HI-HO!

ANECDOTES AND HOW TO'S FROM THE GIRL YOUR MOM SUGGESTED YOU STOP HANGING OUT WITH

Lady Parts

I live in a house that is about 103 years old. At any other point in time I would use the number “103” when speaking in hyperbole, but not today. The house was built in 1908. (Ripley’s) Believe it or not.
I live in a pretty nice neighborhood where the home values are at about half a million dollars. My house is big and my rent is cheap. Know what that means? It means I live in the oldest, shittiest house on the block.
There is no central heat or air in the house, and the electricity hasn’t been redone since it was invented. So as you can imagine, the house can be a bit finicky sometimes. Anyone recognize one of these?

                                  

Yeah no, ya don’t. It’s a circuit breaker box. Quite possibly Nikola Tesla’s breaker box. And this little box of tubes and bulbs is the bane of my existence.

You have to be very careful with the electricity that you use in my house or else a fuse will bust. If you have the air conditioning window unit on downstairs while watching television, then you have to turn off the TV before you use the microwave. If you have a heater on in the hallway then you need to turn it to low before you turn on the lights in the living room. If you need to use the bathroom fan, then you need to hop on one foot and sing the intro to Step-By-Step in Latin before pulling the light switch slightly to the left and then up. It’s an old house. She’s finicky.

                  

We also until recently had a lovely little Tree House of Death — also know as an open-air porch — off of the upstairs hallway. We were instructed by our landlord NOT to go out there. If we did, we would most certainly fall through the floor since there were no support beams coming up from the ground below. There were some close calls during house parties, but for the most part we kept that door shut. My landlord “fixed” the porch a few months ago using some handy dandy cheap Mexican labor and what looks to be scrap wood from an old barn. It looks like a 4th grader attempted to make a tree house, got called downstairs for dinner, and then never came back. But I trust it.

I love my house. I love my neighborhood. I love my three amazing roommates, and I can actually stand my landlord. Not many people can say that. And because of that, I’ll put up with some blown fuses and half-assed carpentry work.

I titled this post “Lady Parts” because I originally wrote all about my in-depth phone call with my gynecologist, then thought better of it. You’re Welcome!

              

  1. singmenohymns said: I once met “Al Lambert” at Space Camp when i was in Boy Scouts. This made 5th grade me so happy.
  2. xohollyhox posted this