A Clean Start

2017 should be the Year of Taking Chances...but not Stupid Chances.

At the tail end of 2016, I bought a house. I was pretty excited. In my head, I had my entire Yelp review of my landlady all written out. I found it highly appropriate that my students were reading a Roald Dahl short story called "The Landlady" about a serial killer just at the time I was plotting revenge against mine. 

But then I decided I didn't want to be one of those nasty Old Maids who does nothing but plot revenge, so I sent her a nice text saying Merry Christmas instead and wondered if I was bi-polar.

Then I moved into my tiny house and quickly discovered WHY people have landladies to begin with. It's so that someone else can freak out about the plumbing.

At my closing, the mortgage lender said I was an "ideal client" because I took copious notes of everything and made sure all my ducks were in a row. The building inspector, on the other hand, looked at my hot pink notebook and said, "You don't need to be writing all this down. I'm sending you a report." So I quit writing things down. 

And that is how I bought a house, paid $1100 to install a new water heater, and still didn't have a hot shower. Not even one.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he might have said something about no hot water verbally though," my dad posited. 

"I don't care if he said it verbally. It wasn't in the report and he told me not to write notes because he was sending a report."

"Look, he gave you a hundred dollars off on your inspection."

"I WOULD RATHER HAVE KNOWN I WAS BUYING A HOUSE WITH NO HOT WATER!!!"

My dad and I are currently on the outs right now, mostly because I own a home wherein I have wrapping paper taped over my bathroom windows so I can scrub myself down at the sink every day like the redneck I now am.

This state of affairs must be ended immediately. I've seen my realtors with their other clients and they are magnificent. Unfortunately, I'm easier to blow off or postpone because I'm their kid.

My first tactic was to tell Dad, "I'm moving my stuff to your house while you're in South Carolina. My home is unlivable, so I guess I'm moving back in with you and mom."

This did not propel him into action like I hoped it would. And every time I try to call service people on my own, my folks are all, "Why didn't you call us first!? We know better people to fix that! You're going to pay a fortune!"

Next, I sent him and my mom a group text: "Don't worry about anything! Remember that single guy Darrin from 2 houses up? He has TWO bathrooms in his house and said I can just move all my stuff in and shower there on the regular!"

This provoked outraged texts from South Carolina but ultimately produced no parents, nor any phone numbers of BETTER plumbers than the ones I'd already called.

But having told my parents that I was showering at Darrin's, I now had to do so. So, towel and shampoo in hand, I marched down the sidewalk in my house shoes and let myself in while he was at work. I was horrified by the sight that greeted me...

Whereas the first time I had gone to Darrin's house (unannounced), it had smelled vaguely of pot and looked very lived-in, it now looked like a museum.

To the right, there was a dining table set for two people, complete with a bottle of champagne waiting to be opened. On the bar counter stood a coffee pot surrounded by tiny creamers and two coffee mugs, with business cards artfully fanned out in front of them, facing me. On the back of a bar stool hung a business suit from Lord & Taylor. 

This was not a place where someone was living. It was a place asking to be lived in. Everything inside me was like "RUN!!!!!! This house has been staged for something!! Maybe there are video cameras everywhere!!" But I was supposed to be proving a point to my parents, and that point was that their trip to the land of my birth was more important than my cleanliness, which, as we all know, is next to godliness. So I took a damn shower.

I kind of hoped that would be the end of it, but Darrin has proven truly unshakeable. I find this very unnerving. He texts me all the time and shows up on my doorstep at night. I can't pretend I'm not home because, uh...he can see my car.

In general, I find myself to be my best around awkward guys. (Probably because they have like ZERO frame of reference for what women are supposed to be like.) But you can tell this is not an awkward guy, this is just a regular one who says awkward things. There's a difference. This is how our super awkward conversations go:

Darrin: How old are you?

Elle: 36.

Darrin: WHAT!?!?!? NO WAY!!!!!! I never would have guessed that!!! You look so young! I'm 29.

Elle: Okay.

Darrin: So, my girlfriend and I broke up several weeks ago. She was crazy. Man. She was CRAZY.

Elle: I hate when guys say that. Anyway, I have to go to the grocery store, nice seeing you.

Darrin: Well, maybe she wasn't crazy. She was just young. She was too young. 

Elle: Okay. I'm gonna head out. Go take your fat dog on a walk or something, good exercise! 

Darrin: No, too cold. YOU don't need any exercise. How much do you weigh? It's like 95 pounds right?

Elle: Who knows? Well I gotta get going.

Darrin: That's the question you're not supposed to ask a woman right?

Elle: That and "how old are you?"

Darrin: (looking at phone) MAN, this one chick will not leave me alone! How should I make her stop? She can't seem to get the picture that I'm not interested!

Elle: (literally with one foot out the door) Don't respond I guess.

Darrin: So you got hot water yet? You want to borrow my 2nd bathroom again?
Elle:........ehm, not quite. Hey, have you met the gal who lives in that house with the blue shutters? The next door neighbor says she's young and single! (runs away)

It is hard to weigh the desire to be clean and neighborly against my desire to NOT be involved with my neighbor.