T-Minus FIVE days!

On Friday, July 27th, at a bit past 10am, I will commence signing of documents that will put me in a massive amount of debt in return for a couple of brass keys.

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These brass keys will allow me access to enough parking for 9 cars (if nobody minds a bit of a squeeze), a HUGE pine tree, a corner of the yard populated by ferns, 2 porches, 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, and Chainmaille Central.

I’m excited.

Actually…let me rephrase that…

I’M SUPER EXCITED!!!!!!!

moving boxes

I’m also staring at this HUGE mound of boxes in the middle of the living room.  I’ve been staring at them (and adding to them) for about a month now.  This evidence of the move looming on the horizon has really interrupted the even flow of energies in the apartment.  It’s hard to think in a space that is so very cluttered with acres of belongings.

This will be the LAST time I pack all my stuff in boxes and move it…
The foot has officially been put down.

To stave off the mess in the living room, I took to the pliers yesterday.  The weave is European 4 in 1, which is an easy one, and the preferred weave for inlay artists in the Chainmaille community.  I haven’t done much inlay work (although the quilt patch is what I’ll count as my ‘first’) and haven’t done any inlay work in Euro4-1 before, so it was exciting and soothing and fun all at the same time.

Home Inlay

When it’s complete, I will have a rectangular inlay that spells out the word ‘Home.’  Where the ‘O’ is will be a little house.  I’m gonna hang this in the porch, so visitors can see it when they knock at my door.

 

 

 

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Dodging a Bullet

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I think I’ve figured out where the little gremlins in my head are directing their mischief.  The little bastards have aimed at my credit card.

I’ve been VERY reluctant to use my card while this whole house buying process has been going on.  With my credit rating under the financial microscope, I’ve been given the usual warnings of “don’t buy anything unusual on credit,” to “Don’t buy ANYTHING for the house until you have the keys,” finishing with “Don’t transfer money between your checking and savings without letting us know.”

Yea, I get the reasons why.  The bank can pull your credit scores right up to the morning of the scheduled closing.  If those numbers shift, they can deny the mortgage until the minute you’re sitting at the table and signing documents.  They base your ability to pay for the metric shit-ton of money they’re lending you on how much you earn AND how much you already owe other banks like themselves.

I’ve heard the horror stories about people who’ve bought new cars (we’ll have a garage to fill) and new boats (lakefront property and all that) and that high-end furniture set (but the stuff in our apartment is OLD…) days before closing on the house, thus rending their credit incapable of supporting the bank’s formula on debt-ratios.  Closings didn’t happen in each of these cases.

I will not be yet another horror story!

Well, the gremlins are chomping at the bit to go out and spend like wild things.  It doesn’t help that I’ve been ‘researching’ for months, and have composed a huge list of things I’m gonna need to properly set up house in the house.  It also doesn’t help that my credit card has been in time out status for those months, and it REALLY doesn’t help that Mom’s IRA disbursement deposited the beginning of July and remains secure in my savings account, waiting to be spent on the house.

Finally, it doesn’t help that Amazon is running their Prime Day promotion today, and they’ve taken a third of the cost away from a new Kindle.

I need some sort of internet connected device in Chainmaille Central.  Research, Etsy listings, supply purchases, music, etc…all have to be accessible in that room, but don’t really need a fully functional computer.  Having a Kindle down there, paired with a bluetooth keyboard, is the perfect compromise.

I almost hit the ‘buy’ button today…

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As I hovered the mouse over the pretty orange button, I could hear the gremlins celebrating.  There were high-fives going on all across the landscape of my brain, and I think I heard the popping of a cork and glasses clinking together.  I was saved at the absolute last minute by a couple of things.

  1. I JUST got a replacement card in the mail and activated it on Saturday (they must have changed out the little chip in the card or something?) so before completing a purchase on Amazon I’d have to update my CC info, which is kinda a pain in the ass.
  2. A cool voice of reason chimed in.  How it was heard over the clamor, I’ll never know, but I’m very happy to have heard it say “Is saving fifty bucks worth jeopardizing the house, moron?”

I’ve never been happier to call myself a moron in my life 😀

I’m at 11 days to the closing!

 

Not So Wordless Wednesday

First, I would like to apologize for anyone out there who’s sick of me posting stuff from Amazon.  I do have my reasons for haunting the bigliest online shopping supercenter lately, something about an impending home purchase and how I am currently on a credit-card time-out.

 

They always say…don’t buy anything for the house until you have the keys in your hot little hands.  So I’m not actually buying anything…I’m just electronically window-shopping.

