Wall Gallery

Let me just start off this post by stating that I am very much not the Queen of Pinterest.

Don't get me wrong--I adore Pinterest, and have found some great ideas there, but when it comes to carrying them out, sometimes I lack the...patience. Yes, the patience. Some people have a lot of time for DIY projects. I am not one of those people.

For a couple of weeks now, I've had a bunch of pictures in black frames laid out on the living room floor, waiting to be hung on the wall where my couch will go. I'd been pinning some ideas for layouts and how to get them just so, and I had a plan. Today, I even bought some brown paper so I could carefully cut out pieces in the sizes of all my frames and tape them to the wall to make sure everything was lined up perfectly.

I got about five minutes into that before realizing that this was going to be a ginormous pain in the ass, and abandoned the paper in favor of winging it.

Winging it...that's scary.

I started with one of my new frames, a 14"x14" that holds nine Instagram photos.

From top left, across each row: Summer, Libby, Donald, Sarah
the Duck Lady, Maayan the Duck Lady, Matt, Sarah (local), Chris
and Meghan and her daughter Roz. 

I bought two of these frames and a bunch of prints recently, and I'm pleased with how they look. I wanted more pictures of my friends up, and some more recent ones of family.

Before long, I had my whole bottom row in place, and it wasn't too bad. I used my tape measure to make sure I had an even distance between frames.

Here's a close-up of the other Instagram frame:

Shae, my brother, Mom and Dad, Millie, the parents and I,
Harley Dude, Sarah and her daughter Julia, Mom and Dad,
Kathy (English Mum) and I in February. 

Great-great grandfather, John Cooper; a pic from Mom's garden,
and my graduation from CSU, Chico.

I got them mostly straight and even, so I was ready to tackle the next level.

This level was slightly harder, as I had to pull out the ladder and keep up the measuring. I added a small shelf, first, then two cute candle sconces I got on Amazon this week to add some curves to the gallery (too many right angles otherwise). Then a few more frames, a cute hanging clipboard I found on clearance at Target, and a small wooden California I found in Santa Rosa a year ago. I added three Balleek (Irish) china pieces to the shelf, and voila! 

The pictures are of Grandma Bean and I in Maui when I was 14,
and Aaron and I on my graduation from high school.

I'm really happy with how it turned out, and I might add a bit more scroll-y stuff as time goes by (especially under that bottom row). The couch will be centered under all of this--oh yeah, I got a couch!! I found it this week at R.C. Willey. It's gray, and perfect for curling up with a book or napping on a lazy Sunday. It's also much nicer than the previous one I had in Stockton. I can't wait to get it (another week or so) and have a real piece of furniture there, instead of a beanbag chair.

They had different color options--you can *just* make out the
gray I chose on the love seat in the lower left of the pic. So:
big sofa, different color. 

Mom gave me an old easel she's had for many years, and I've been looking for the perfect picture to prop on it. When I was at R.C. Willey, I was chatting with Sarah while looking at clearance couches, when suddenly I looked up and saw the perfect piece for the easel, for my whole condo.

I'm going to get some potted (fake) plants for the little tray.

Oh! And I have a dining room table. Last week, Mom saw an ad for an estate sale in her neighborhood, and one item advertised was a glass-top dining table with four wrought iron chairs. She called me and asked if I wanted her to go the next morning (I had to be at work) to check it out. "Sure!" So she did, and texted me a picture of the set. I liked it immediately, and at $100, it was an absolute steal. When we got it set up in my dining space, we both did a little shimmy. It's absolutely perfect--size, colors, everything.

The mess in the corner is since removed--that was eBay stuff
waiting to be sorted through and listed.

Also today, I finally found a place for the Casa Meg banner (even my WiFi is called CasaMeg) I made a month or so ago. This is a small wall between the living room (left) and my bedroom (right). The pic is uneven because I had to lean over the kitchen counter to get it centered at all.

