Built like a brick...

For your weekly installment of house updates: This week we tackled the old kitchen door, scavenged a little, and wired some more.

I wrote, earlier, about having to re-wire the electrical panel box in the basement... however, upon the encouragement of our inspector and James' electrician uncle, this project has ballooned to now include re-wiring the entire house. This has meant punching a hole every 6 feet in the walls of every room and we no longer have any ceilings on the first floor. We were able to pull all of the old wiring out (pictures of what that looks like to come soon), and snake the new wire throughout the house. We are currently in the process of "loop to looping" the circuits and switches. Whew. The place is a MESS. It no longer resembles a house and I am bitterly remembering the words "All it needs is some paint" spilling from my lying mouth.

We were only able to do this, though, thanks to the quick action of our chosen brick mason, Bentley Masonry. As much as I dreaded this interaction, it was actually quite rewarding. When we had been working in the house the weekend or two before, it was raining. Inside. Due to the dilapidation of the back porch and the mortar cracking, water was running down the inside of the walls. Thank goodness we had not moved forward with insulation and drywall at this point. We were able to call and have a brick mason come out and estimate the damage that day.

Bentley was the first to respond and the ONLY company we called which would have the job started within two weeks. In fact, he was out there two days later with a load of salvaged bricks. Within 3 days he had gone around and tuck pointed every crack and crevice on the house, bricked in the old kitchen door, filled in the terrariums, and, when he had leftover mortar pre-mixed, re-laid all of our front porch and most of our walkway. It looks fantastic. Being serenaded "A country boy can survive" by four brick masons isn't bad, either. Very strange. But not bad.

Between working, picking at the wallpaper on the house, and sleeping I was actually able to manage to swing by the coolest place ever. I took my lunch break one day and went to Architectural Salvage - in downtown Louisville. An hour was NOT enough time. They have everything. I mean it. Need a spittoon? Got one of those. A million fireplace covers? All of those. I cannot wait to go back when the house has actual walls and start picking things out with James.

I was also able to find the deal of the century on Craigslist. Woo! I had been eyeballing a crystal chandelier for over a month - the first thing I saw that made me decide I needed a chandelier in the bathroom. I finally broke down and texted the ad. Still available, you say? And working? I'll be there tonight.

A short drive and $23 later I had myself a genuine antique crystal chandelier. All it needs is a little cleaning up and hang that baby from the ceiling!

We also broke down and finally placed the order for the everything. THE EVERYTHING. The kitchen cabinets, the lights, the appliances, the tile, the toilets, the vanity, the grout, the windows, etc. Holy shitzkies. Hopefully in 2-6 weeks I am feeling better about it.

Next up: plumbing, drywall, flooring, refinishing, and. more. wallpaper.

Shanksgiving

It's that time of year again, when snow silently drifts from the sky, bell ringers greet you outside of the grocery store, nutjobs camp out in front of Best Buy, and people cram themselves full of bird. Oh, traditions. I was reminded yesterday, when someone at work inquired, of... the Great Shanksgiving of '07.

Let's travel back in time to 2007... young Bridgette was driving home from work, two days before Thanksgiving, wearing her favorite sorority sweatshirt and broken-zipper jeans, looking forward to one more day of classes before heading home for the holiday. Enough with the third-person narrative. Three quarters of the way up an on-ramp, something flew out from under the car in front of me and shot underneath of the Supra. Something snapped. We discovered later that this was the tie-rod of the rear wheel, in my rear-wheel drive vehicle.

The Supra and I spun 'round and 'round the interstate, then shot backwards several yards in the far right lane, before spinning the opposite direction and catching a lamp post on the way down a steep embankment, over the river and through the woods, to the hospital we go.

By the time someone had made it down the hill to help me out of the vehicle, there were quite a few other cars stopped, mostly admiring the spectacle I had made of an accident, but one because the light pole I had hit catapulted down the interstate and landed across his hood.

He helped me out of the car, and down from my perch across a tiny creek. We stepped over the dismembered lamp post and I asked 'Did I hit that?" at which point a nurse, obviously more flustered than I, ordered me to sit on the ground until the ambulance arrived.

So there, in front on a solid gathering on the side of 64 West, I was strapped to a backboard and hoisted out of the ditch. I tried, in vain, to hide the fact that my pants would not zip all the way, but when your arms are duct taped to a stretcher there is not much you can do. I watched as the EMTs searched through my purse to find my insurance card, and sorted through my cell phone to find someone to call. After a few attempts they were able to reach James. "Is she bleeding?" is the only response they got. I was not.

After a brief visit to the emergency room, a $100 Advil, and an impromptu haircut by the physician, I was sent home.

Daddy came down the next day with the roll-back to scoop Supra and I up, to bring back to Northern Kentucky. We then commenced in Thanksgiving traditions.

Momma was cooking the turkey and getting the fixins ready, when I decided to attempt a shower before the meal. Not long into my shower I heard knocks on the door... *knock*knock* "Bridge... the house is on fire..." came the voices of my brother and sister.

"What do you want me to do about that?"

