERT. WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO DO WILL END BADLY!"? That voice that is so easy to ignore, because you figure, "Naw, man, I'm good at balancing stuff, surely I can carry a flat cutting board loaded with skewers of round veggies out the back door down one step to the grill on the back deck without incident. Especially since you, oh voice-of-the-stupid-alert, have already warned me, so I'll be extra careful."
Famous last thoughts.
I made it to the back door. I almost made it through the back door. To my credit, one of the kebabs remained on the cutting board.
When I yelled for my husband's help, it was already too late. He came strolling (he only runs for exercise, not for anything else) out to "help", and when he saw the veggie carnage, could only say, "That's my wife".
The salmon was good.
It was about that time (probably due to the residue of veggie marinade on my tank top) I remembered the laundry. Fortunately, on the way home from Hyundai I had remembered to buy gloves. So, while my husband took over the grilling of the salmon and the one remaining veggie kebab (for obvious reasons, I'm not allowed near open flame), I began sorting the laundry, and loading the machine with my husband's shirts.
Immediately after eating, I heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like water pouring onto a floor. I muted the TV, listened carefully, and the sound I heard reinforced my suspicion. So I ran down the stairs into the basement where the laundry is, and saw (to my horror) water gushing out of the drainage pipe from the washing machine. It's just gushing and gushing and it's not stopping and I'm yelling for my husband and he's strolling calmly down the stairs and I'm frantically searching for a bucket and the water's spewing and hubby coolly turns off the washing machine and peace returns. Except for the sound of water dripping onto the soaked floor.
Oh, it could've been MUCH MUCH worse. The laundry could be located on a main floor of the house, not in the basement where the sump pump is. My husband could've been just as dumb as me and not realized that turning off the washing machine is the immediate solution to wayward water flow. I could've electrocuted myself on the combination of water and electricity everwhere (I didn't). However, it looks as though the main pipe leading to the sewer is not only clogged, it's leaking, which is icky, and which means it's not just the water from the washing machine that's leaking, if you know what I mean.
To quote anyone who's ever heard a story from a new homeowner about something that's gone wrong in the new house: "Ah, the joys of homeownership." To quote my smartass brother: "Why don't you call the landlord?"
I love my house.
Stay abnormal, everybody.
But, as is the case for all homeowners, owning property comes with responsibilities and stress. Take, for instance, what happened last night:
I guess it all began a week ago Sunday, when my husband cleared the poison ivy plants I had sprayed with "Death to Poison Ivy" (not product's real name) from our front yard. He was very careful to keep all skin covered--long sleeved shirt, long jeans, gloves, boots--but his caution was for naught, as he got a poison ivy rash several days later on his arms, legs and stomach. Unfortunately, at the time he was doing the yard work, my mind was not in the right place, and I didn't tell him to keep his clothing separate from the rest of the laundry. He did keep his jeans and boots separate, but not his t-shirt, and I'm not sure what became of the underwear. So, on Sunday night, when hubby informs me he needs clean shirts for the week and he's going to do laundry, I asked him if we could put it off until Monday night, since I wanted to buy gloves to wear while separating the laundry, since I knew some poison-ivy-infused clothing was in the hamper. Sure, says he. (By the time he informed me on Sunday night of the dire need for clean clothing, the stores were closed.)
So, we get home after dropping my car off at Hyundai for service last night, and I start preparing dinner. I had a nice recipe for grilled salmon with cheese sauce (aside for Tash: I usually don't eat seafood, but salmon I tolerate with a nice sauce to camouflage the fishiness) and I prepped some veggie kebabs to go with the salmon, since we needed to use the veggies before they turned.
Most normal people would realize that transporting almost perfectly round vegetables (slices of zucchini, yellow squash and whole cherry tomatoes) on a flat cutting board would be a bad idea. Do you have that voice in your head, the one that goes, "STUPID ALERT. STUPID ALERT. WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO DO WILL END BADLY!"? That voice that is so easy to ignore, because you figure, "Naw, man, I'm good at balancing stuff, surely I can carry a flat cutting board loaded with skewers of round veggies out the back door down one step to the grill on the back deck without incident. Especially since you, oh voice-of-the-stupid-alert, have already warned me, so I'll be extra careful."
Famous last thoughts.
I made it to the back door. I almost made it through the back door. To my credit, one of the kebabs remained on the cutting board.
When I yelled for my husband's help, it was already too late. He came strolling (he only runs for exercise, not for anything else) out to "help", and when he saw the veggie carnage, could only say, "That's my wife".
The salmon was good.
It was about that time (probably due to the residue of veggie marinade on my tank top) I remembered the laundry. Fortunately, on the way home from Hyundai I had remembered to buy gloves. So, while my husband took over the grilling of the salmon and the one remaining veggie kebab (for obvious reasons, I'm not allowed near open flame), I began sorting the laundry, and loading the machine with my husband's shirts.
Immediately after eating, I heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like water pouring onto a floor. I muted the TV, listened carefully, and the sound I heard reinforced my suspicion. So I ran down the stairs into the basement where the laundry is, and saw (to my horror) water gushing out of the drainage pipe from the washing machine. It's just gushing and gushing and it's not stopping and I'm yelling for my husband and he's strolling calmly down the stairs and I'm frantically searching for a bucket and the water's spewing and hubby coolly turns off the washing machine and peace returns. Except for the sound of water dripping onto the soaked floor.
Oh, it could've been MUCH MUCH worse. The laundry could be located on a main floor of the house, not in the basement where the sump pump is. My husband could've been just as dumb as me and not realized that turning off the washing machine is the immediate solution to wayward water flow. I could've electrocuted myself on the combination of water and electricity everwhere (I didn't). However, it looks as though the main pipe leading to the sewer is not only clogged, it's leaking, which is icky, and which means it's not just the water from the washing machine that's leaking, if you know what I mean.
To quote anyone who's ever heard a story from a new homeowner about something that's gone wrong in the new house: "Ah, the joys of homeownership." To quote my smartass brother: "Why don't you call the landlord?"
I love my house.
Stay abnormal, everybody.
posted by Bidipuce at
7:01 AM
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