The California frame is from Kohl's. I had seen it and wanted it, but didn't splurge until later, when I fund it on clearance for something like eight bucks. The picture in the frame is one I took of the Golden Gate Bridge several years ago (I want to say around 2007) while on a boat tour of the bay.

Slowly but surely, this little condo is feeling like home. After a couple of weeks of, "Oh, my God, what am I doing in this dump?" I'm finally starting to fall in love with the place as I hoped I would back in June, when a cursory bunch of pictures in an online real estate listing captured my attention. It still needs a few things--window coverings will be a nice change from the parchment paper--but those are coming. I'm waiting on $40 worth of rebates from Lowe's (for buying my paint there) to use on blinds. But every day, I come home from work and unlock the front door and think, "Ahh, yes. I'm home."

Tear Up This Town

When Keane went on hiatus in 2013, I figured--we all did--that it wouldn't be long. Two years, max. Tom wanted to do a solo album, and how long could that take him?

Turns out, a while. Three years later, he's just getting that released soon (and it's lovely), and everyone's favorite drummer, Richard, announced recently the arrival of his baby son (which sent the Keane fanbase into spirals of delight on Twitter).

So there's been some nice things coming our way from the Keane guys as individuals, but we all miss the collective whole. And then, they went and surprised us this week, when a single was announced. It's a one-song thing--not for an album, but just a song they recorded in January as a favor for a friend of theirs who directed one of their music videos. He's directing the soon-to-be-released film "A Monster Calls," and asked Keane to give him a song for the sound track...so they did.

Maybe it's the long hiatus, or maybe it's the stress I've been under recently, but I am obsessed with "Tear Up This Town." It will be available for sale on the 25th, but until then, fans have been *ahem,illegally* able to listen to it thanks to Keane Spain, and even Richard, on Twitter, has stated that he'd rather fans be able to listen to it, knowing we'll all be happy to actually pay for it as soon as we're able.

For fear of it being taken down, I won't link it here, but I've been pretty much non-stop listening to the link I have for the last few days. It is everything I love about Keane--Tim's incredible songwriting and heart-wrenching lyrics, Tom's glorious voice, and Richard and Jesse driving it home from the rhythm section. The song is so Keane--right back to their earliest days--and so, so lovely, I can hardly stand it.

It gives me hope that Keane is not quite finished.



Do you ever feel like all you want is to go home
To kiss the earth, to weave a way through this storm
Some days I rage like a fire in the wilderness
Some days I only need the darkness and a place to rest

Oh, it takes time
Learning to fly

Tear up this town
Blinking in the sunlight as the walls come down
This fire will burn
Digging for a truth that just can't be found
Don't want your lessons in love
I want to tear it all up

This Is *That* Blog Post

In the several weeks since the sale of one 900-square-foot condo in Antelope was recorded with Sacramento County, and the keys to this place became mine, I'd estimate that a good fifty percent of the time, I've spent here, I've spent sitting, staring at a wall, and thinking, "Oh, my God. What did I get myself into?"

I finally have WiFi, but I'm using my laptop on a folding table in the dining room, sitting on a canvas folding lawn chair, with two old throw pillows under my butt because otherwise it's too low. My ancient, tiny, poorly-installed dishwasher is roaring on the other side of the half wall from me, and I had to throw soap in there willy-nilly because the dispenser isn't stuck, but it also won't open during the cycle. Looking to my left only reminds me that I don't yet have a sofa. Or a dining room table. Or a desk. Or a desk chair. Actually, the only chairs I have here are this folding one, two metal bistro chairs on the balcony, and a bean bag. Unless you want to count my piano bench as a chair. 

Yes, the place is coming together and feeling more like a home and less like an endless list of Stuff Going Wrong, but I hate how my laundry smells after I use my washer and dryer (musty), and that it smells that way even after I thoroughly bleached out both. 

I hate how the kitchen counters are chipped from careless past tenants, and that the kitchen sink has tons of chips that show the black beneath. I hate how there's a burn mark on my bathroom counter from the nasty-ass renters who were so careless, who kept nearly a dozen rodents and a dog in such a tiny space. 