*silence*

*knock*knock* "Bridge... the house is really on fire." came the voice of my mom.

I got out of the shower, dripping, and jostled into the kitchen, following the whispy smoke, and noting the flashing lights outside of the house already.

Here is where you need to picture what I was seeing.

I stood, in my towel, in the kitchen, surrounded by my family and no less than two firefighters and three police officers. The oven was open, smoke still rolling out. The turkey, charred on the outside and covered in melted plastic, sat on the counter, where the dog, also on the counter, dug at the still pink, raw insides.

After the smoke had cleared, literally, we sat and ate what was left of our feast - mostly mashed potatoes. Soon enough, it was time for me to head back to Louisville, in a borrowed car. Upon my arrival home, I found my fish had jumped out of its' bowl and had dried up and stuck to the floor in my bedroom. The whipped cream on top of a Shanksgiving pumpkin pie.

And that, my friends, is why we just don't do Thanksgiving.

Gingerbread chai lattes and a sledgehammer

What did these two things have in common? I got all too familiar with both over the long weekend. James and I had each requested off work this past Friday because we planned to devote all 3 days to renovations. We got a LOT accomplished. Some of it more noticeable than the rest, but regardless, everything needed to be done.

The work started at 7 am Friday and did not end until 7pm Sunday. We worked 12 hours each day. Due to this - I will give you a glimpse of some of the larger items we checked off the list, versus a timeline. When you spend 3 straight days wearing goggles, gloves, and a respirator, sledgehammer and shovel in hand, time is really obsolete. I resorted to "bathroom tiles removed" to determine chronology.

Note: boo-boo #1.

One of the main items on our agenda was demo-ing the rest of the bathroom. Below are a series of photos (the same before/during/after demo as the last post) to show you how hard I worked. This was my project. I worked with a crowbar pulling tiles out of the shower. Apparently back in the 30s you used a metal wire mesh and an inch and a half of concrete to adhere tiles to the walls. This made for a very taxing task.

 Another agenda item that came up somewhat unexpected was replacing the door to the sunroom. Since we are sealing up the kitchen exterior door, we needed a way to move in and out of the house to the dumpster in the driveway. The existing "original" door had a bent lock and, of course, the skeleton key that opened it had probably not been seen in decades. Oh well, one less thing to un-paint green.

 Next, and my favorite part of the weekend, was beginning the transformation of the butler's pantry to a powder room! We had no idea what to do about adding a bathroom to the first floor, until we had our plumber over. We had also waffled over what to use the butler's pantry for. He suggested turning it into a powder room. I was not keen on the idea at first, but now that I can see the walls taking shape, it definitely made the most sense.

We were able to remove the walls and are waiting on the large window to come in still. We framed out the wall and the pocket door. The way we designed the floor plan in this area of the house, the new powder room will create a perfect hallway from the kitchen directly into the living room, now that we have created a door in that wall. When you walk in the front door you can look down the main hallway and you will see a wall (somewhere we can hang badass local art, of course).

Those were some of the more rewarding jobs this weekend. To summarize for you, since I know you are reading this at work and need it to be short and sweet (get back to those TPS reports, mmmkay?) here are some of the accomplishments and crises from the weekend:

Good:
Framed out the powder room
Installed headers over new doorways
Demo-ed the bathroom shower tile and walls
Replaced exterior back door
Started running electrical wire
Placed switch and outlet boxes in the kitchen
Mounted recessed lighting wells in the kitchen and hallway
Demo-ed the living room ceiling
Removed flooring from butler's pantry
Installed 2 new windows in the kitchen
Found a 1938 newspaper stuffed into the bathroom walls

Bad:
The 1938 newspaper in the walls was the only insulation in the entire house
We blew the electrical box and need to replace it
Had to install lighting wells by flashlight

I hit my thumb and bent the nail back, which led to lots of blood and a much needed early morning break



Ugly:

It rained. A lot. The  basement window terrariums turned into aquariums
I sneezed in my respirator

Mr. Smashy and the Killer Banana

The first thing I want to publicly address is an appreciation of all of the support James and I have received from our friends and family so far. I know buying a house isn't as life-changing an event as others, but it is amazing to see who comes out of the woodwork when you need something.

So, thank you to our real estate agent who encouraged us to dream, and sent us pictures of her own experiences to comfort us. Thank you to the friends who have stopped by this weekend and let us know it really "isn't that bad". Thank you to the contractors who tell us anything is possible (for the right price). Thanks to the volunteered contractor who showed up swinging, no questions asked.

And thank you to my Momma. A good parent doesn't question your life choices. A great parent doesn't question your spontaneous life choices, shows up with a sledgehammer, and takes you out for a beer after.

So we began the weekend with the continuation of the Contractor Parade. A friend had offered up her husband to come and take a look at the house. Being a general contractor, the plan was to have him come take a look and hear out all of our ideas, beginning to end, and let us know what was feasible. Since, what we had to this point, were just pieces of the puzzle from a plumber here, an electrician there, etc.

James walked him through the house, explaining the "grand plan", and after about half an hour he stated he would be there again the next day, at 9am to help get things started.

And he was.

