Lint Trap

Dryer stopped drying (I capitalized "dryer" because it is an important character in this scenario).

I hate Dryer. Several friends have come over to use Dryer because it's more convenient to hang out in my house and do laundry than it is to go to the laundromat... but at the end of the cycle they check the clothes in Dryer and find the clothes still damp so they restart Dryer then eat some of my food then check their clothes again and find them still damp so they restart Dryer and eat more of my food then check the dryer again and find the clothes still damp so they get mad because all of their valuable time is being wasted and they have lots of other important things they could be doing.

Frankly, I was embarrassed. When being used for my appliances I like to deliver good service and Dryer wasn't cutting it. Something needed to be done.

So I did the following.

Intro: Call Dad using my most desperate voice so he'll agree to talk me through what to do.

Step 1: Locate the problem

1.a. check the lint trap (duh). If there's no lint there...

1.b. check the tube thingy coming out the back of Dryer. There may be a clamp you have to squeeze or a screw to undo the metal ring holding the tube thingy on. If there's no lint there...

1.c. check the other end of the tube thingy leading to outside. If there's no lint there...

1.d. get a flashlight, remove the lint trap, look inside the lint trap slot and discover a ton of lint.

Step 2: Remove the lint

1.a. recruit an endebted friend to shine the flashlight into the lint trap while you work.

1.b. use various tools and kitchen utensils to fish the lint out (I recommend a wooden spoon and a spatula).

Step 3: Run a load of laundry and hold your breath until you know if it worked.

My lint trap.

The lint I dug out of my lint trap.

The various tools I used (hint: spatula and wooden spoon proved the most effective).

Moving

380 days ago I lassoed any willing stranger into helping me move my few* precious belongings into my new house.

13 hours from now I'll pay it forward by helping my friend David move into his new house. This is one person I've helped move and in order to maintain the feng shui of the world I think I need to help 31.7 more people. Now is the time to buy a house friends. I've got protestant work ethic mixed with guilt and when in this state, I'm easily manipulated into serving others.

*My "few" precious belongings included maaaaany things I absolutely couldn't part with, and wanted to give a good damp home in my rotting basement. What can I say, I'm sentimental.

Crow Your Last Crow

The Rooster is on vacation. Or has Laryngitis. Or dare I hope...dead.

For days now I've been able to sleep until natural sounds of city life wake me. Sweet bliss is brought by the bus horn. So soothing is the hacksaw of construction. Generous portions of serenity rain down with each screaming gang fight. Now I can rest and enjoy what city life was meant to be without rural intrusion.

I don't know who to thank. Another distraught neighbor within earshot? A teenage delinquent with a slingshot? An underground cock-fighting ring?

I might even take a nap today. Why? Because I can.

Envy

My friend Mark was going to the shore with his family and asked me to watch the cat. He walked me through the detailed instructions he had typed and, just before we parted ways, handed me his house remote controlled key fob.

I pretended like it wasn't a big deal to have such fancy accessories and told him not to worry, everything was going to be fine.

The next day I made my way over to Mark's, key fob confidently in hand. I climbed the steps and pressed "unlock" twice. A whirr, then a click, then a beep told me I was safe to enter. I had exactly 45 seconds to make it to the keypad in the kitchen and press in the safety code before the alarm would sound.

Success.*

Now, to find the cat.**

With Muffins MIA I proceeded as instructed and filled the bowl with exactly 2/3 cup of her weight control cat food, making sure to reseal the bag with the provided chip clip. Her water bowls were still full, but bullet point number two in the instructions said to rinse them out and fill with fresh tap water. I did it all while admiring Mark's immaculate kitchen.

Now to the basement for the litter box. While unfinished, the space was huge and the ever important, DRY. The litter box was on a little rug and scoop had no stains. There was little scooping even needed. Muffins was either very tidy or constipated. Either way, it made my job easy. When finished, I was careful not to close the basement door. As all cat owners know, if a cat can't get to the litter box, they do still poop. Well, maybe not Muffins, but she's a rare case.

My services were done and it was time to go. I pressed the safety code again, a robot voice told me it was cool to leave, and with that, I pressed lock twice on the remote.

Done. Easy.

Then the mental and emotional turmoil set in. My kitchen is a mess. My basement is wet. My cat poops ALL THE TIME! I've got a good old fashioned case of the jealousies. And I'm so embarrassed of what Mark might think of my house, that I'll never ask him to return the favor.

*Success = cops didn't show up.

**I never found the cat.

I Have Fans!

My cousin Geoff used to work for Lowe's. I loved him more then. During that time I took advantage of his employee discount and bought two ceiling fans, one for the kitchen and one for the living room.

Recently my dad helped me hang the fan in the kitchen. It was easy and wonderful. Then came the living room. It is still not done.

This was a true "Bartleby" moment.

Me: Why can't we just hang the fan like the other one?

Dad: Because there isn't any electricity in the ceiling here.

Me: You're funny dad.

Dad: Seriously, the wire running across your ceiling is plugged into the outlet down here. And Bartleby hung the fan on this big hook he screwed into the middle of the ceiling.

(silence)

Dad: Kelly, are you okay?

Me: Bartleby!!!!!

So, we went to Lowe's with the plan to buy new wire and cover it with a plastic tube-like casing thing called a conduit. The wire would then be "up to code", a term I've learned to hate.

The conversation with a Lowe's employee named Mark went something like this:

Me: ...and that's why we need to re-wire my living room for a new ceiling fan.

