Automation station

As we prepare to move I have been calling all of our utility companies so that I can set up disconnect dates. Of course they are all getting confused about how awesome our situation is and how no, I don't need to reconnect at the new location. I am not moving to a new house, I am moving to mom and dads. Or as Brett and I like to say, with "our roommates" -Grandma's boy reference. ftw.

I also just realized how stupid I sounded on the phone with GA Power. They have 50% of their customer service line handled by an automated person. You know, the one where you have to physically say what you want vs. pressing a number to move onto the next step. I am currently at the office so I know I sounded like an idiot. Another thing I have learned is that those fake customer service reps have really shitty hearing, and similarly can't understand my dialect. Got a lot of -"I'm sorry, I didn't understand you" Yes automated person, you are sorry.

If your office were close to mine the last 10 minutes would have sounded something like this:

"This music sucks, I hate being on hold, oh wait the music stopped!"

"english" ...

"ENGLISH!"

"existing customer" ....

dammit, "EXISTING CUSTOMER!"

"no way I am not saying my social security number out loud. Why can't I just push in my account number? Stupid automation..."

beep beep beep, beep beep, beep beep beep beep

"yes, that is correct"

"YES THAT IS CORRECT"

"disconnect service"

ughhhhhhhhhhhhh "DISCONNECT SERVICE!"

Eventually I got to talk to a person IN REAL LIFE. I think I offended he/she when I said yes ma'am for like the 3rd time.Ok, so it must have been a guy. Or a ticked off lesbian. Who knows, I was sure to be polite either way. I think by the end of the convo he/she felt bad for me and even added in a "good luck with your house stuff."

That was very thoughtful of him/her.

Little Bear's first Halloween

Adeline's first Halloween was a success. We didn't take her trick or treating because she doesn't have any teeth. We did however dress her up, and took her to the festival in town. I was hoping she would be in the costume contest, but we were a little too late for that. BUT we did find out that our scarecrow (in the pic with us) we made for the paranormal group won 3rd place. Paranormal George got us $25, we are only like, $1,975 away from a thermal imaging camera. So, 79 more scarecrow contests and we are set! By then the entire group will be dead themselves, but we can dream.

Anyways, Ms. Baby was a bear for her first Halloween. She didn't seem to be too mad about the costume, it was a chilly day so she enjoyed the extra layers of fur. We let her "help" hand out treats to the kiddos in our neighborhood.

We had some extra treats this year, compliments of my dad.

See, dad's Vietnam veterans reunion just wrapped up 2 weeks ago, and he had boxes of little peanut butter cracker packs, and TONS of baggies of pretzels. So each trick or treater got a bag of Snyder's pretzels, and a handful of candy. EXCEPT when Brett answered the door. I guess he figured he was too good to give the kids pretzels with their candy, so those kids just got candy. After watching Brett's hand pass right over the box of pretzels and straight to the candy a few times a thought popped into my head, "What in the hell am I going to do with 200 bags of pretzels?!". It was at that point I made it to the door before he could to greet 2 new trick or treaters. I of course gave them PRETZELS, and candy. I held my breath waiting for their reaction to getting a bag of pretzels along with the generic boring stuff. And? One of the little boys literally ran, yes ran, leaving a cloud of dust behind him- off of our porch and down our driveway screaming "OH BOY!!!! MOOOOM! I GOT PRETZELS!". I glanced at Brett and smirked. "See, they love the pretzels, please for the love of god get rid of the pretzels."

That little boy totally made my night.

Adeline enjoyed greeting her neighbors for about 45 minutes before ripping her fuzzy little hat off and screaming at us. Not bad for her first Halloween.

Haunted House

To get into the spirit of Halloween I thought I would share a lovely story about my adventures to a staged haunted house. I have to say staged, because with my hobby (paranormal stuffs) I actually visit alleged haunted houses. Which I am surprisingly totally cool with.

But staged haunted houses? no thank you.

I think if I were on a therapist's couch I would have to say that it is a childhood memory that has scarred my desire to ever go to a haunted house.

I recall (to the best of my ability) having to go to a haunted house when I was, hmmm 4? or 5? I am sure I will find out once this is posted. My sister must have thought it would be a cute idea to take me to one. All I can remember is clinging to her friend, hiding in his shirt and screaming crying. The entire time. I love my sister, but that was possibly the worst Halloween idea for her little sister. I am not sure why they even allowed that, Don't those places have age requirements? Height requirements? Anywho. I hate those damn things now.

Fast forward to 2008. Brett and I are invited to go out with his sister and her friends to a haunted house in Dahlonega. I am a little reluctant but decide that I can do this. I am a big girl now! oh boy was I wrong. I was getting freaked out just waiting in line, you know they always have the dressed up people wandering around to spook you before you even go inside the place. So, we dole out our $20+ to get scared and we make our way in.