James and I started the project Saturday night, by tearing out all of the cabinetry in the kitchen, the counter tops, and back splash. We stacked the cabinets outside and waited until the next day to get smashy smashy. We had no idea what we were in for.

When our volunteered contractor showed up he picked up a sledgehammer and promptly put a hole through the hall closet, for our plan to expand the kitchen. It began.

Little by little, he and James worked through the wall, tearing down the plaster as they went. They removed non-supporting beams and cleaned up as they went. In no time the hall closet had been turned into kitchen square footage. It is amazing to see what a little closet, when added to the right room, can do.

 

They also removed a soffit from the kitchen, so our new cabinets can extend to the ceiling. This will help a lot with storage in the small room. The plaster was heavy and dusty, and held together by metal mesh. They used sledgehammers to get most of it down, but required a grinder or a saw to remove the edges. We had also decided to open up a little more of the entrance to the dining room and the hallway to the living room, to give the house a more modern almost-open-concept design.

 

While they were working on the walls, we decided on the fly, to demolish part of the wall blocking the hallway from the butler's pantry. This header above the existing door was pointless, as it was not load-bearing, and we had planned to remove the door anyway. So they took the hallway all the way up to the ceiling and when they are finished it will be a smooth transition to the back of the house. This was important to us since we were planning to add a powder room to the existing butler's pantry, and we didn't like the look of the divided hallway. However, without my mom's design eye and our contractor's approval, we probably wouldn't have even thought of it.

While they were busy downstairs, my mom and I worked on removing the cedar planks from our soon-to-be walk-in shower, and she was able to take down the existing linen closet built-in, as well as the connecting closet-to-bathroom wall. I'll post pictures of this soon! There is still more work to be done in the bathroom, and we are optimistic that this will be finished this week, with our volunteered contractor's help.

Things are happening in the house faster than either of us had anticipated and it is incredible to see the transformation we were able to make in under one day! Yes - that's right. We did ALL of this in one Sunday with just 4 people, a sledgehammer and a giant crow-bar we call the 'Killer Banana" (after an HGTV episode of 'Renovation Realities").

Of course - I would also like to thank James: for at least acting like he knows what he is doing during all of this mess, being the only person I can imagine by my side, and letting me sledgehammer the kitchen cabinets.

Project Park commences

I have decided to title our renovation series: Project Park. If this is your thing, then you can read this series alone by selecting the 'Project Park" category under the Topics to the right of this page. Brace yourselves.

We closed on the house this past Friday. It was quick and painless, and within half an hour we had the keys to our future handed over on a big old UK keychain (which we promptly returned to the previous owner).

After a quick dinner James and I headed to the house with a bottle of wine and some beer. We walked, working our way from room to room, and talked out our plans and layouts. Should we leave this wall? What about this door? How did I not realize this window was so huge? Do you think someone died here? We have decided the first thing we need to replace is the front door, which opens with an terrifyingly ominous moan.

After an hour or so and a few beers, we had been through every room in the house. We had decided upon which walls were staying and which were going. We took turns standing in a ceder closet, pretending to shower, to see if it would make a suitable addition to the master bath. We walked out the layout of our new bedroom. We talked paint colors, cabinet colors, and floor colors til we were blue in the face.

We finished back in the kitchen, surrounded by linoleum, metallic wallpaper, and faux wooden counter tops. We stared around us, in our heads we were already standing in our dream kitchen, cooking dinner, serving drinks.

It is hard not to get ahead of yourself at this point. Shiny new granite countertops dance in my head like gumdrops for Marie. I have already picked out a crystal chandelier for above the clawfoot tub in the new bathroom. James even helped me pick up some new furniture that will look great in the living room in my head.

"It's so weird to think this is where we will have ki... be married and stuff... someday..." James muttered.

Froggie Leggies

It's that glorious time of year when the hillbillies from every corner of the state crawl out of their cabins, march through the mountains, take their yearly bath and strap on their "good shoes" to make their way to Louisville. Yep, that's right! It's time for the Kentucky State Fair!

I'm sorry, I know I am just perpetuating stereotypes, but come on... you would laugh, too, if you were able to peak at the crowds swarming the fairgrounds all weekend. I promise everyone had shoes on.

James and I made our annual trek to the State Fair this past weekend and it was everything you could imagine: corn dogs, endless crap peddlers, funnel cakes, beer, crowds, giant vegetables, cake decorating contests, etc. I love every minute of the state fair. There is some grade A people watching if you ever wanted it.

We went with some of our friends who suggested we make our way to the Mike Lennig's tent for some friend fish and french fries. Mike Lennig's is also famous for their frog legs...

So as we sat amongst the hundreds of other people chowing down on fish parts, I asked James if he had ever had any frog legs. I had not. I remember my papaw ordering some at a restaurant in Florida one time, but I don't recall any of my family members actually consuming them.

James scoffed. Have I ever eaten frog legs? Well, yea! He acted as if this was one of the silliest questions he had ever heard. I was shocked. James isn't usually one to venture too far out of his meat and potatoes world. In fact, it is just in the past year or two that we both started eating fish. So I ventured further with my questioning.. When? How? What?