I hate that the field right behind me is used almost daily by people on motorcycles and four-wheelers as a dirt track, so I get to hear the endless hum of their machines while I try to relax in my living room.

These thoughts come and go--for the most part, I chase away the "what am I doing?!" angst pretty quickly, by reminding myself that this is mine, and I get to do what I want with it. I admire the new flooring, that no one has had a chance to foul with guinea pig poop or dog piss, and that I picked out because I liked it, and it looked good with my paint choices. I open the windows and the sliding glass door for fresh air, as summer glides into fall, or glance up to my right at Grandma's china in the hutch. I unpacked it first, which seemed so impractical at the time...but there's something so comforting about seeing it there, a reminder that Grandma would be proud of me. That my parents are.

I hate that even writing this post makes me sound ungrateful, and I hate that the minute I share it on Facebook, I'll get endless reams of unsolicited advice--all contradictory--even though all I really want is to just vent, not get everyone's tried-and-true recipe for Washing Machine Potpourri and do-it-yourself dishwasher repair. 

I'm just tired, from five weeks being back at school, going ninety miles per hour all day, every day, getting behind in lesson plans, grading, you name it, and then coming home to more work that needs doing. I did laundry on Sunday--it's still in a basket, waiting to be put away. That's unheard of in my world.

So this is *that* blog post, the one where I bitch and moan and carry on because owning a home is not like renting at all, and comes with a considerable amount of worry and stress. And I'm doing it on my own--which is fine, I moved to England by myself so I can do this, too. It's just all on me, and that's exhausting sometimes. 

And yet I just glanced up into my bedroom and I can see the sunlight hitting my pretty new bedding just so. Dinner was chicken korma cooked on my brand-new stove. Slowly, slowly, I'm making a home here, and I know I can, because I've done it before, in so many different places.

But damn, I really hate my dishwasher. 

Settling In

I'm Officially Moved In to Casa Meg, as of a week ago today. I'm getting used to the sounds and the atmosphere of the condo itself, and the complex and surrounding area. As is to be expected, the hardest part is being by myself again. I mean, it's not terrible. It's just different, and weird not being able to pop out in the living room to chat with Mom and Dad. I hope, once I have actual furniture that is not a bean bag chair, to have friends over as often as possible.

But for now, I'm just trying to figure out where everything goes. The goal for the upcoming week is to get a desk for the second bedroom, and a file cabinet. My file drawer needs have expanded since purchasing a home--the amount of paperwork they give you is astounding.

Last weekend was all about getting my clothes and toiletries and other odds-and-ends from Mom and Dad's house to here. I had just hung the last of my clothing up on the wire shelving Dad and I had installed when it collapsed at my feet.

Oops. One trip to Home Depot and about an hour of building later, I had a better set-up...and, ironically, it was identical to the set-up the previous owner had installed (poorly), and that I proudly ripped out a month ago. Go figure. 

(My version looks better.)

Saturday was also delivery day for my new stove, and it is beautiful.

Little odds and ends are coming together. I put out the new welcome mat that Summer sent me, and found space in the kitchen for a fantastic cutting board I splurged on at Bed Bath & Beyond.

My fried Matt gave me a gift card to BB&B for my birthday, and I told him, "I will use it for something I want, not something I need." A California cutting board is certainly not high on the needs list...but it does make me smile.

Sarah came over that evening to see how the place was coming, bringing champagne from herself and an adorable magnet from Julia.

I didn't spend the night here on Saturday--my toiletries were still at Mom and Dad's. On Sunday, I packed the last of my things (well, almost) into Sylvie and started turning Casa Meg into my full-time home.

I had worried a little that my green bedding wouldn't look good with the teal walls. I worried for nothing. It looks GREAT.

I've started slowing decorating the walls--I already knew I wanted my running stuff up in the closet-not-a-closet part of the second bedroom.

I bought some short bookcases for the closet-not-closet, and some bins that are the perfect size for the cards I sell on Etsy.

