A refuge from this madness.

Do not keep anything in your home that you do not know to be functional or believe to be beautiful.

If I were a true design junkie, I would know who said this originally. But I am only a poseur, so I have no idea where it came from. I do my best to abide by it, though. I never buy anything without a purpose or a mind to where I can display it in my home slash what I might have to sacrifice, move, or put away in order to do so.

HOWEVER. Since the month of February began, our bedroom seems to be the only place I can put said philosophy in action. We have a new roommate, folks. She is a she, and she is what I like to think of as an upper-middle-class hippie. As in, buys nothing that doesn't come from the organic section, wears hemp clothing and burns incense around the house, listens only to indie music, is seriously considering Buddhism, while simultaneously possessing a collection of at least seven winter coats over $400 apiece and owning more hair products that many small salons. Don't worry, She is fully aware of the irony of the situation. I think.

Point being, New Roomie has a whole lot of stuff. And if you need to know why we got a roommate in the first place, it's because this house has three empty bedrooms and costs $100 a week to heat, regardless of occupancy. And we are trying to save up money to get off this rock, and back to the rock we came from.

Right. Stuff. She and her somethingorother are taking space from each other after two years of living together. And she says they split their things 50/50, but I don't believe that for one second. She has taken our sweet, warm, slightly minimalist-with-a-touch-of-broke house, my one refuge in this dark, stormy, lonely province, and stuffed it to the gills.

So I have been spending a lot of time in the bedroom, the one place She can't touch. It's not my favourite colour, has no curtains, we could really use some new bedding, and the mattress-on-the-floor thing is maybe not for everyone. But it's cozy and light and the only spot in the house that doesn't currently look like this:

*I am joking. if the whole house looked this bad I would have kicked new roomie out immediately. However, this particular spot does cause me to spontaneously burst into frustrated tears at times, and that's not a joke. You can ask my husband.

After this much bad luck with landlords, I could really write a book.

This house (the junky one that we're leaving in two weeks [yay!]) has some kind of water problem. It comes mostly from the basement, but it can be heard through most of the house. it just sounds like running water through the pipes - kind of like the toilet is running. Only it's not.

So the other day, some plumbers showed up unannounced. I was at work, but Kyle was off for the day. They started by taking the toilet out, checking around, then reinstalling it. Nothing. They went downstairs, to the part of the ceiling underneath the toilet, which happens to be inside the kitchen cabinets. The food cabinet. They remove nothing, and start ripping a hole in the ceiling.

Oh, look. black mould. on my food. Thanks, dudes. Mind cleaning that up? No? Well fuck you very much then.

So as it turns out the problem is a leaky/burst water main. Which really is not my problem, because I won't have to live here while the city comes and tears up the street to fix it. Except they're not coming. Because our landlord doesn't plan on doing anything about it. Her own words.

Yeah. I've had some slummy landlords in the past, but this is a big deal! What do I do? Call the city? or just move out of here and leave the problem to someone else?

(PS - I just googled 'burst water main' and was met with a bunch of apocalyptic pictures such as this one:)

 Hmm. growing concern.

Good Advice: Never argue with someone who works at a liquor store.

uys, there is something we need to discuss. You must never, EVER argue with a liquor store employee. Not for any reason. Because everywhere else in the world, the customer is always right. I know this. But in the liquor store, the customer is rarely right and usually just ends up looking like a giant douche.

Case in point number 1:
You had this wine the other night. You really liked it, but you got kind of drunk and now you don't remember the name. You aren't sure what grape it was, or where it came from, or even whether the person who introduced you to it bought it at this store. But it was DELICIOUS and you must have it, and will berate me until I produce it for you. Oh, and there was purple on the label, and maybe a dog.

The best possible response you will get from me is a shrug or an "I know the one you are talking about... we don't have it." Even if we do. Just for asking that silly question.

Case in point number 2:
You have already been drinking when you come into the store, and you say so. And when I say I can't serve you because you are already drunk, say "no, I'm not. I'm just high. I smoked some weed, that's all." I raise my eyebrows at you. You spend five minutes putting your money in back in your wallet. You put the wallet back in your pocket. Then you pull it out again and begin counting the money inside. I come around the counter, grab your skateboard, toss it out the door. You chase it.

Case in point number 3:
You kick the door at 10:05 and yell at me because "You still have 10 minutes! I have a cell phone, they broadcast the time from space!"

Sorry, I have trouble taking anyone seriously who claims to have anything broadcast from space. However, the time I go by is broadcast to my computer from the internet. We could argue over it all night, but since you are physically assaulting my building, I don't think I'm going to change my mind.

Case in point number 4:
You threaten that if we don't start keeping the XYZ-cheap cider in the cooler, you will just go buy it at the government store a block away, where they sell it for 40 cents cheaper. DON'T LET ME KEEP YOU.

Case in Point number 5:
You have forgotten your ID, but c'mon, I'm like 30*!

I hear this ALL THE TIME. Congratulations on being 30. I beleive you, I really do. however, the rules state that if I ask you for ID I may not serve you until you produce it. 2 peices. If you have made it to 30, what the H are you doing out of the house without ID? What if you get hit by a bus? Don't you want people to be able to identify your body and notify your family? What if you get caught in the middle of a riot?! You know they can hold you indefinitely until you can prove who you are, right? Get out of here. Look both ways when you cross the street.

*The age group most likely to throw a fit about being ID'd are those who turned 19 like six months ago, gawwd!

And now, something hilarious to enrich your day.