He scoffed at me some more... "Psshh... We used to go out back and gig 'em in the ponds behind the house and bring 'em in and dad would fry 'em up". Blegh. I churled a little in my mouth at the thought of baby James giggin' frogs right out of his back yard...

Side story: I actually used to have a "pet" fire bellied-toad. He had three legs and his name was Bojangles. One time all the crickets I bought for him to eat escaped in my room. Every night from then on it sounded like you were sleeping out in a field.

Anyway, I am still coming around to the idea of picking fruits and vegetables out of the yard and eating them, much less happening upon a defenseless frog and thinking "Hmm... I bet this would taste good battered up and deep fried!"  But then again, I am dating the man who, at around eight, was pictured with his first rifle, and a belt full of dead squirrels. (Picture to come soon.) ((Unfortunately.))

The couple who stare at goats

Last night James decided it would be a fun experience to take me to a cattle auction. Why not?

Now, He has done this before - we went to a livestock auction last year. A big one. One that had air conditioning, a full restaurant, and fully functional bathrooms. This wasn't too bad. But last night?

Last night we went to a down-home style backyard cattle auction. We were in good company. Out of the 30 or so people who sat around in the "reclaimed" wooden stadium seats, or up on the wooden rafter benches, I was easily the only person who had never had this experience before. I was so much cleaner than my counterparts that I practically glowed.

As soon as we sat down I cringed and curled away from my neighbor when he spit out so much dip spit that I thought at first he had actually thrown up on his own shoes. I watched as a steady drip leaked from the ceiling of the auction hall despite the rather dry conditions we have been experiencing. I dodged the awkward glances from farm-folks who had probably never seen someone with makeup before, other than when honey-boo-boo gets ready for her pageants, of course.

Then came the animals. Goats ran out into the auction ring, neighing and baying or whatever goats do - some of them screaming. It was a terrifying experience. They lifted the tails of the goats to determine whether it was a nanny or a billy, and I couldn't help but think that for at least one of the men here, this was the equivalent of speed dating. You know what I mean.

The animals shuffled in and out of the ring, sometimes ten at a time, and bids went left and right. We watched as someone paid over $30,000 for a small herd of cattle. Some of the cattle would ram into the gates, sending the men a few steps back, and some of them would simply stand there, wondering what was going on.

By the time James had finished the conversation with his new-found friend, my neighbor's lake of dipspit had turned into a creek was was rapidly approaching my boots. I was more than ready to head home and shower off the smell of cigarette smoke, manure, and my company.

So there you have it - I drag James around to musicals, wineries, and occasionally *gasp* the mall, so this is my debt. If he can sit through a few hours of people signing their feelings, I can sit through a few hours of country folk bidding on pissed off animals, in a dark and dingy, smoke filled auction hall, with mystery water falling from the ceiling, splatter from my seat-mate's bad habit, and creepy stares. Not that we're keeping score or anything...

Saving dogs and shaming owners: A guest post from James!

Here's the deal:
James texts me around 8am, long after I had left for work, the message simple states: "Just saved a dog's life'.
Of course, I am like, "wtf?"
Then he sends another text... a picture... of blood splattered over his white T.
Of course... I am like, "WTF?!"
The response I get? "Something to do with popcorn'

Then nothing...

I waited... for 3 whole hours before he got to work and was able to email me the story. And what a doozy it was. So here you go... a surprise guest post from James. Now, he doesn't know that I have posted this email, but I thought it was incredibly entertaining and why not share it?

I may not have mentioned before, but James has already proven that he is the man of my dreams, many times over, by stopping to let turtles cross the road. Seriously. Any girl who isn't wooed by a stone cold hunter, outdoorsy, manly man who stops his F-250 in the middle of the road, gets out, and carries a little turtle from one side of the street to the other, is simply unwooable.

So here you have it: The story of Lucy the Labrador and her Lame Ass Owner, as told by James...

I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard something that sounded like thunder. I waited…. then I heard it again. "What the hell... that’s someone knocking at the front door!" I wrapped my towel around me and went to peak around the corner. Sure enough someone was standing out on the front porch (I was making water and it looked like the were messing with my buckets). I ran back into our room and threw on some boxers, shorts, t-shirt and Sperry’s and sped to the door. When I got there this lady was in the yard with a bucket, bent over something. She turned around, saw me and shouted “My dog is dying! It’s bleeding out of it’s mouth!” She comes running over to the porch. “It ate something while we were walking through the movie theatre parking lot and now it’s coughing up blood!”

Now the dog manages to stand up and starts walking towards the porch. It looks like it’s possessed and probably has rabies. It stumbles up to the porch and I can see the blood coming out of it’s mouth. She starts splashing water from the other bucket on the porch into the dogs mouth. Doesn’t help. It stumbles and almost falls off the porch.

I told her, “Lady, you need to take this dog to the vet! It’s going to die if you don’t! Bring it around to my driveway and put it in the back of my truck and I’ll drive you home so you can go to the vet.”