Meanwhile, there's no couch--that will come in time--so I'm lounging each evening in my bean bag chair.

On Monday (Labor Day), Matt helped me move the last major items over from Mom and Dad's house--a small Rubbermaid set of drawers that I keep my workout gear in, and my piano. Now all that remains at their house is a stack of my scrapbooks, which I'll take as soon as I figure out where I'm going to keep them all. 

As ever, in this whole adventure, I'm humbled by and grateful for everything my friends and family do to help me. 

A Thank You

It was a Monday morning, June 13th, and I came home from seeing a condo with Kristen. I sat down in the living room and told my parents about the place--what I liked about it, what needed work. "It needs...a lot of work." They knew it wasn't their decision to make, but they offered some sage advice, coming from years of buying-selling-moving-wash-rinse-repeat, and left it for me to decide. A little while later, I emailed Kristen. "Let's do this."

So started the Wild and Absolutely True Adventure of Meg becoming a home owner. I might as well have told my parents I was buying a lemon, adding a ton of sugar, and making lemonade, because in the four weeks since the deal closed, that's pretty much what I have done...and I couldn't have done it without them.

For starters, they are on the front lines of what I refer to (in my head) as Anxiety Central, that foreboding territory in which a woman who ought to feel really excited instead feels completely overwhelmed and worried that she can't afford any of this, that this was the stupidest decision ever, and that maybe she should just get in a rowboat and paddle away, like, yesterday. I'm not particularly easy to live with when I'm anxious. The most benign suggestion can be met with a snappy reply and/or a really snotty eye roll, and I get really bloody moody.

Yet they have cleaned, installed, uninstalled, unstuck, and labored and sweated alongside me all so I can have a comfortable home. There has been some financial help, as well, with the flooring, and offers to help if I need it (I'm trying to do as much of it on my own dime as possible--it's a pride thing--but I'm not above taking some help to ensure I have clean floors instead of guinea pig poop-infested carpet to live on...plus, I had a birthday a couple weeks ago). They hired movers for me this weekend so I could get my furniture and boxes out of the storage unit in time to avoid paying another month's rent on it. I have borrowed their van to haul stuff, made them have to buy a new step-ladder because I dripped paint all over the one I'd borrowed from them (bonus, I have a great ladder now!), and probably helped Dad's power tools age about twenty years.

Mom scrubbed every kitchen and bathroom cabinet and drawer, inside and out, and rubbed Murphy's Oil on them until they gleamed. She sweated and toiled with me for days to get the grease and grime left by the former tenants, and has also been the first person who gets the worst of my snottiness when it shows up.

Four different times since I went back to work on August 17, my dad has taken his own personal time to be at my apartment at 8:00 to let someone in for painting or floor install. He has happily done this because he'd rather miss one of his twice-weekly coffee gatherings with his fellow veterans in Lincoln than have me take time off work, or have to be late for work.

Beyond the big things they've done, it's also the little things--like Dad going over while I met the movers at the storage unit this morning and putting every socket and switch cover back on before we stuck furniture in front of them (something I neglected to do after the place got painted last week because the new school year has me going ninety miles per hour and frankly, putting switch covers back on sounded like more than I could deal with).

Little by little, with each passing day, the Filthiest Condo in the World has turned around and become a clean, livable, and pretty place that I can be happy in--and will be, starting next weekend.

It's funny, because the closer I get to moving completely out of Mom and Dad's house, the more I think, "Damn, I'm going to miss them." I'll only be half an hour away, and it's likely they'll see me at least once a week and talk to me often via phone and Facebook--this is nothing like when I went to England. It will be an adjustment, living alone again, and that's why there will be two kittens joining me sometime in the next couple of months.

Meanwhile, Mom and Dad will get one of the crisper drawers back in the fridge, and will no longer have to wade through my smoothie mixes in the freezer. My tea-making stuff won't be prominently displayed on the kitchen counter and I won't grump and pout when I need the washing machine and it is in use--I'll have my own washing machine. When home ownership overwhelms me, they won't be on the front lines of my bad moods...but they'll still be a phone call away, ready to offer whatever help they can.

