Wanna Play Hot Potato?

For as long as I have lived with J, I have fussed at him about leaving food cooking unattended.  He always insisted that my worries were completely unfounded

Last night, J and I took Stella on a nice long walk around the neighborhood.  Before leaving, he put a potato in the microwave to cook while we were out.  Aside from the fact that I tripped on the sidewalk and hurt my foot, it was an enjoyable adventure.  All was well until we returned to the house...and were greeted at the door with an unappetizing smell.

Smoke.

J ran into the kitchen and opened the microwave, releasing an amount of smoke that probably would have intimidated the monster on Lost.  He promptly closed it, unplugged it, and carried the microwave out to the back porch for further inspection.  

Obviously, his potato was a bit overcooked.  Part of me was a little disappointed that we WEREN'T home as I've never seen anything catch fire in the microwave.

He didn't use foil or anything unusual so we're not entirely sure how it happened.  When he pulled the potato out, we realized that it was actually still smoldering.  

So, I got to have a big "I told you so!" moment and J finally learned his lesson.
At the cost of a new microwave.
And trying to find something else to have for dinner.
And 3 hours of desmokifying the house.

Welcome to the family, new microwave.

Soaked

Over the past few months I've been having some sort of early-mid-life-crisis in which I decided that, while there are several things I'm okay at, there is nothing that I'm great at.

Friends, I have found something I'm great at.

I am THE BEST at taking a small inconvenience and turning it into a MASSIVE issue.  Absolutely fantastic at this.  I mean, really.

The shower in the master bathroom has had this issue that when you pulled the thing on the faucet, only some of the water actually went up to the shower head without an epic battle.  I decide that I am a young, independent, badass female and this was an issue that I could fix.  So, obviously, I call my dad for advice. The solution he gave was simple enough: buy a new faucet and switch it out. Bam.  Done.

Off to Home Depot we go.  For some reason, as soon as we enter the bathroom hardware aisle, I get it into my head that if I'm going to be replacing the faucet, I might as well replace shower head and handle too. Now, in case you've never been down the bathroom hardware aisle of Home Depot, basically they have an entire wall of shower hardware systems set up for you to look at.  The problem is, this wall starts about a foot above my eye level.  It's more annoying than sitting in the front row at the movies.  After 20 minutes or so, I get frustrated (read: pissy) with the literal pain-in-the-neck and decide to go home to just order a system online.

As soon as we get home, I hop on the magical interwebs with the full intent of purchasing whatever it was we needed.  Just as I have narrowed it down, I notice the fine print at the bottom of the product description: "This model works only with valve model [somerandomnumbershere]."  Dafuq.  Okay, fine, so again, I'm all YAY GIRL POWER and call my dad.  Apparently only certain systems work with certain valves and in order to replace the valve we'd have to rip out part of the wall.  Neat!  Google gives me some handy websites on how to know what valve model you have, so I convince J to pile himself into the tub and rip our shower apart. Oh, hey, there are no numbers anywhere that the random-diy-house-stuff website said there would be.  Fun!

At this point, this is what is happening in our shower.

This is also how our shower stayed for some *cough*two weeks.  Eventually, we finally manage to drag ourselves into Home Depot again and find a system that will (more than likely) work with what we have.  I, still pretending to have the knowledge and skill to do this myself, dump everything out of the box.  I debate setting up the Go-Pro to record the process like we did with the painting, but ultimately decide it will be too boring, so I climb in the tub and read the first five pages of the instruction book.  And I read it again.  And again.  I then decide that I don't actually have the knowledge or skill to do it myself, so I go downstairs and tell J that I'm going to call my dad for help.  

J, the manly handyman that he is, decides he wants to take a stab at it.  I relax on the couch for a while and then hear a call screech of my name coming from upstairs.  I entered the bathroom to find J standing in the shower, soaked from top to bottom.  There was water spraying from all sides of the valve where the handle was and straight out the tube at the bottom.  I don't mean like a casual trickle of water, either.  I mean like someone forgot to put the cap on a fire hydrant.  