I had a great plan for tackling this place. Brett is like a wall, so if I hide behind him I can slide right through this joint unscathed. I decide that I will just bury myself in the back of his shirt and zoom past all the spookies. And this plan actually worked for the most part. I would say I had sneaked by about 70% of the haunted house hiding on his coat tails. However, all good things must come to an end. I didn't prepare myself for a break in the line, which caused some lag and then everyone walking fast picking up the pace to cover the break. I didn't see this gap, or the need to speed up, because I was hiding in Brett's shirt so when he sped up I lost my grip and was on my own...

And then I had to open my eyes...To what you may ask? Well, as you all know, the haunted house employees look for people like me. The blatantly scared shitless. So I open my eyes to find no Brett, just a group of killer clowns and a creepy ass zombie chick trying to grab at me. So what did I do? I let my instincts kick in, and I reared back, and punched her. Right in the face, and ran back to my safety net, aka Brett's back side!

I think those guys need to be taught a lesson anyways, it is obvious the people like me don't want to be in their establishment anyways, so just leave us alone! Let's just say I got my moneys worth that night. And so did everyone with me. So now we all laugh about the time I decked the chick at the haunted house in the face. But no one has tried to sneak up on me or spook me, so I would say that is a win.

I now politely decline all invites to go to staged haunted houses, it is for their safety. Because I am nice like that.

Hit and Run

Ever feel like you may be a little too stressed out?

Work has you feelin' low?

Worried about the bills? Traffic? The weather? uncontrollable changes? Family drama?

If you answered yes to any of the above you would be in Brett's boat.

If you want to take your mind off of things, you can always just get hit by a car. That seemed to work for Brett! Compliments of his lovely wife. I made that all possible for him yesterday evening.

Let me fill you in before you get all "that bitch ran her husband over!"

Yesterday we decided to take a look through a house we have a new offer pending on, to take some measurements and what not. We usually meet our realtor as soon as Brett is off work, and fights through traffic, right around dinner time to be exact. Knowing how Brett feels after a day of work and traffic is always a gamble. Yesterday was no exception. I could tell from his face that work must have sucked for him hard core, and his new route home must have been 100%crap.

We all get out of our cars, and a random car with an older woman and a younger guy pulls up to the house (keep in mind this house still has all of its signage/lockbox etc because we aren't under contract or anything yet.) Yet. After staring at us while our realtor opens the lockbox the window rolls down... which is pretty much immediately followed by these 2 strangers getting out of the car. They inquire what we are doing, and if they can come in too and see the house. Our realtor explains that our offer has already been accepted and that we are just there to take some measurements. The pushy woman (who is also a realtor) insists that her little friend wants to take a quick look and be on their way.

sidenote- this part of the story doesn't have too much to do with me hitting Brett with my car, but its a precursor to why he was pissed off pre-car ramming.

This woman explains that her client isn't doing any serious looking because "the boss" isn't with them. Which is this dude's wife. Poor bastard. Well at least he admits she is the captain of that ship -either way, get the hell out of our almost house, for serious. Or make yourself useful and hold this measuring tape/baby/my coat/whatever.

So they pretty much run through the house because we are apparently much more respectful than they are and don't say "go away weirdos". And we finish our measurements and look through. It is time to go home.

Generally Brett is in a rush to get home, so he can have a nice dinner and relax. I figure, he has hopped into his car at lightening speeds and is probably out of the driveway before I can even buckle the baby in her car seat. So I go ahead and throw it in reverse, and roll, right into him, and his open car door. I honestly don't recall hearing a crunch or any crashing noise, just him cussing at me/my car.

So what do I do? I just stop, don't pull up yet, just stop. In my mind this is the only thing that processes:Dude. I just hit Brett. Of course he asks me if I plan to pull up and um, off of him and his car which snaps me back to the situation at hand. I look back and the baby is busy making out with her toy giraffe and has no idea I just tagged her father with our car.

I look up and see that our realtor is in her car just looking down at some papers we just signed. Surely she saw me just hit him. Right? I don't stop to ask questions, I am just too busy trying not to laugh so I just pull out of the driveway sans my husband attached to my car, and drive home. I can tell when I get to our house that he is still super pissed. Like, I am not going to look at you or speak. Alas, I am just laughing. And laughing. And then crying from laughing, which is making the baby laugh. So we are now in the kitchen laughing at Brett. Just waiting for him to decide that he is done with the silent treatment. It doesn't take him long and he slowly cracks and has a chuckle with us.

So, if you think you are having a bad day, it could always be worse. Your loved ones could be running you over with their vehicles. So chin up!

Home Sweet Home?

home sweet home

Unfortunately my home has been anything but sweet lately. I feel like I live in a hotel. Except that everyone has the room key and comes in to look at my stuff.

I love our little house, but that's just it, we feel like we have already run out of room. The barrage of new baby toys and gadgets has not helped our cause.

When we bought the house we are in I was the only one who could prequalify, because the government still hated Brett (and they still do for the most part). At any rate, they granted him permission to now qualify with me for a home loan. They figured they are sucking enough money out of his paycheck each week why not. So we kicked around the idea of selling our house and buying something we can stay in forever. Room to grow. Room to store stuff, room to entertain, you know just ROOM.

