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!)

Meet 'The Power of Jordan'

This is what we affectionately call this oil portrait that was found in the house. Painted by the artist in 1976, this piece has a sort of spooky effect with 'The Power of Jordan' eyeballs shifting his gaze on you wherever you are. (Just like the Mona Lisa -- except, the Mona Lisa is in the Louvre with security guards, and 'The Power of Jordan' is sitting on our porch outside, with the critters to guard him.)

If my Mom is reading this right now -- wait, she'll have turned the computer off, 'The Power of Jordan' freaks her out, so much so that she had to turn it around when she and my Dad came to visit last week. (Sorry Mom!) She'll probably have the heeby-jeebies for days now and have to cleanse her screen.

'The Power of Jordan' cannot be denied! All of that feathered 70's mullet-ish hair and brooding expression draws you in, and if that doesn't do it, the v-neck sweater that looks like it's been sewn from a bear hide will. It's kind of like a 'Q-Ray' bracelet -- it will enhance your feelings of well-being and help you get more out of life (maybe).

Warm up your printers and make a copy of the painting and tuck it into your wallet, you never know what 'The Power of Jordan' will do for you!

Kitchen of horrors

Remember the last shot of the kitchen? Yes, lets hope you haven't eaten anything within 30 minutes of seeing this picture again:

You're lucky this photo isn't scratch-n-sniff. Take it from me, I've been there, and it's bad -- in a dry heave-y way.

Onwards and upwards, right?

Another beauty shot of the kitchen showing off it's fly tape and impeccable organization. Everything a modern family could possibly want. HA.

We decided to put on our big boy and big girl pants and bring the kitchen down (note to self: buy bigger big pants):

There was a noticeable decrease in the number of winged friends buzzing in drunken dirty kitchen swarms once we started to take the cupboards down.

(Small pause here: The two older guys who were frolicking through our yard-o-crap took these cupboards. I hope they took them far, far away. Crazy old guys nonetheless.)

Once the cast iron sink was taken out (and our spines readjusted) we discovered the mouse hotel under the lower cabinets and up into the wall.

EVICTION NOTICE! Well, not quite as dramatic as that, but we were glad to see that no one was home at the time. The mouse hotel was engineered using insulation and plastic bread bags.

Excuse me for a moment while I get a little sidetracked:

THESE PEOPLE CLEARLY WERE NEVER ON THE ATKINS DIET. The sheer volume of bread, tortillas, wraps, pitas, buns, flatbread that we're discovering must have cost a small fortune. We have 3 FULL SIZE freezers left behind, and every single one of them is full of bread. Two of them are outside, and one is down in the basement. When you wander around the yard you stumble across plastic bread bags and those plastic ties used to close them. I mowed the lawn (whole other story there, if I go off on another tangent this post will never end) and mowed up 3 bread bags hidden in tall grass and weeds. It makes the mower sound like a category 3 hurricane.

Sidetracking over (for now, you're lucky).

To add to the mouse hotel, we noticed an ant inn (trying to make a theme work here):

And I now know where the inspiration for Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' came from. The resemblance is uncanny:

I think my face did the exact same thing at that moment.

Then we noticed the shoddy electrical work:

Yup, that's duck tape. Doubt THAT meets code. Good thing we had already decided to bring down all of the drywall in the house anyways.

So that leaves us with a parting shot of the scene we're uncovering. Another ant party was found in the far corner, but we couldn't find any ant inns around there. That might mean there's another problem on the second level. Hopefully not, but if there is, we'll deal with it -- and I'm going to buy a 36-ton pack of caulk and cover the exterior of the house in it.