I am never moving again. Ever ever ever ever ever. If the husband and the kids decide in a few years that they would like a change of scenery and wish to move to a new house, that's fine. I'm staying put. I'm parking my rear end on the couch and staging a sit-in. Or protest sit. Or whatever the hell it is that hippies do to protest something.
Due to a recent chain of events and financial strain, we are renting a house. I was already not thrilled at this idea, but now I am beyond not-thrilled. Let me just walk you through the last few days of my life and I guarantee by the end of this tirade you will be left wondering "How has she not killed someone by now? Or herself?"
*Prelude: When we went to look at the house a week ago, I got approximately thirty to forty flea bites on my legs. Awesome. We told the landlord that we would sign the lease and pay the first month's rent ONLY after the house was treated for fleas. He never did this. We ended up calling a pest control company ourselves, AND setting off our own flea bombs inside the house. And my dad sprayed the backyard with flea killer. I should have payed attention to this foreshadowing of things to come, but I was so tired and busy from packing all week with two small kids at home, I guess I had my head up my ass. Fleas got taken care of, end of Prelude.
Day One: We are all set to take possession of the new house. We go over to give it the ol' once over, to make sure everything is ready for move in day. Electricity on? Check. All the lights and locks and little things like that working? Check. Filthy, crusty floors? Check. MOLD in the refrigerator? Big, fat, hairy CHECK. Literally, hairy. This mold was a half-inch thick. After I stopped dry heaving, we called the landlord, who assured us that someone would be over THAT DAY to clean the refrigerator for us. Whew, thank goodness. After a thorough vacuuming, sweeping, scrubbing, and mopping of the floors, we left the house to go to the old house to finish packing.
Day Two: First of two move-in days! Hooray! We are finally going to get this show on the road. I headed over early in the morning with Charlie to do a little spot cleaning in the kitchen, and lo and behold, what did I see? I'll give you a clue. NOT a sparkling clean refrigerator. What I saw was the same stinky, filthy, petri-dish of a refrigerator that I saw the day before. Livid. Rage. Want to channel my inner Hulk, pick up said refrigerator and throw it out the window into the street, preferably onto the landlord's head. After a few phone calls we finally got a promise that someone would come out that day and clean it, Eh, we'll see. I was skeptical at this point.
The in laws show up with their truck to help us move everything we can that day. We actually got a lot done, hooray! I was starting to feel okay about this move. I should have known better. The whole day that we are in and out of the new house, we would all look at each other every once in a while and comment on how hot it seemed to be getting in the house. The husband said he would get some coolant and some gauges and service the air conditioner himself, since he knows how to do all that crap. Fantastic. We commence to moving boxes into a ninety degree house with a moldy fridge. I am taking deep, cleansing breaths and trying not to rip someones eyeballs out with my bare hands. Add in a baby who has a green-snot cold, and who needs to intermittently, you know, NAP, and you'll get an idea of how this day was.
Day Three: REAL moving day. Actual furniture being moved from point A to point B. TWO kiddos with green-snot colds, one of which went to my mom's house for the day and the other who was basically a whining ball of boredness all day long. I can't say that I blame her...it sucked. Thank the heavens above that the brother in law had access to a huge truck that fit every piece of furniture we own into it with room to spare, so the actual moving of things was somewhat painless. We get to the house. Still ninety degrees inside. BUT! The fridge was clean! I almost did a little dance right there in the kitchen. This was the only bright spot in the cards for that day. The husband got his tools, commenced the air conditioner fixing operation, and .....nothing. Still hot, still no cold air blowing through the vents. Of course. OF COURSE, this is a holiday weekend, and no air conditioning repair places are open. OF COURSE. A couple phone calls later, and we have a promise from the landlord (remember? He likes to promise things and then NOT DO THEM) that "someone" will be over there today to "fix" it. Something tells me tha The Landlord is the type of guy to send over a friend that kinda sorta knows like one or two things about air conditioners (like how to turn them ON or OFF) to "fix" it, and we will go around in circles until we end up either fixing it ourselves or living in the backyard because Good God Almighty, it is cooler outside than it is inside that house. So, here I sit, in the OLD house, after sleeping on Aero Beds last night, with Charlie at my mom's house after a spend-the night, sitting in an empty house, waiting on the landlord to decide to make the call and send someone over to fix the air conditioning. We have one house that is fully furnished and so hot that it feels like you are entering the gates of hell when you walk in, and one completely empty house that is nice and cool.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go take my daily dose of Zoloft before I decide to google the landlord, find his address, bind him with duct tape and make him sit in the un-air-conditioned house until he cries uncle and fixes it.
What I will likely turn into if this air conditioning problem is not fixed today. TODAY. Maybe I should link this post in an email to The Landlord.Do you think he would want to reneg on the lease contract, on the basis that he does not RENT HIS HOUSE OUT TO LUNATICS?