That's just what they do.

Ready

So amazingly, despite my going 90mph the last two weeks, things have gotten done and I have new floors installed...and tomorrow, two brawny movers coming to haul everything out of my storage unit into the condo.

I'll move my person, and the stuff I have here at Mom and Dad's house, next weekend, when I have an extra day to work on it and get the place settled a bit more. I'm not in any huge hurry, and work has been busy enough that I'm jealously guarding my weekend time as much as possible.

As for the floors, well...pictures tell that story better.

The first three pics are from before he put the base boards
back.

My bedroom--that terrible carpet is GONE!!

Shiny new baseboards in the bathroom. SO CLEAN!!

I knew that new floors and a good paint job would make the place so much better, but I wasn't quite prepared for just what a difference it would make. At my first trip over to see the floors, I took a video of my reaction for Instagram, and it's a lot of delighted laughter and "Oh my God!!"

My blogging has been horrible--I have lots to say, and pictures to share, but with being back at school and all the condo stuff, I've been going, going, going and my energy when I get home (let me just add that I've been keeping up with the badass workouts, too) is pretty much nil.

It will all level out soon enough.

The Loo

Over the last week, I've made a couple of trips to my storage unit to start the moving process from there to my new home. I won't move any furniture (aside from one folding card table and two canvas lawn chairs) over until after my new floors are installed, but I figured there's no harm in taking kitchen and bathroom items over now, and starting the process of setting up those rooms.

Because the boxes these rooms' items were in were quite heavy, I opened them in the storage unit and transferred everything into Rubbermaid containers and canvas shopping bags, then made several trips up the stairs from my car to unload.

In this process, I found a few things I had completely forgotten I had, so it's been a bit like Christmas over here.

One such thing was a small sign, which I hung outside the bathroom in my Stockton apartment, that simply says, "The Loo."

Speaking of the loo, it's really looking nice--even Dad said so!

For starters, I've managed to transform the tub. It's still not perfect (it's hard to see in the picture below, but there's still some staining around the drain), but it's clean.

And I managed to do a decent enough job painting...

Between the mirrors was not fun.

Turns out I did an excellent job matching my paint to my decor, while it was still safely packed away in a box.

On Friday, I put up some new shelves I had found at Target. I'll fill them in as I go along. Yesterday, at Cost Plus, I found an adorable little whale.

You can see my little "The Loo" sign in this one.

It's coming together. This week, I've got someone painting the kitchen and living room for me--I just couldn't face doing the vaulted ceiling by myself! On Friday, the floor guy is coming to tear up everything--carpet, linoleum, laminate--and I might just cry tears of joy. He'll come back on Monday of next week to install my new flooring, and once that's done, the place will truly feel clean. No more Essence of Guinea Pig!

Ding, Dong, the Oven's Gone!!

Once upon a time, a condo owner put a semi-decent oven range in a condo...and then never thought of it again. The range was used, abused, and never cleaned for at least three years.

(You think I'm prone to exaggeration?)

When a new owner-to-be came along, it was discovered that the poor oven didn't work...and then it was decided that the owner-to-be would get magical "cash on closing" to buy a new range.

And it was good.

The deal was done, the papers were signed. The new owner made arrangements for the gas to be turned off for a few hours, and for an ace gas/electric plumber to come in and disconnect the oven.

What they found when he pulled it out from the wall was...surprising.

Oven mitt, two pot holders, wooden spoon, a matchbox car,
two tiny plastic toy flutes, half a Hostess donut--hardened, but
not moldy--two pennies, a flip-flop, several toddler toys, way
more crumbs and dust bunnies than should be legal, and one
unemployment letter.

Admit it, you thought I was exaggerating again.

The picture of the "treasure trove" made it's social media and text message rounds. It was widely met with incredulous exclamations of "EW!" and "OMG!" and "HOW DID THEY NEVER BURN THE PLACE DOWN?!"

