Never make decisions when you’re under stress.
…And why the hell not? Here’s the update on “the dream”.
I can probably sell the house for $250k; over $100 more than I paid for it. Sounds great, right? I thought so, too, but if I hold on to it for another year, supposedly I could get another $50k for it. I’ve been vascillating back and forth all week, rendered powerless by what people tell me is the “right” thing to do (hold on to it, sell it in a year, make good money) and what I want to do- GET THE HELL OUT, sell it now, and get another place.
Tenants have power on in their name (I’m assuming, it’s on and I’m not getting a bill, that’s all I care about) and are all up-to-date with their money. So that’s something. Of course, they’re still here, which I’m gonna have to get over. Having people on your property seems to be an immutable aspect of being a landlord. Sigh.
I want to live on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean or the south Pacific. Why can’t I sell the place, buy a nice boat, and just take off?
Well, for one, I’m not really that proficient a sailor. As in I’ve really only sailed little bitty things and always with help.
I also don’t think my birds would take well to sailboat living. Ok, let me re-state that: I don’t think I would deal well living with two parrots on a sailboat.
There are a few other reasons, but I guess if I really wanted to go I’d be gone by now, huh?
So where does that leave me today? Avoiding work- I have three advertorials to write, one of which deals with holistic healing, another with flan (I HATE flan), and a third about a local restaurant where the owners are great but the food sucks. Not just bad food; people I know have gotten ill off their signature item. Beer’s cheap, though. Maybe I can focus on that. Advertorials aren’t really lying, they’re just… creative truth manipulation.
It leaves me with Cap’n (new dog addition, short for Captain Ronrico), Madison (sweetest dog in the world… as long as you’re not another dog), Zoey, the pissing wonder, and two birds- one bald, one perfect plumaged.
In case you’re still wondering, yes, I am still peeing outside and showering at Tom’s house. I miss having a house that had all the luxuries of, oh, a toilet. I wonder if I could use the puppy’s housebreaking pads? Funny, isn’t it, that I can live in a broom closet and not complain (ok, about THAT), don’t mind sharing aforementioned closet with three dogs, two birds, and fish, but fantasize about having a toilet. Ok, let’s be honest: I don’t so much care about the toilet part, it’s the part that involves the mess at the end of every day when my dad, a slightly dysfunctional Bob Villa, leaves every day. Ever notice that This Old House and all the shows on HGTV NEVER show people tracking mud over sisal rugs or the homeowner weeping softly as she tries to get tar off her hardwood floors? They also don’t air the footage of the homeowner arguing with her workmen (ok, my dad) over the way they talk to her. They CERTAINLY don’t show the fight where the guy re-plumbing the bathroom tells the homeowner that if she doesn’t like the way he’s talking to her, she can leave.
Yup, that’s been the highlight so far. My dad tried to kick me out of my own house ’cause I told him to stop yelling at me. No, you say, you? Fight with your dad? Why, that’s simply unheard of. Yeah, I know, you guys all think my dad’s great and a million laughs and all that. And, yes, I love my dad, he is pretty wonderful. He, as Tom points out, is redoing my bathroom for me. For free. All true. It’s just… well, put us together for too long (over an hour, most days), and we’re like too many women (or rats) in a small room. It gets ugly.
In the midst of all joys of home ownership, I brought Zoey down to the “Adopt-a-thon” in Manatee yesterday. On the way back, her old owner called me and wanted both puppies back. Note to self: NEVER answer phone to talk to someone who has given up dog when I’ve just left a convention hall filled with unwanted dogs. She questioned why DARE split them up, and I explained to her that at six months, they weren’t housebroken, didn’t know their own names, and paid more attention to each other than people, therefore I suggested DARE split them up to better facilitate training. She then got a little huffy and said, “well, didn’t I take good care of them?” Absolutely the wrong question to ask. I paused, then said, “well, you had them for five months, didn’t housebreak them, they didn’t know their names, and they had ticks on them when they arrived.”
This is why I hate people (you guys excluded, of course). She actually said, “so they had a few ticks, so what?”
“Have YOU ever had a tick on you?” (Ooh, the mature argument. This is why I wasn’t on the debate team in high school.)
Ok, at this point I should have hung up. I don’t know why I didn’t. I think I actually wanted her to feel bad (see, I’m NOT a nice person). Instead, she said yes, and I explained that dogs CAN’T get take care of themselves and they depended on her, and no, in my mind, she DIDN’T take good care of them and my recommendation to DARE based on the condition of the dogs when I received them would be that she NOT get the dogs. She tried to defend the ticks by saying that “that girl” (meaning the DARE rep south of the skyway) MADE them take other dogs.
Oh, so you have no control over your own actions and you want two puppies? Go to hell, bitch, I’m amazed you were allowed to have kids.
Of course, my next call was to Bev at DARE to warn her that I had just had a little spat, and oh, yes, the woman has her number. She was remarkably good-natured about it, but maybe she just can’t stand to lose another volunteer foster home. Also, I think she sees my point.
What else? Oh, yes, here’s the latest addition to the Enchanted Tiki Room, Cap’n. He and Mad Dog… let’s just say that they’re never late with the rent, don’t give me any lip, and love me unconditionally, even when I give mad Dog ear medicine.