Chainmaille Central

I’m currently at T-minus 16 days to the closing, and the excitement is beginning to build.  Chainmaille Central is near enough to smell the … whatever the hell those basement smells are…

 

 

Aaaaanyway…back to Amazon…

The SQO has discovered the joys of Tiger Balm for the stiff muscles along his shoulder and spine.  We borrowed some from the kids, and we’re rapidly approaching the point where we’re gonna have to replace their bottle, because he swears the stuff actually works.

Smells to high heaven, and it’s impossible to wash off my hands after I’ve spread it out on his back…but the relief is worth it.

The stuff is kinda like hopped up Ben Gay.

Now, because I was at home and finally asked the kids what this stuff is called (because the label on the jar is all Japanese (or another Eastern country’s lettering…they all look the same to me…) writing, the computer was close at hand when I got my answer.

Naturally, I jumped on Amazon to look the stuff up…and found an awesome review…

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After such a glowing review, I couldn’t NOT put that in my cart, no?

 

Time to Upgrade the Age Mythos?

Today is July 11th.  I had a very interesting day on July 11th once.  After that first July 11th, I’ve had 29 equally interesting days on July 11th.

One per year, as they say…

29 years ago, on this very day, at around 10:30 in the morning, I became a mother.

The story around my eldest’s emergence is one I’ve often told.

I came home from work around 1am.  Ah, the joys of being in your 20’s and just scraping by…you take the crappy hours at the factory, and you drive an hour for the privilege of standing on your feet on concrete for a solid 8 hours.

After a bit of a nibble, I headed to my bed.  I used to go down around 3am.

Again…ah…the early years, when one could stay up until the weeeee hours of the morning!

I woke up around 7.  Dayam, I must have overdone it at work, because my back is KILLING me.

So I took a bath.

It took me a while to realize that these back ‘spasms’ were pretty damn regular.  So I packed things up, and headed to the car.

No panic.  No drama.  No partner (he was in basic training in another state).

So I drove mySELF to the hospital, walked into the ER, and announced that I was in labor.

The next couple of hours are pretty much a blur….because when you expel the wrong color of amniotic fluid and the baby’s heart rate drops, you get dragged into an operating theater real quick.

Don’t worry, I ain’t going to show off my scar 😀

It was all worth it, though…because I got to be a mom.

 

Happy 29th birthday, Son Number One…you’re the same age as me now.  Maybe I should add a decade to that fiction regarding my age?

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Just lookit at that face…can I cook, or what???

TRAPPED! or…the apartment doesn’t want us to leave

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It was an interesting night last night.

 

 

First – the apartment I currently inhabit has a single door to enter or exit the apartment…and, as we’re on the 2nd/3rd floors, there is no other way to get into the unit unless you start dragging in ladders and breaking glass.

A single point of entry.  Or…a single way to get OUT.

Last night, that door decided, in whatever passes for wisdom in woodwork, to go on strike.

The internals for the door handle failed.

I’m just glad we found out about this last night, instead of this morning…you know…Monday “I gotta get to work!” morning.

How did we find this meltdown of hardware?  Well, the kids went out and about yesterday, where I stayed quite content at home, packing more stuff, cleaning the kitchen, goofing about on the Evil Book of Faces while ignoring the stuff that was playing on the TV.  All in all, a fairly standard Sunday.

The kids tried the door.  I heard the key scrape in the lock.  Then a thump as they tried to open the thing.  Then another scrape of the key.  Yup…another thump.

At this point, I sauntered up to the door.  Deadbolt was retracted, so I tried the handle.

Enter … the situation.

Actually, NO ENTRY would be the situation, as the handle was no longer retracting the little metal hasp which keeps the door rather firmly secure against unwanted visitors.

The door handle is ancient.  I’d have to guess it’s older than I am (the real, calendar age, not the fiction I keep attempting to run regarding the number 29), so it’s certainly lived the doorknob equivalent of a good life.  At some point … it’s gonna fail.  Everything does.

They built things to last back then…and to resist their retirement.

The problem was with the handle.  Now, it’s been a long time since I got up close and personal with door hardware, but I’ll assume that modern units have a handle (or round knob) that you screw onto the shaft that goes through the door.  This sucker was press-fit into place, and didn’t want anything to do with me yanking it apart.

It had securely held this door shut for over 50 years, thank you very much, and wasn’t budging.

Between calling the apartment’s emergency maintenance number, listing to the kids cuss and swear on the hallway end of the door, and employing various tools, it took me a good 45 minutes to get that handle off so I could get to the internals on the door and finally open it.

Hurrah for brute strength and claw hammers!

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But, I may be taking this the wrong way.  What if this is the apartment’s way of telling me it doesn’t want me to leave?