Feeling blue

We have some landlord/tenant drama going on right now. We live in the upstairs of a house, and there is a suite downstairs as well. It turns out that the suite is illegal, and the municipality has become aware of the situation. Now, our landlord has decided that he will be building a staircase from our suite to downstairs and tearing out the kitchen down there in order to make it look as if we, the tenants, have been subletting the downstairs space to our neighbors. There is a fat chance the municipality would ever beleive this: a staircase with a locked door on either side does not a single suite make. In addition, the suites are seperately metered for Hydro, and one is heated with baseboard heaters while the other is heated with gas. Don't ask me why. The neighbors are totally on board with this whole situation, but we are totally not. It just seems all kinds of Illegal - capital I. Our neighbors downstairs are [recovering? maybe?] drug addicts whose main forms of income are welfare and scavenging recycle bins for returnable beverage containers and cigarette butts. They don't seem to eat much anyway, and therefore seem to be okay with the removal of their kitchen, as it's probably their only alternative to homelessness.

Sorry - that was a bit on the judgement. I try to refrain from this usually.

Anyway, there are a few courses of action we might be able to take, but all of these seem to end in one place: We are going to have to move.

Despite the neighbor thing, our house is actually quite nice and there are a lot of things I have really enjoyed about living here. One of those being that this might well be the only rental in town that will allow us to have a dog.

I'm very, very worried about the possibility that our Luna Bear might have to find a new home. Not only because I will miss her silly hound face to death, but also because hound dogs are known for bonding very strongly to one person, and having difficulty adjusting to new homes once this bond is established.

I'm absolutely sick to my stomach at the possibility of having to give Luna up. A dog is a dog for life.... right? We really and truly planned on staying here a good long while, until we either left town or were ready to buy. But a circumstance like this... I just don't know what to do. I'm probably getting ahead of myself. There is probably a lovely little home out there for us to live in and bring our pup. Then again, I am doubting that we will get the best reference from a landlord who is pissed that we don't want to be involved in his little slumlord scheme, and references seem to be an important part of allowing a pet.

I can't sleep when I am stressed out like this. Feeling insecure about living situations so very distressing, and I really wish I could just close my eyes and make this go away.
So, at 2:20 in the morning, I decided to blog about it.
Thanks for listening, Internet.

I was going to call this post Fab Prefab, but go ahead and see if there aren't 6000 blog posts out there with that title.

After this post, nobody will ever beleive me when I say that I dislike new construction ever again.
It's true that I really (really!) hate cookie-cutter suburban developments that have granite countertops, engineered hardwood floors, and cherry cabinets. or whatever the trifecta is.

I also really dislike the 'more is more' stance that many people seem to have. I watch HGTV real estate shows where people see a 3000 square foot home and say "I don't know if this is enough space for us, because we might have a baby one day and god knows we don't want to share a universe with it. Plus, where's the dog's bedroom? Where's the fourth full bathroom so that I don't have to pee in the same toilet as my husband, kids, or guests?"
I vow, right here and right now, that I will never, ever buy a home more than 1600 square feet. 2 bathrooms, max. Why? Because somebody has to clean all that extra space. And it ain't gonna be me.
/end tangent.

What I really wanted to say was that I think the idea of prefab living is super cool. Not prefab as in a double-wide, of course. But check some of these out:

(click on photos to link to their sources)

My favourite prefab concepts involve homes made from shipping containers. Keep in mind, the ones in the photos are actually huge, and break my 1600 square foot rule.

The LV series of homes from Rocio Romero is another very cool design. For the LVL (3bedrooms, 2bathrooms, 1453 square feet), prices begin at $42,950 (this is their large model, other smaller homes cost even less). This includes the walls and exterior only; the client builds their own foundation, purchases their own windows, and then installs all interior fixtures and fittings to suit their tastes. Dreamy.

there are so many companies now doing prefab homes. some are assembled on-site, others are delivered whole with everything including the kitchen sink already installed. Prices range hugely, but many are intended to cost less than a standard site-built home. One thing I love about the modern design of many of these is that they are designed to let in LIGHT. Lots of LIGHT. From the SUN. Something my current home lacks sorely.

Now, if someone just wants to give me a peice of land...

Unfuckingbeleivable.

Someone is dumping garbage at our house!
The other night I awoke at 4:30 am to the sound of someone walking up the driveway. This isn't uncommon, because we live in a 4-plex and the neighbors beside us use the back door as their main entrance, just like we do.

But then, they stopped, and an almighty racket ensued. It scared the living daylights out of me. Chain link fences rattled, bangning and dragging of cans, and at one point, I honestly thought that someone was trying to climb on top of the garbage shed to try and break into my window.

They didn't, of course, but I had the phone in my hand ready to call 911 if they did.

What I should have done, of course, is made a beeline for our roommate Drew's room so he could go kick some intruder ass. But it was 4:30 in the morning, and I was scared out of my mind and not thinking clearly. So I didn't.

The noise lasted a time, and then stopped. I managed to convince myself it was raccoons, and went back to sleep.

Lying awake in bed the next morning, I hear our neighbor from downstairs opening the garbage shed, then proceeding to fuss over how all the cans were full and something about "those effing kids upstairs".

And then it all clicked. AND I AM HOPPING MAD.

I always thought it was "those effing junkies" downstairs who were tossing out an unreasonable amount of stuff. last week, someone threw out an entire green garbage bag full of paperback books. Um, hello? those are recyclable?

But, apparently, it isn't them. those shoes and styrofoam blocks and plastic organizing tubs sitting beside the garbage cans? and all the garbage bags filling them? SOMEONE IS DUMPING THAT STUFF IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!

I think a stakeout is in order, don't you?

p.s. - for the record, Kyle was not here that night or HE would have been the one going to kick some intruder ass.

p.p.s. - he comes home tonight! yay!