You know how people say that in a time of urgency they just reacted without thinking and did what needed to be done?  I'm not one of those people.  My thoughts were as follows: "Oh, man.  This is, like, viral video stuff. Why don't I have my camera?! SHIT I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE SET UP THE GOPRO. Maybe I could go get--" J interrupts my train of thought to yell "WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE?! GO TURN THE WATER OFF."  Things you never realize you don't know until you need to know them: #153, the location of the water shut off.  I stare at J blankly before yells at me to stay put and dashes (carefully, so as not to fall in the puddles on the floor) outside the house.  I splash over to the tub, close the shower curtain, and continue mentally kicking myself for not setting up the camera. 

Apparently, J thought I had started on it and not quit before I did anything.  As such, he decided to start on step 5.

After turning the water off, J was able to finish the whole thing relatively easily with no further mishaps.  So, that's the story of how what should have been a 20 minute, $15 project turned into a several week long, very wet project.  On the upside, we no longer have to battle the faucet to turn on the shower and we no longer have a sad little shower head like the one in the guest bath.

We now get to feel like we're showering under a glorious waterfall.

TL;DR? Don't trust J to read all the directions, I'd be lost without the men in my life, and we should hire a professional when dealing with plumbing.

Also.

I may no longer be the best girlfriend ever. :)

Fried, then baked.

As Thanksgiving approaches and I begin to settle on recipes to cook for our first holiday in our home, I realized I never posted the most scary/hilarious home-owning story to date.

First off, here is the stove that came along with the house, as pictured in the listing.

One day a month or two ago, it was raining and Stella and I were hanging out on the back porch with a good book, enjoying the ambient noise and the breeze.  I had left the door cracked for her to go in and out as she pleased, but then I realized that flies were also taking the same liberty.  I stood up and put my hand on the door to shut it when - at that exact moment - lightening struck the greenbelt behind our house.  I felt a jolt of electricity move through my hand and up my arm and immediately decided it was time for us to take the reading inside.  (My arm tingled for a good two or three hours afterward, if you're wondering.)

J and I discovered a couple days later that our stove wouldn't work.  We flipped the breaker a couple times but to no avail.  So, off to 3 different stores we went a-hunting.  J was being super particular about the stove, and I about the oven.  We were the couple every sales person dreaded.  After several hours of driving - and debating - we settled on one.

A few days later, it was delivered.  We plug it in.  It doesn't work.  Guess what! The plug was fried. (They did check the stove to make sure that it wasn't just the plug...they were both goners.)

Enter: My do-it-all-himself father to install the new plug.

Et voila - a shiny new stove that looks super pretty with our fridge.  I've also found that cooking is much more fun than it was with the old stove.

Now the only things not stainless are the vent above the stove and our dishwasher.  [Please don't break, vent and dishwasher, just because you don't match.]

To boldly go...

What we should be doing:

To her credit, Stella was helpful in unpacking the box of her things.

What we have been doing:

Instead of unpacking and being productive, the whole family has been piled up watching episodes of Star Trek.


The boxes can wait - space exploration cannot!

Trapped in a box

My main problem with unpacking, aside from the fact that it's WORK, is that progress is so incremental it seems like nothing is being accomplished.  I move nonstop for an entire day and then step back and....it looks the same.

My goal is to do a minimum of 2 boxes every day that I work and 5 on days I don't.

....I'm running out of easy boxes.

Lesson Learned

Here are a few things we learned in the process of moving:

• Moving is the best way to realize just how little you've actually ever dusted anything in your home.

• Don't assume that people understand that all boxes should be labeled.
• Boxes should be labeled on multiple sides...not just the top. 
• The box you need WILL wind up under 5 others - but it will look like 4 others which are all also under 5 other boxes

• The more helpers you have, the less likely anyone will remember where a certain box wound up.
• Make sure that the box with all of your underwear goes into your car, not the moving truck.
• Pack at least two sets of silverware, plates, bowls, and cups into your car as well.
• Don't pack the scissors.

• When shrink wrapping your mattress, leave your sheets and comforter on it.  It protects your mattress AND you don't have to spend a week sleeping in a sleeping bag on your bed.
• As a backup, keep a sleeping bag handy at all times in the move.

• Cardboard cuts are like paper cuts from the devil himself.

•  Use dog toys as fillers for boxes.  They're soft and make good cushions, plus unpacking becomes a game for at least one member of the family.

• "We're going to have just enough" really means "We're going to run out when we're 75% finished and/or an hour before the movers get here."

• I don't really know how to lift with my legs.

Be a Hero

A true hero gives his girlfriend what she wants, no matter how scared of heights he may be.

GoPro - Be a Hero