So we listed the house, and we had some steady traffic. It of course all seemed easier in my head. When your house is on the market you can't just keep it "clean". We kept our house clean already. Dishes were always done, laundry always put away, baby toys fairly organized, etc... When you are showing your house it has to be like no one really lives there. They need to picture it being their own home. So it is a fun game of "hide all of our shit". Maybe I am a little OCD and it is just now becoming apparent to me.

Another fun factor? Those dogs we have. Seriously, who's idea was it to have 3 dogs!? Damn my fate of obtaining rescue animals. Every time someone would want to show the house I would do the -hide your shit- scramble. Then proceed to stick the baby, and all 3 dogs in my car and drive to my moms until the people were done taking a look see at all of our hard work. An added element of surprise with 3 dogs trying to eat your soul is apparently not a good selling point when showing your home. So I have been diligently removing them for every showing.

Sometimes we would even get surprise guests, the kind that want to walk around while I am bathing my kid, or cooking dinner. Or not even there and the dogs still are, and the house isn't ready. The ones that are just so darn busy they don't want to call first like instructed in order to respectfully show the house. Then they are even more inconvenienced when we say nope sorry, so they rummage around our yard, and try to look through the windows while we live our lives. Or how about the nice old couple who came over early and let themselves in through the garage while I was trying to leave with everyone in tow? What gems, they had a good time talking to me about every tiny thing in the house, and the nice old lady even lifted her shirt up to show me her stomach. Really. I want out of this weird twilight zone! I would say on a good week I would average 8 hours in hiding and then unhiding our crap. I am tired.

Luckily we are finally on our way to selling the house.

But guess what? We don't have a new one to move in to. Yea, keeping up with the Jones' will be easy in a few short weeks. We will be posted up in my old room, at mom and dads. All 6 of us. Who's excited about that one?! It is convenient, no rent, free childcare. But the principal is a killer. I know what you may be thinking, wow those guys are really shitty planners. But we did have a good plan I assure you. We had made an offer on a short sale months ago, knowing the process could be a lengthy one. We had time to kill while we sold our house anyways. The sellers accepted, so yay step 1. At that juncture no other offers could be entertained, so we wait and hope the negotiations are going well, and the bank is on its way to accepting and giving us a closing date. We wait. Wait. Wait. A few weeks pass by, and then a few more. When checking in with the listing agent he appeared to be doing his job to check with the bank involved. And still working on selling our home we decided to be patient and diligent.

Then we get an offer on our house! and we are stoked, and we negotiate a fair price for all involved and we are super relieved. So? I drive by the house we are waiting on just to daydream and I notice the real estate sign is down, and a note is on the door...with information about the new listing agent and company. Um what the hell. We do a little digging and find out not only did the short sale go into foreclosure, it has already been sold on the courthouse steps and will be relisted who knows when, and who knows at what price. Perfect. I really can't understand how realtors get away with not doing their jobs. If they didn't want to do their work they could have at least told our agent. Not like there isn't a lot at stake here.

Anyways, we have been looking like crazy trying to find a house that is not wrecked and ready for us to move into without a total overhaul. It isn't easy even with our new budget. The name of the game is short sale a foreclosure these days. And that almost always means the people wrecked the place in some form or fashion. At this juncture we don't have the time, energy, or resources to remodel a home before we move into it. And maybe we are being a little picky with our wish list, but we don't intend to move again. EVER.

So-that is what is happening to my blog these days. I have been in real estate hell, and my wit has died along with my energy. I can assure you that the move to my parent's house will be providing me with plenty of writing material. So hang in there with me.

handbasket

Hey where am I going? And why am I in this basket? I may be going to hell for posting this picture, but at least I will be laughing on the way!

Hands down one of the funniest things to me is an asian accent.

So since I found this gem online I just can't stop laughing.

Candy Caper

If you came into work and found the above illustrated scenario on top of your desk you would probably think a few things may have happened:

A-perhaps a small family of candy loving mice have taken residence in your office. (One might think the small brown things are droppings, as indicated within the red arrows)

B-perhaps it is "bring your kid" to work day, and someone's child has found their way into your office and has begun constructing the initial stages of a candy bar collage.

C-perhaps someone in the office is a closet eater and they are dumping evidence in your room to lessen suspicion on themselves.

However, I know, that when I come in and see that on my desk none of the above are true. In fact, this simply means that my dad has been here. I know it all too well. Especially when the Halloween season is among us, my aunt stocks the office candy jar chock full of tootsie rolls, junior mints, mini candy bars, jolly ranchers and any other tooth rotting treat you can think of. But do I fall prey to the candy jar's allure? No way. As a new mommy with a metabolism that is a total joke I know that such treats make your clothes shrink.

So how does the evidence of eaten treats wind up in my room? That is easy. My dad has developed an aversion to ripping open candy wrappers, so he sneaks into my office and uses my scissors to cut the open. But that is ok, I love him anyways, even if he does make me look like the fat kid with all of these candy remnants and wrappers decorating my place.

I should be a detective.