Once upon a time I had a blog…
And on that blog I wrote about many things. But then I got married, and went on my honeymoon, and I swore I’d write … but I didn’t. Oh sure, I started a few messages. My computer is full of half-finished blog entries. But as time passed I found there was so much to catch up on and so little time. But that’s all ending now. No, I’m not going to catch you up on what you’ve missed (though if you’d like a photo recap of the wedding you can look here. And a photo recap of the honeymoon can be found here), but I will start writing again … starting with the story of how my 3-month marriage is coming to an abrupt end.
Oh sure, we’ve already surpassed the current Kardashian marriage record but I know it’s not going to last much longer. Why? Because our house is going to kill us. Not “us” really, just GAR. And, well, you know, then our whole “’til death do we part” thing will pretty much be fulfilled (although, now that I think about it, those words were never spoken at our wedding … but, nonetheless, if one of us croaks this marriage is automatically null and void).
Now, if you’ve read this blog previously then you know that our house has afflicted many a wound upon us in the past – fires, floods, gang graffiti, tarantula infestations (which, actually, are still rampant … though it turns out the ones we have are actually wolf spiders – just as scary but, thankfully, far less deadly), locust infestations, poor design choice infestations – you name it. But over this past month our 1980’s Golden Girls-esque abode has really pulled out all the stops in its efforts to kill us off.
It started small – while painting the outside of the house (yes, we’re STILL painting the exterior of our home … after all it’s only been about 10 months since we started) GAR threw out his back – AGAIN (funny how every time he’s required to do manual labor he turns into an 80-year-old man). But he healed … and we paid someone to finish the job for us (well mostly … but that’s a whole other story). And then we moved on to more manageable tasks – like decorating (somehow in the hustle and bustle of renovation we sort of forgot to, you know, buy décor and things that actually make a place look “pretty”) – and things were calm again. Our daily routine of watching endless hours of HGTV were back on schedule and we even picked up a few accent pieces that really “tie the whole room together.”
But then our neighbors got robbed. That’s sad, but it happens, right? Nothing to be worried about … until it happens again a few weeks later ... in the middle of the day. And suddenly we realize that in the past month 3 out of the 5 houses in our cul-de-sac have been burglarized. And really it makes sense – we live in one of the more wealthy areas of town but we’re in one of the only neighborhoods that isn’t gated. Plus the homes are older – easier to break into and less chance of encountering a security system. Oh, and my neighbors all have giant boats just sitting there in their driveways screaming “Come rob me – I have enough money to buy a boat!” Or something like that.
And it sucks, but I don’t worry too much (plus, you know, we don’t have a boat – but we do have a security system … assuming you count 2 tiny yipping dogs as “surveillance”). I just head to Home Depot and price out some new front doors that actually shut all the way (unlike the ones we currently have that bow inwards and don’t completely lock correctly … but I guess that’s okay because they are mostly glass anyway so it’s not like we even need to lock them I suppose when they can so easily be demolished … and now I’m telling you all of this too so I might as well just put up a giant neon – no, LED, that’s more environmentally responsible – sign out front declaring us open for business).
But not GAR. No, he does not handle this news nearly as lightly. And this is the problem.
Since the most recent string of break-ins my dear husband has been on high alert – monitoring every car he sees in the neighborhood and putting us on total lockdown day and night. He’s hiding all our “valuables” and guarding the meager gifts we put in each other’s stockings like they are made of solid gold. Getting him to leave the house for even an hour to go to the store takes some convincing as he’s positive that the second he leaves that the “bad guys” will come steal his record collection and maybe smuggle out the pups while they’re at it. Heaven help me if TBS decides to air a “Home Alone” marathon this holiday season – I know that if GAR sees that I’ll come home to find our house booby trapped with all sorts of crotch-kicking homemade protection gadgets.
Alas I am finally getting to my point – the whole “how my husband is going to leave me a widow after mere months of marriage” portion that I promised up front. Here’s how it goes down …
Amidst all this chaos something even more sinister has happened. Ah yes, this is the beauty of our home – it’s the gift that keeps giving. And its latest gift to us has been mold. Mold which we uncovered when ripping out the second of our guest bathrooms, “The Cave,” and has now infiltrated every inch of breathable air in our house. It turns out that not only was The Cave hideous, it also was built with absolutely no waterproofing – no shower tray, no water-sealants, nothing behind the shower tile at all except some drywall – and, apparently, that tends to allow mold to fester over the course of, oh, let’s say, 25 years. And then (after those 25 years have passed), when you demo it all you uncover the motherload … and all those mold spores are free – FREE I TELLS YA!! – to fly out into the air and dance around until they find new places to settle ... in our bedding … in our curtains … into the carpet … And suddenly you find your allergies kicking in. Breathing is harder. Sneezing is more rampant. And what you really need is some nice, clean, fresh air in your lungs.
And I escape! Off to work, off to the gym, out for a run … and I breathe. But GAR. Well, not GAR who, thanks to his sweet professoring gig, gets to stay home all winter break. And who, unthankfully, has recently become a recluse vigilante Hell bent on locking himself into our home airtight and protecting our abode from any would-be wrong doers. No, sadly, poor GAR is doomed to live out his last days choking down moldy air as he rigs buckets of tar and feathers above all our doorways “just in case” (and frankly the feathers are a bad idea too – he’s horribly allergic to those as well) until the stale, allergen-filled pollutants overtake him completely. And I’m alone. But, hey, at least the thieves weren’t able to get to my awesome collection of Steve Guttenberg DVDs!
Well, my love, this whole marriage thing was good while it lasted.