With the oven uninstalled and the gas line capped, the new owner was able to call in the junk removers...and for $68, they hauled it out of the condo and took it far, far away.

But first, they dropped it down half the stairs.

Yes, that is dried food on the side.

And the new owner set to the disgusting task of cleaning the now-empty space.

In every battle, there is a sacrifice. Much respect to the green
scrubbie that gave it's life.

Once New Owner had taken a scrub pad and a spackling knife to the grout, and a shop vac to the floor, the kitchen was considerably improved.

The End.

38

Thirty-eight is the atomic number of strontium, a metal. It is the number of slots on American Roulette wheels. It is an even number, divisible by 1, 2, 19, and 38. Otherwise, it's not the most remarkable number out there...but it's my age as of today, August 12.

I suppose it means I'm really pushing 40, but I prefer to live my life one age at a time, so I won't dwell on that. At 38, I am a full-time music teacher, a homeowner, a three-time half marathon finisher, and still the same duck-toting, London-loving, loud-singing Meg I've always been. This year in my life starts off with ever-present possibility for adventure and joy.

May it be so.

The Neighborhood

So far, my experiences in my new community have been really great.

My immediate next-door neighbors are an older gentleman and his adult daughter he lives with. I met him a few days ago (but haven't seen her yet) and his speech indicates the possibility of a stroke at some point. He was very friendly, and we shook hands and exchanged names. I told him I'm a quiet neighbor, "except you might hear me yelling at the 49ers games."

"We share a team!" he replied with a delighted laugh.

On Wednesday, I was locking the front door to leave for the day, with a plastic bucket full of dirty rags, a paper bag, my gym bag, and my purse all balanced. Down the stairs, in front of the building that mine faces, two boys--I'd guess about twelve or thirteen--were horsing around, as boys do, but quietly. One glanced up and said, "Do you need any help?"

"Oh, I've got it, but thanks!" I said, tickled that I seem to have some respectful kids nearby.

I see a lot of people walking small dogs around the complex, and all will return a smile and "hello." I've talked to a few and told them I'm new to the complex. I'm received warmly and welcomed in.

We come from all types of backgrounds, it seems--I've seen every age and shape and color, and it pleases me that the community is quiet and harmonious. There is 24/7 security as part of our HOA fees, to make sure no one is too loud, too dangerous, or parking in the wrong spot.

It's a nice community, with two pools--sparkling clean, with restrooms and showers--and spas. The landscaping is very nicely maintained (except, inexplicably, one tiny patch right in front of my building).

When I first came to see a unit, Kristin and I spoke to a resident who said she loves it, and gushed about how peaceful it is there. I think I'll enjoy living here.

That's my unit (upstairs). The building was recently repainted
by HOA.

The view from my bedroom--trees. There's a water park nearby,
but I only hear it when the windows are open, and only faintly.

Lost In Home Depot: A Music Teacher Buys a Home

This will be the title to the best-selling sequel to my memoir about teaching, Boomwhacked; A Music Teacher's Life.

It's apt. On Monday, I wandered the massive aisles of the Roseville Home Depot in some extra time before a workout, and...I got lost. 

But seriously, where are they hiding the
window coverings?!

As of today, I'm officially one week into this home ownership thing, and I've had approximately 250 moments where I've thought to myself, "Maybe I should have just rented," but mostly, I'm finding my way along. I knew going in that making this place livable would be a challenge--I will not move in while those carpets are in the bedrooms, and before I can put new floors in, I want to paint. And before I paint, I have to clean, etc. I didn't think it would take a full week to clean...but it has. 

And that is with the help of Mom, Dad, and the awesome, amazing, incredible Sarah, who volunteered a good chunk of her weekend to scrub walls with me.

I spent most of last Friday cleaning the master bathroom shower fit for use--it was filthy, and stained. I spent another three hours yesterday ripping out the caulk between shower and tub (upper arms of steel, seriously), and taking a razor to the stains on the bottom of the tub. Oddly, it works. 

