This Old Piece Of *&*&* House

When I was younger I dated a guy who told me (Hi, T! Thanks for being my pal and putting up with 30 years of wackiness) that he always took pictures of every place that he lived in. I thought that was a great idea, but I always forgot to do so. Well, my parents' house sold, as you may remember if you READ THIS BLOG FAITHFULLY, which I know you do, because it's so darn FABULOUS. Ahem. Moving on.

Well, I decided, during the final walk-through, to take along my camera. So welcome to a place you can't visit any more, even though it's been less than three weeks, because the fabulous new owners have painted the house a beautiful shade of tan with white trim and replaced some of the nasty ceiling fans already.

Welcome.....to the House of Horrors. (Begin ominious music like when the teenage girl, wearing nothing but a skimpy top and Daisy Mae shorts, begins to go down into the attic where the chainsaw killer awaits to saw her limbs off).

Now above please note the front door. See that cute little window? Well, the door is this hideous pseudo-Spanish thing that was all the rage back in 1965 (remember the black leather sofas and the bullfighter posters? No? Well, you missed out). We moved into the house in 1970, and the little window opened. I loved playing with it.

****

But Miss Paranoia--a/k/a Mommie Dearest--had the window sealed. Quickly. It's been sealed ever since. Buuuummmmerrr.

Come on in....to the entry hall. The closet was just emptied of dozens of coffee makers, Ginsu knives, food processors, fans, broken fan belts. broken heaters, broken coolers, broken humidifiers, broken anti-humidifiers, dead rats, etc.

Welcome to the weirdness. Okay, now please note the 1973 washing machine and 2004 dryer. In 1973 the nation experienced a devastating energy crisis. My father recorded on his ubiquitous index cards (What? He was a Ph.D! He had a degree from a credentialed university! He had pocket protectors! He had index cards on him AT ALL TIMES IN CASE SOMETHING OCCURRED THAT NEEDED TO BE RECORDED)...well, anyway.

*****

*****

Daddy recorded the amount of kilowatts or whatever that the household used in 1973, along with the monies paid to the Evil Power Company, and then drew a line and compared the similar data to 1974.

****

*****

The dryer ceased to be used. At all. It sat for 30 years, and, peeved at its neglect, decided to blow up. And I don't blame it at all. Mom hung everything outside to dry. So the dryer is relatively new (if you call 5 years "new") and the washing machine is pretty much ready for the Smithsonian's Institute Of Really Atrociously Colored Appliances From The Seventies Where Everybody Was Doing So Many Drugs That They Failed To Notice That They Had Avacado Stoves, Copper Dishwashers, and Dirty Yellow Washing Machines.

****

*****

And I swear I did not notice this until I was uploading the pics, but if you look closely....There! I cropped the picture so you could see....

What happens when you marry men and you stay

married to them for seventeen wonderful years filled

with love and happiness and sunshine and roses and

little bluebirds tweeting around their heads..... who

can't keep up with the brutal demands of their loving

spouse to move 5,345 pieces of junk out of a house.

Quickly. Trit-trot.

****

*****

I beg your pardon, DARLING. I never promised you a

ROSE GARDEN.

Okay. Now this was in the laundry room. The "Little Gray Box" contains a note from Mom circa 1997 and one from Dad circa 1992. I went over to Picasa and cropped them to see what they said. For future archaeologists, here we go.

****

*****

The top note, in Mom's handwriting reads: 11/20/97 I finally discovered the noise maker!

****

*****

LEAVE I OFF!!! I guess it's only a timer but original water heater fuse. We now have a gas water heater. (my note: LEAVE I OFF!?????? I??? Mom, um, what does I mean?)

****

*****

The middle note, in Dad's handwriting, (very precise) says NEW HOOK PUT IN------3-22-92

----LIGHT

----MICROWAVE

----TELEPHONE ANS. MACHINE

#10 LIGHT IN DRIVEWAY

****

*****

And the bottom note reads, in Mom's handwriting: PUMP UNDER BACK BEDROOM.

****

****

Who needs diamonds and negotiable bonds when you

have such priceless heirloom notes?