She says, “It’s too heavy I can’t carry it.” So, I go back inside, grab my wallet, keys and phone, and run out to the building to grab the wheel barrel. I wheel around to the porch and yell at her to put the dog into the wheel barrel. No surprise here…the dog is still too heavy. At this point the dog was coughing, obviously couldn’t breath and was starting to shit on itself. I yelled at her to grab it’s back end and I would grab the front end and we rolled it into the wheel barrel. She said that she only lived just down the street. I sped off with the dog in the wheel barrel running down the sidewalk with her behind me hysterically crying, “Her name is Lucy and she’s eleven years old!”

We get to her house (she lives next door to Roman) and I pull around to the driveway and tell her to open the car. She runs to the back yard, going on and on about the baby pool and water and getting the dog to drink so it could throw up. I said, “Lady, you’re taking this dog to the vet. Get over here.” She’s still running around acting crazy. So, I go over to the deck with the dog and she throws down the baby pool and turns on the hose. I told her to lift the dog out and put her in the pool. Surprise again, it was too heavy. So I wheel barrel dumped the dog in the baby pool and called Johnson Animal Clinic while this lady ran off into the house.

Johnson Animal Clinic told me the situation was an emergency…(Really? I hadn’t guessed that.) and instructed me to call and emergency center located on outer loop (where Mason died.) I told her the dog would never make it that far so she gave me the number of a place in Fern Creek, I think. I called them they said to bring the dog in immediately.

I looked around and couldn’t find the lady. Finally she came out of the house and I said “Hey. What are you doing? Do you not have the money to take the damn dog to the vet or what?”

She said, “No, I can’t afford it.”

So I told her “Well. Get over here and watch this damn dog die then. I’m not going to sit here and watch it die while you run off and hide!”

So she came over and by this time the dog had been wallowing around in the pool and I thought it was already dead once or twice. After a few minutes it seemed to not look as delirious and even started to drink a sip or two of water. Then another sip. Finally it sat up right and it’s breathing seemed to slow down, the bleeding stopped, and it was getting less frightening to look at.

Now, the lady proceeds to tell me that they were on a walk through the parking lot at the movie theatre, and the dog ate an entire bag of popcorn and started coughing. I’m guessing it got something lodged into its throat and couldn’t breathe. Remember now…Dog’s don’t sweat and they regulate their body temperature by respiration (panting) when a dog can’t pant they can’t cool themselves. I think the dog was choking on popcorn and couldn’t breathe which lead to it overheating internally and it essentially was baking from the inside out.

So, the water was cool enough to reduce the dogs body temperature enough that it didn’t die. And once it seemed to cool down it was able to drink some water and dislodge the popcorn that I assume was the culprit of this whole damn scenario.

By the time I started back home with my bloody wheel barrel. Eleven year old Lucy was standing on her own under the deck and out of the kiddie pool. She seemed like she was going to be ok. I’ll know for sure when I go to mow Roman’s yard this week. Lucy religiously meets me there to bark through the fence while I’m working.

Now... let me just say that on this particular day it was already over 90 degrees by 8 am, the heat index was up into the 100's, and James already hated popcorn. 

Get with it!

Some of you may have been wondering where I have been the past two weeks or so (well... the 8 of you who seem to have been checking my blog on a regular basis in that time - Thank you). To sum it up simply: I have gone from 0 to 60 again.

The Monday after Derby I started a new job. I also moved into James' house for good that day. Since, I have been inundated with work around the house - mostly unpacking and finding new places for all of my shit - but also some other special projects. We are remodeling the master bathroom. It was supposed to take a week or two. We're on week two now... and no signs of a finished bathroom in the near future. Isn't that how home remodeling is supposed to work though?

We finally decided on a vanity we both could live with, a tub and shower surround, a light fixture and hardware, and new tile. You know how we are with decisions... so this alone took most of one week.

This is the bathroom I came home to. Scary, right? I know. 

Sweet Jesus. There is drywall dust covering every square inch of the house and it will NOT got away.

I also decided this week that I would like a pond in the backyard. I have always liked little water features and this one would serve two purposes: aesthetics as well as giving Marty and Rita a more realistic home for the warmer months.

I put the pond in an existing landscape bed that was lined with creek rock.  Clearly, you can see it hadn't been used in quite some time. 

I literally decided to dig a pond on Wednesday. Went to Home Depot after work, picked out a preformed liner, and started digging. I dug until dark. When I got home from work Thursday I started digging again. I dropped the liner in the ground, shoveled some backfill around the edges, and lined it with rocks.

A two-day project is my kind of project. I found an outlet that was run to this area underground, too, but just need to figure out where the other end of it is so I can plug in a little water fall, which I haven't installed yet, and plunk my little turts down in it and it is all finished! I think they will love it. It already has ledges for them to sit on and if they do manage to climb out of the pond, the wood board fence will surely stop them, as they are wider than the slats.

So... you see... what with waking up every morning around 6:30, unpacking a little more, going to work, getting home and unpacking, shopping, organizing, cleaning, and digging until midnight each night, I haven't had much time to post updates! I apologize... but please know, there are some serious awesome posts in your future. I am talking about: 2013 Rodeo Recap, Horse Racing in a Hurricane, Chuting some Cows, and some bee updates (and maybe even a guest post about catching a swarm)!

