More found items

These beauties come courtesy of the musty basement:

(These were vinegar, and were hidden in the rafters.)

The goal for the exterior

It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?

We've had to re-evaluate the cost for fixing up the house exterior, so instead of adding stone and building up the columns right away, we're going to focus on painting the wood siding, trim work, windows and a new craftsman/shaker style front door*.

We're still deciding on a window style -- whether to use cottage details or not (might be too cutesy?), but I know we're going with black (not sure if they should be black on the inside as well). With the white trim I think they're going to be be-au-ti-ful.

The grey paint is going to be hard to get right. I don't want a grey that's too warm (yellow-y undertones that won't go with the door colour) or too cool (purple-y, ack!).

*AND IT'S GREEN!!!

Junk pile details

These are a few close-ups of the junk pile in the back of the house -- also known as the pile that's been there since inspection day. Initially, when we first viewed the house, we couldn't get into the basement because the enormous piles of crap blocked every way in. (And we still wrote up an offer on it, were we crazy or what?)

They had to clear the basement for inspection, so they just dragged all of that junk out to the back...and left it there.

A bucket with photos, and the mega pack of children's Motrin.

A box of crackers that the mice feasted on.

A little heavy on the mayo

Here's proof of our bonus-with-house-purchase: three boxes of mayonnaise (at least).

Washing machines in the mist

Sounds poetic, doesn't it? Well it sure doesn't look it. This is the view from one (of three) windows in the TEMPORARY trailer. Trevor had enough of the three washing machines left behind (one came filled with dark water and a sock floating in it, lucky for us it wasn't broken and we were able to drain it) so he just opened the side door of the mudroom and tossed them out.

In a normal house I would have a problem with this...

...but seeing as there's larger problems that dwarf that, I'm not overly concerned.

Sometimes it's not bad/smelly/scary/strange...

See? Every now and then we have fun around here. One of the best things we've found left behind by the old owners was a large cement container that we've now turned into our awesome fire pit*. (Don't ask to hear the story about how we had to move it to our chosen location -- lots of swearing and general bad behaviour, the usual when Trevor and I have to move something large and heavy.)

*We're not going to run out of anything to burn anytime soon. In fact, we should have that pit going 24 hours a day -- and after 2 years we might have the junk piles gone.

Now there's the money shot.

Minor (major?) baked potato incident. Not enough tin foil + in the fire too long = something that looks like a charbroiled brain.

Here's proof of our bounty around here-- freshly picked grapes and apples. We'd better get used to living off the land because once our bank account is bled dry by this house it's all we'll be eating.

Good things don't come in small packages

Over the weekend, I came across this package in the basement:

It was small, and unopened. I saw the dog and cat illustration and then had the word CREMATORY yelling at me from the label.

And then I put it all together. RIP Sno-Flake.

Being morbidly curious, I donned the sharp-y, stab-y tool.

BAM! Unmarked blue tin, that, when shaken, sounds like it has a bunch of very small pebbles in it. Sno-Flake in granulated form.

It was a tin that was identical to a pint of paint.

Now here comes the interesting part: I just happened to find a very similar unmarked can in the basement, that made the same shaky noise inside. I guess Sno-Flake has a cousin, and I now have a total of 3 dead animals here*.

* Well, if you're counting pets only -- 1 dead horse (buried -- illegally, incidentally -- but don't go looking for it as they stay 'juicy' for a long time, we're told) and two others (dogs? cats?). Trevor also came across 5 petrified and smoked bats in the chimney.

Augh, PANTIES!!

Found, as is, when we had possession.

(Bonus points to you keeners who can spot the fly getting it's 15 seconds of fame.)

Evidence that we really are crazy

This was day one in the TEMPORARY trailer. Things have settled into place a little more since then (that photo was taken last Wednesday -- which means it's our one week anniversary, aww...).

Everyone should massively upheave their lives from cozy homes and downsize to 320 square feet. It builds character, and might grow hair on your chest (we'll see how cold this box gets further into the fall).

Switch plate envy

After a small moving hiatus, I feel it's necessary to come back with a highly entertaining (or horrific if you're one of the two people who have bought this house) blog post. I'd like to introduce you to...drumrolllll please...our lovely switch plate covers -- or, more affectionately known as the worst craft ideas known to mankind:*

This one is double trouble. Doberman topper with a leopard-print and orange bow strangled mutt, with a screw for a nose.

I almost didn't manage to get this shot as the switch plate cover galloped off into the sunset shortly after. (No, not really. Just a dramatic effect.)

Wiener *shudder* dogs.

I know this one intimately as it's currently keeping post in our only useable bathroom. It makes the whole room feel mystical.

A triad of horses. I imagine them having a conversation about the giant screw head growth coming out of the center horse's face.

And this beauty. It's like an eye-spy game: 'I spy...something creepy in the woods'.

Oh! There's creepy winter Pocahontas! Or maybe it's bigfoot! Whatever it is, I feel like I need to go and rent 'Harry and the Hendersons' now.

*Okay, the Barbie doll toilet roll holder is right up there too.

Welcome to my (our) hell.

Yup, confirmed. Looks like hell to me!

Moving should really be a four-letter word. I've used enough of them in one day to fill up a swear jar to fund a four year ivy league education. If you don't want to hear about the drama, turn back now -- but if you're like me and you can't miss out on watching a train wreck happen, plod on.

Our problem is we're people who feed off of each other's enthusiasm and dreamy ideas. Sure, we say, let's just take this dump of a house and we'll magically turn it into the cozy modern farmhouse/cottage/loft-feel (I'm still deciding on what to call it) house that will shelter us for many years.

REALITY CHECK:

Actually looking at how we're going to live out these next few weeks/months/years (PLEASE SAY IT'S NOT YEARS) and then living through them is going to be where I wonder if our cheese has truly slid off our collective crackers.

I mean, come on, we're living in a TEMPORARY trailer. (Side note: you'll notice I say TEMPORARY a lot because it makes me feel better. Give me some shred of hope.) It has no plumbing and is a box with three windows and a door -- oh, but it has air conditioning, because we be livin' the life here.

It was a struggle just getting the damn TEMPORARY trailer this week. Our supplier *cough*Britco*cough* are stubborn bastards who don't really understand the idea of customer service and returning phone calls. Although we do have the TEMPORARY trailer now, it was hit and miss for a while (great for your mental well-being), so I will begrudgingly give them some kudos for having it eventually show up. BUT. When it comes to our containers to house all of our worldly goods in, it's been a big, fat, gigantic FAIL for them. (Must go and add another $550 to the swear jar.) Those containers were supposed to arrive today, so we could move all of our worldly goods into them tomorrow, and not the stinky dump house. FAIL Britco, FAIL!!!

I'll spare you all the nitty gritty details, but it involved many, MANY phone calls, trips to the house, money being disbursed and then MANY more phone calls of a threatening manner...and these containers are to appear via winged unicorn chariot tomorrow morning. (Okay, do I have to explain that one? It's my version of telling a story without you actually seeing my arms flail.)

Combine that in with plastic wrapping every piece of furniture you want to see survive the containers, packing boxes, and trying to work at the same time...well you'll get a nice cocktail of crazy. So that will explain why I feel like a deflated balloon with an Advil in it.

(Oh, and did I mention that I dropped an entire six-pack of glass beer bottles on the kitchen floor today too? Yes, our house now smells like a brewery. Welcome to your new home new person!)