And here is the kitchen. Hello, the eighties called. They want their stainless steel sink and stained "white" linoleum back. Good luck, new homeowners!!!!

Here is the most horrible family room ever created.

My parents took me house hunting in 1970 when I was 11, while my 8 year old sister was left in the care of her aunt and uncle. BOOYAH. I felt like such a big shot!!!

We walked into this house and I turned to Mom and said, No. Please. Please, please, please, please, not this house.

It is now 39 1/2 years later and I finally don't ever have to deal with this horrible room ever again. There, there. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm great. I'm a strong person.

Note the total lack of 1. windows 2. space 3. respectful husbands.

P.S. When we moved in, the right wall was wallpapered in an attractive red and blue Colonial theme and the light was a WAGON WHEEL.

Another view of the family room. Please note the attractive dark bookshelves, which used to contain my parents' college textbooks. The textbooks had intriguing and enticing titles that made you want to snatch them from the shelves and use them to light bonfires. Example (and I am, once again, not making this up) PARAMECIUM DISCOVERIES IN 1948!!!

Then there was the assortment of cookbooks from THE OLD RUGGED CROSS CHURCH AND GAS STATION IN MOOSE HILL, SC.

And the pile of 78 records from about oh, six quadrillion years ago.

I was aching, literally aching, for my husband to recover his energy and gently caress my........, I mean, for the new homeowners to paint the bookshelves white. But they like them dark. Well, each to his own. MORONS. Just kidding, you guys are great. Seriously, I really really like you guys. Thank you--and I'm being sincere--for repainting the house and just being nice people. And by the way, I just got the yearly tax bill in the mail. See you soon!!! :)


My Daddy liked to build things. Shelves. Lots and lots of shelves. Hope you enjoy lots and lots of shelves. You're welcome.

DISCLAIMER: NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR FEELINGS
OF DIZZINESS, NAUSEA, OR REVULSION. Please feast your eyes on the bathroom connecting my bedroom to my parents' bedroom.


(sigh) There must have been a contest for Ugliest Bathroom Tile somewhere. Somewhere. Somebody must have examined a diaper filled with infant diarrhea and been inspired to create this masterpiece of tile colors.


Speaking of ugly, please ogle the ugly bedroom furniture in my parents' room. My sister has taken these monstrosities and saved them for her son's first bachelor apartment. My, I can hardly wait to see the look on his face when she drags these into his swinging pad!!!!!

****
*****
David, I LOVE YOU. David. David. Call me, David. I know a couple of reliable arsonists.


This, my friends, upon first examination, may look like the most boring picture ever posted on the internet. But wait. There is a story here. See the little iron bar?
****
****

Let's go back to 1949. The night before Mom and Dad were joined in Holy Matrimony. Mom had been complaining (her favorite hobby) about how Dad would be traveling a lot and leaving her behind.
****
****

So her brothers wrapped this up and lovingly presented it to her. It is...and yes, ONCE AGAIN, I am not making this up---the bar to the 1928 car that the family used to own. It was the bar that the kids in the back seat hung onto unless they wanted to be thrown out onto the highway.
****
*****

They explained to her, as a joke, that she could keep this under her bed and whomp any intruder over the HAID with it.
****
****

Earth to Mom--it was a joke. A joke. Do you know what a joke is?
****
****

A joke?
****
****

She kept it under her bed until the day she moved out of the house in 2008.

And I took it, and it's in the garage somewhere, and if an intruder comes in my bedroom, I'll politely ask him/her to wait while I run find it and WHOMP them upside the head with it.
****
****

Mom would have wanted it that way.


AHA!! You are distracted with the iron bar, but now (cackle), I shall lure you into the Second Bathroom of Grotesque Tile. This is the hall bath.

Okay, take a piece of white tile. Stain it a dirty cream color. Then allow little bugs to crap on it. Then dye their crap green. Then install it in a perfectly lovely suburban home.
****
****
Darn it. See those little aqua things sticking out? Mom used to dry her pantyhose on them. I meant to grab them. Enjoy, new homeowners!!!!

THE END. Please file quietly outside and remember to tip your servers.