Get excited. Do it. Seriously. Do your excited dance right now.

Confessions of a serial plant killer

My house has officially barfed all over James' house. His entire kitchen and living room floor areas are hidden by boxes and bags of my things. It's hard to unpack these kinds of things mostly because we have not yet gotten all of our furniture situation straightened out and we NEED more storage. I also have a whole box full of picture frames that are just waiting for someone to hang them... hint.

I have spent a lot of the past few days over here, just trying to get things in order and not seem so chaotic so he doesn't have an "oh-my-god-there-is-girl-stuff-everywhere" meltdown every day when he comes home from work.

Yesterday I decided, while I was over here, that after I unloaded my car full of junk on the kitchen floor ("*Blegh*" - House barf), I would replant all of the flowers around the house.

James takes a lot of pride in his yardwork and his planters always look fantastic. I knew it was going to be a challenge to make them look up-to-par. But I set out anyways, to the Sunshine Grow Shop, an outdoor flower shop on Hurstbourne Parkway. It is awesome. They have gorgeous flowers that I know I am going to kill. But, hey, the look good for the first few weeks at least, until my blank thumb sets in.

I got over $100 of flowers. Stupid. They die after a year! If I were going to spend that much on something that was just going to up and croak after such a short time I would get an awesome fish.

In the process of filling up 7 different planter pots full of dirt and flowers I stumbled upon a lovely little family of spiders. Yup. A mommy, daddy, and baby egg sack of all Black Widows. I didn't even know these things lived in Kentucky.

So, of course, I called James. How do I kill these things without them lunging for my jugular? What if they touch me? Should I keep 911 on standby?

He legitimately asked me if I had any gasoline and a lighter on hand. No. I didn't. But I did have a can of raid and a baseball bat.

I set to work on the spider family. I raided them. I batted them. Then, just for good measure, I buried them under the new potting soil and pansies.

Oh you didn't know we had a gargoyle? Why not?

All in all, the flowers look mighty fine, if I do say so myself. We still have a lot of work to be done around the patio itself - raking leaves, cleaning furniture, trimming trees, etc. I'll get to that later this week. Maybe. So long as I don't run into any spider kin.

Bookshelves

Well, I had been talking about how James and I are making progress on his house. This week we had big goals: buy/assemble bookcase, move my books, switch bedrooms, meet consultant for bathroom remodel. So far... I bought a bookcase and moved my books. Hey, slow and steady, right? Like a turtle!

The bookshelf was a pain in the ass to say the least. I bought it from Target, and had been eyeing a few from other places, but they seemed to have the best deal on the style I was looking for.  This bookcase is to help us manage our "library" in the "office". So fancy!

You know James and I are both researchers. We google and read as much as we can before we make any decision about anything. This has led to an abundance of books on a wide array of topics... want to know about tropical fish? Got a book for it. What about beekeeping? You know we have several of those. How to fix a lawnmower? Got it. Lerne sie Deutsch? Ja.

So I tackled the bookshelves project on my own, while James has been at work. I struggled to get the giant box into my car, but it just fit. Getting it from the car to the kitchen was an even bigger struggle. The box weighs almost as much as I do.

Once I got it opened I realized there were pieces in the box that I had no idea belonged to a bookshelf. Cam bolts? Wha?

About 2 hours or so after I started on the actual assembly process I was able to get things looking like a functional bookcase. Getting it into the office was easy peasy, thanks to the nice wood floors. Then it was styling time.

I was really excited about styling the bookcase. I had seen all sorts of pins on shelf styling and had gathered a number of things that I wanted to be on display in our case.

The office is going to be "Louisville" themed, of course, so I had made a fleur-de-lis plaque, gathered our bourbon trail bottles, and some college pictures and awards. I have some awesome Louisville Slugger tin signs to hang, an Ali picture, our Ricky P signed Cardinals basketball, etc.

Well, then I ran into a problem... I was quickly running out of room. We had way more books than I had imagined. I didn't realize I had gathered so many books up, mostly because I kept them in several different places throughout my house... my shelves, my nightstand, my reading table, everywhere. I even had books in the kitchen.

You can barely see a corner of the disarray the rest of the room is in. One thing at a time...

So much for styling. I was able to cram a few things onto our shelves, as you can see, but I think it will really start to look well-planned once I am able to move everything else out of the office and move in the desk and other items. I'll keep you posted, but I just really wanted to share my new bookcase! I am pumped about it! It's the little things in life... books and bourbon.

Life updates

If you were wondering...

James and I are still moving in together. It has turned into the longest move ever in the history of people moving in together. Mostly, because I still have a house with my friends, and we are having a big Derby Brunch next week that I need a lot of my kitchen supplies and couches for. However... things are slowly turning into a home at his place. I bought a bookshelf today for all of my books (it isn't hoarding if they are all books, right?) and let's just say that "Some assembly required" is the understatement of the year. I am also pretty impressed with the amount of stuff I can cram into my little 2-door car.