Mark: Do you want my professional advice?

Me: Yes.

Mark: Don't do it.

Me: Okay, but, if we do do it, what will we need to get?

Mark: I can't recommend this.

Me: I know, but IF you did, what would you tell us to get?

Mark: This is not a good idea.

Me: I know, but IF you happen to accidentally point us toward the parts we'll need, what isle would you point to?

(silence)

Mark: That way.

Me: You're a peach Mark. A real peach.

For the record, my dad is super smart and super honest, so in the end, we ended up following all the rules. This included fishing wire through my stupid plaster ceiling (for which you need a metal wire-fishing tool) and running a whole new wire from the electrical box in the basement. This is apparently called "grounding" and involves making sure all the electricity around the area you're working on is turned off. It also apparently involves pretending to get electrocutes so your daughter completely freaks out.

In the end, there was just way more work to do than we ever could have predicted.

For now, the old fan is back up and loosely dangling from it's hook in the middle of the ceiling. The new fan is back in the box. The holes in the ceiling have yet to be patched. The new "grounded" wire is dangling down the wall waiting to be spliced into the outlet. And I'm counting down the days until my dad comes to visit again.

My Fingers Are Bleeding

When I bought my "adventure", there were projects I expected to do in the first year:

new plumbing in basement (with the help of a plumber)

fix nicks and holes in walls

paint all walls

rip up carpet

refinish wood floors (with the help of a contractor)

These are the projects I have done in the first 9 months:

new plumbing in basement (with the help of a plumber)

fix nicks and holes in walls

demolish plaster wall in bedroom

drywall wall in bedroom

paint all walls

fix singed wall from electrical fire

rip up carpet

remove 5481 staples from the floors (by hand)

remove 2 layers of linoleum under the carpet (linoleum was designed to look like wood)

gut bathroom

complete bathroom remodel (with the help of a contractor)

fix hole in dining room ceiling from bathroom leak

expose bricks in living room (with the help of a contractor)

hang new fans in kitchen and living room

complete kitchen remodel (with the help of a contractor)

hang window boxes

fix dishwasher (4 times)

Maybe there's more but at this point, all the blisters on my hands start to look the same.

One day, in the middle of the kitchen remodel, the carpet removal and plaster wall demolition, I received word from my old landlord that the crappy cat I had adopted may have brought fleas into his property. He took my entire security deposit and probably took a sweet little vacation.

What a precious.

After reading the letter with my hands covered in plaster dust, my weary and discouraged body sank onto the filthy, hazardous floor. I looked around and for the first time recognized the completely hopeless state I was in. My fingers were blistered and bleeding and a staple was solidly lodged in my heal. At that moment my furry little charity case came purring up to comfort me. His big black kitten eyes locked their gaze with mine, he opened his sweet little mouth in what looked to be a sympathetic smile then proceeded to chomp down on my arm, his razor sharp teeth sinking deeply into my defenseless flesh.

A welcome out of body experience allowed me to enjoy the entire scene from a corner of the ceiling. I saw a 20 something woman, wearing paint covered cheerleading shorts from the 8th grade, covered in paint and plaster with a young cat chewing on her arm. I saw her shoulders heaving in uncontrollable sobs and a clean pool of blood forming through the bottom of her sock. The thought came to me, "Maybe I should shut these windows so her neighbors don't hear." The crying went on for much longer than I had expected but before the shoulders stopped shuttering, a smile came to the woman's face.

And as quickly as I had left, I was back in my own body gasping for breath between the sobs... and smiling. I remember actually saying out loud, "This is amazing. This whole situation is absolutely ridiculous."

And that's when I got the idea for a blog.

What Is That Smell?

In one of my first posts I explained my habit of ritualistically raising my fist and cursing my home's former owner.

"Bartleby!" I'll exclaim whenever I find a broken door hinge or a rotting floor board. But yesterday was the "Bartleby!!!!" of all "Bartlebies!!!!"

Um...maybe not. I think the toilet leaking through to the dining room was the winner so far. But this comes in a close second.

First let me provide context.

Last summer when I bought this "adventure" of a home I discovered many clues into the life and mind of Bartleby. Like his love for shelving and vigilante wire splicing.

And cats.

After ripping up the stained carpets and having the house fumigated for fleas...twice...I thought the the problems of poor pet ownership were done. Until it got hot and humid. With a little heat and some fresh rain water the pungent smell of cat urine is resurrected in the front portico*. It hangs like a thick soup, possibly even a chowder, until the moisture from the rain recedes and the smell grows dormant...until another summer rain.

I think the problem will only be solved by getting entirely new flooring in the portico. But for the time being, I have to create a PR strategy for the smell. It's the first thing visitors will notice as soon as I open the front door to let them in. So, I've thought of a few options:

1. Pretend the smell is them and ask if they're feeling okay.

2. Warn them of the smell when extending the initial invitation, giving them the option of accepting the invite or acquiring other, less nasally offensive scheduling plans.

3. Refuse to open the glass front door until I have successfully communicated to the guest through sign language and mime technique that the portico smells of cat urine, but it's not my fault and they should forgive me and still try to have a good time

There is good news though. The smell gets trapped in the portico as soon as the inside door is closed, so with a quick entrance the smell only has to be endured for 2.927 seconds. And this smelly situation could prove to be a good test of friendship for my guests. My friends tend to be pretty gracious and loving people but can they make it through this?

*A small entrance way between the front door and the door to the living room at the front of the house. Cats love porticoes.