This was Friday, July 29.

After a bunch of scrubbing--still stained.

When I started, this was brown. 

Yesterday, I started on the caulk.

I actually broke a razor. 

Caulk out, most of the stains out. It's not perfect, but I can
live with it.

For every major success (the tub is now safe for my bare feet to encounter), there seems to be a setback, like my washing machine not draining. I try not to let those get me down.

Thing is, I'm doing okay, really. A few weeks ago, Kristen called me about the home warranty. "Remember, we asked the seller to pay for it, and he agreed, up to $400...thing is, if we cover..." (this is where I forgot what she said about five minutes after the call) "...it will cost $470, so I made the decision on your behalf that you'd pay that $70 difference. I know you well enough to know you'll want that coverage."

"Oh, of course!" And I did, but like I said, five minutes after the call, something else grabbed my attention, and I forgot just what that $70 was covering.

On Tuesday, when my washing machine wouldn't drain, I sent a frantic text to Kristen: "Is it covered by the warranty?! I can't remember!" Kristen, being amazing, called me, pulled her car over to look it up on her iPad because I was at the condo and my paperwork was at home, and said, "Yes! It's covered--remember that extra $70?"

"I do remember."

"That's why your washing machine is covered."

Well Hallelujah and pass the potatoes. There's a weight off. The washing machine repairman called later that day, and he'll be out tomorrow to take a look at it.

...

I'm learning the most odd and amazing things, and sometimes it's seriously just trial, error, and Google. For example, I can buy a new stove, and anyone I buy it from is happy to install it, but they won't uninstall the old one. They'll haul it off, but they will not remove it from the gas line. 

So I called PG&E (that's Pacific Gas and Electric, for the non-local readers) and asked what I should do. They gave me this complicated spiel about how I can buy a special valve and cap at the hardware store and they can shut off my gas temporarily so I can put that cap on, then turn my gas back on so I have hot water even while I don't have a stove. 

Great!

Except...I've never done this and I need some serious help. Can PG&E put the valve on for me?

"Oh, no. We don't do that."

I was in tears this afternoon (for about five minutes), until I reached an electrician/plumber (not the water pipe kind of plumber, the gas kind) in Sacramento and explained my dilemma. 

"Oh, we can do that."

"Even in that tiny space of time I have with the gas turned off on Monday?"

"Sure! I've got it all set up for you."

If this had been an in-person conversation, I probably would have kissed him.

The bottom line in this mini-adventure is that I need a new stove and oven--the one I have is not only fucking filthy (pardon the language, but the former tenants bring it out in me), it's not working. I got cash at closing to buy a new one, so now it's just a matter of safely uninstalling the old while looking for a new.

Oh, and just in case you think I'm prone to exaggeration: 

...

I knew going into this that the place needed a deep, deep cleaning, fresh paint, and new floors. It's all worth it...but there have been some surprises along the way.

Surprises like random loose wires and an electrical outlet
in the master bedroom closet. 

But for every loose wire (turns out I could hook up an alarm system--Kristen had her boyfriend help me get it safely tucked in the walls, and he fixed a couple of faulty electrical outlets in the 2nd bedroom), or bit of guinea pig poop (yes) I find in a corner, there's usually a better surprise in store--like my ability to dismantle the poorly-installed closet shelving systems in both bedrooms with only my own badass muscles and one electric screwdriver. 

Never underestimate the power of Meg and power tools.

All that? GONE.

And if my physical strength isn't exactly surprising--I work out, you know--what is surprising is that aside from short moments of stress, I'm really just shoving my way through the minor setbacks and what is slooowwwwly emerging is a clean, cute condo that is going to look amazing when I'm finished with it. 

"You'll never be finished," Matt said yesterday, with a grin.

"You mean things will keep going wrong?!" I said, with maybe a small note of panic in my voice.

"Oh, no! I mean, you're always going to be wanting to improve little things, making it even better."

He's so right. Before too long, I won't need a map at Home Depot.