We're kind of at the stage now where we are really getting to know each other:

"How many crock pots do you actually own?"
"The rice cooker doesn't count."

"Does this mean we are getting engaged?"
"You tell me..."

"Do you really need a whole room for hunting gear?"

So, one room at a time, some demo, some remo, we are slowwwly making this move. We have come to the conclusion that A. We need more room, B. We have too much stuff and C. We really amuse each other.

My hood

Getting ready to move in with James has had me thinking, lately. Mostly about where we are going to put all of his tools... but about some other things too. I know, I know... another sentimental blog post? What the hell, Bridgette? What's gotten into you?

Springtime in Kentucky is my favorite time of year, and everything I love about the Spring is amplified in the hood. That's right. You may not have realized, but I live in the hood. I have for about 6 years now. I love my hood. It is the kind of place that my mom is afraid to leave her car parked outside for more than an hour at a time. But it is my place.

Years ago I was working for a company doing promo work. This meant a lot of traveling. It was summer and I was between classes, so it worked out well. I would be gone for 3-4 days at a time, finding out which city I would be staying in the morning of. Then I would be back for a few days. I was also in the process of moving out of my old house, which I had shared with 4 other girls.

I didn't have anywhere to live. For most people, this would be frightening. You see, I have a little bit of a gypsy side and this was nothing new, really. However, it just so happened that my newish boyfriend, James, was looking into investment properties.

So we struck a deal. I could pick out the house, he would buy it, and I would rent it with some friends. Pretty good deal, huh? So after a few weeks of living out of my car, I found a house.

It was cute. It was perfect. It sat up on it's own little hill and looked cheerily down at the street. It had a precious little front porch. Shotgun style with a hallway, three bedrooms, a laundry room (a luxury, here in the hood), and one bathroom. The kitchen was massive.  Lots of windows. And it only got broken into once!

I won't get into much more detail about the house, that's probably another story for another sentimental time, but I will describe my hood for you.

I am close to campus, and close to downtown, but far enough away that I have some non-student neighbors. I can see the fireworks from Thunder over Louisville from my front porch. I can hear concerts at the old stadium in the summer. I can smell the grass being cut in the park and cemetery across the street. I am a short walk away from bars, pizza and ice cream.

My permanent neighbor, Thomas, is senile, but he grows a little row of grapes between our houses. He told me one time that he makes jellies and jams with them, but I have never seen him pick a single grape. So sometimes I eat them. My neighbors on the other side are constantly changing, and right now they have left their Halloween decorations up for so long that I am beginning to think that they live in an actual haunted house. Across the street, the family of four will sometimes drag their couch and TV out on their front porch. The old lady across the street doesn't feed her cat, so I do. The little old man down the street will sit outside every day and wave to me as I pass and the man that lives in the garage down the street finally stopped following me when I walked to campus.

When I drive around my neighborhood, the sights and smells are mostly what I will miss. Especially in the Springtime. In the morning the air is warm and the breeze is strong enough to waft the scent of coffee and donuts from the bakery and cafe, Nord's and Sunergos. On the way home, in the evening, I have to drive past Zanzabar's smoker out in front of the restaurant, and then Vito's pizza.

People are always out walking, mostly because I live right on the bus line. They walk their dogs and ride their bikes. They are walking to school or picking up cans. They are buying wine from the Greenhaus or stopping in the Barber's College.

It is a busy little place. It always smells amazing. There is always something to do or somewhere to eat. It is close to everything. I am trading in this little city-skirts life for the burbs in just a few short weekss and the only thing I will drive past then is hoodlums loitering outside of the movie theater and a bunch of other houses.

I will have to make side trips through my hood every now and then, just so I don't forget my roots, and so I can pick up a tub of pulled chicken from Frank's and a bottle of wine from the Liquor Store, where they know my name.

Onion volcanos blow your mind and your gut

When James and I were invited to help celebrate our good friend's birthday we accepted without hesitation - even though it meant eating sushi. Neither of us had ever had sushi. Well, I take that back.. one time at a grocery store in Florida my mom encouraged me to eat a piece of sushi. It was disgusting. But James had definitely never had it. Weird little chunks of raw fish are a tad outside of his comfort zone.

We met our friends at the sushi bar and hibachi grill on Bardstown Road, Sapporo. We had gotten one of the grill tables. Where I am from, going to the hibachi was one of those special event things: birthdays and dances. There is something unmistakable and undeniably delicious about hibachi rice. I can't get over it. 

Our chef came over to the table and started pouring out the oil over the top, steam swelled and rose over our group. The chef started his routine, swinging the knives and spatulas around, flipping them in the air, slapping them on the table, generally making a lot of show and noise. He did the signiture spin-the-egg-then-throw-it thing and everyone clapped. I love the show, but I love the smell better. Mmm... hibachi rice...

I looked over to say something to James about what we had ordered and saw him staring back at the chef. His eyes were practically popping out of his head. His mouth was gaped open slightly and he was oblivious to everything else going on. I stopped mid-sentence and blurted out, "Have you never been to a hibachi grill!?"

It was another one of those fun big-city experiences. Oh geez. He had never been to a restaurant like this. He was in for a treat. 

He watched with amazement as the chef threw some rice around. I poked him in the ribs and laughed as I told him to watch out for the onion volcano. The wha? And sure enough, the onions were all stacked up and cooked for a few seconds before steam started erupting from the top ring. By this point our sushi rolls had come and the table next to us was enjoying their hibachi chef, too. He grabbed my arm and pointed across to their table, "LOOK!" The chef was popping little clumps of rice into the girls' mouths with impressive accuracy. This amazement went on for quite a while. James watched with a combination of joy and skepticism. Of course. 

After our chef had finished his show and served our table, we finally got down to eating. We had ordered a sushi roll that had a little bit of everything - steak, crab, and something else I couldn't identify. It was delicious after all. I watched as James poked around at it with his chop sticks. He clumsily tried grabbing it and eating it but it was too big. I had been taking bites of mine as best I could without letting the rice, and whatever the unidentified sea creature was, spilling out. 

After a few bites I turned to mention how delicious it had turned out and saw, to my horror, James attempting to saw his sushi roll in half using his chopsticks as a knife and fork. He had pierced part of the roll with one stick and was slowly mashing and tearing through the middle with the other. If the sawing was unsuccessful he grabbed them in both hands with his fists and stabbed each end, ripping the roll apart. Each time he ended up with a pile of unidentifiable steak, rice, seaweed, and crustaceans. 

I politely asked for a fork. For the both of us. 

The night went on and we enjoyed our food with friends. The company, atmosphere and drinks were great. We ended up all passing around shots of warm sake, another new experience for James. Is it supposed to be warm? Yes? Gross.

All in all it was a spontaneous and exciting night. The food was amazing. To sum it all up: the sake shots turned into sake bombs, which turned into jaeger bombs, which turned into straight tequila, which turned into the casino, which led us to get home no later than 5:30 a.m., $400 richer. See what trying new things gets you into?

The Mad Crapper

Some of you have met Chloe. Some of you may not have had this pleasure. That's unfortunate. Chloe is  my 17 year old Ragdoll. Which means we have been together since I was 8.

I sleep with Chloe every night. She tucks herself under the blankets and into my arms, and sneaks her head under my chin. We have slept like this since we were both little. When I am home she is always by my side, even as I write this she is sitting on the other side of the laptop, peering over to watch the words fill the page. When I go to the bathroom, she escorts me, then waits patiently outside of the door, to escort me back. She waits for me to get up every morning and watches me get ready every day.

Chloe and I, much like any pair who have experienced a 17 year relationship, I assume, are very close. We have a relationship that is hard to define, and even harder to understand, especially for non-cat people. I'll try to put it simply: Chloe is my soul, embodied.

I know that may sound a little dramatic, but it is truly how I feel. I know that this feeling is mutual because Chloe let's me know when she is upset with me. She has a serious problem with my absence. Usually 2-3 days is my maximum allowed away-time. Well, I spent this past weekend in Cincinnati. It was one day too long and, when Chloe is upset, she acts out.

Thus, whenever I return home, for example: from said weekend trip to Cincinnati, the first thing I need to do is an obligatory check for rogue poops.

The Mad Crapper, herself, looking guilty. 

I know. It's terrible. Why would you have an animal that acts out their anger in the form of spontaneous defecation?  I guess it is just something that I have gotten used to, and it is something I now blame on her senility.

This time, her anger was displayed for me in the form of a turd in the laundry room. That's not that bad. Cat poops don't really smell, so she must not have been too mad at me. Once, she peed right on top of me as I slept in my bed. That is an angry cat.

One time, after I had been on vacation, even though Chloe is left with all the food and water she could ever want, she had a hard time forgiving me for leaving her alone for so long. I had been gone about a week. Of course, as soon as I arrived home she showered me with love and happy slobber. But after she got over her initial excitement, she started plotting her revenge. She strutted off to the other room, to sit alone until I went to sleep.

Usually around 10:15 Chloe will come and snuggle in to bed. When she didn't come in around that time I knew she was still upset, so I let her be. When I retrieve her from her angry-spot she just gets even more spiteful.

I slept peacefully throughout the night, exhausted from the trip. I was vaguely aware that Chloe had come and slept with me for a little while that night, but when I awoke the next morning she was nowhere to be found. I rolled over in the bed and closed my eyes, yearning for 10 extra minutes of sleep. I stretched out my arms and bumped into something small in the covers. What? What could that be? Did I leave my phone in the bed at night? Did I drop something before I left?

I woke up and got out of bed, I flipped back the covers, and there sat the most spiteful shit I had ever seen. She had crawled into the blankets with me and left her vengeance tucked into the sheets right next to me. Let me tell you, it is a terrible, terrible day when you wake up next to a crap.

I ripped my sheets off the bed and threw them into the laundry before I left for work, and passed Chloe, glowering in her angry chair as I left.

So, sometimes you are lucky enough to encounter your soul along this journey called life. Consider yourself even luckier if your soul doesn't shit in the hallway sometimes.