Warhead On Legs

( Deutsch )

Well. Fuck.

I was hoping the inspection would clarify some things. and it did! It ruled out a number of potential problems. The electrical is fine, the foundation, the roof is in surprisingly good shape given all the doom and gloom of earlier. The leak in the bathroom is probably rain coming through a couple of loose shingles and is, as I suspected, more time damage than great gallons of water damage. The attic is apparently huge, despite access to it being a hole in the ceiling bordered by wood edging and covered by a piece of plywood, no pull-down ladder. One would have to be installed. But someone was doing electrical work up there recently and left a portable light plugged in, the inspector said. That amused me. The outlets are almost all grounded (and there are a LOT of them) and almost all work, there's a couple on the second floor and a couple on the first that are either not grounded or don't work at all. When they re-did the electric they did it pretty well even if they put the case on backwards. There's some older water damage and other kinds of damage to some of the exterior wood, nothing major, nothing that can't be a five years down the road problem. The paint on the outside is still peeling but that's a cosmetic problem.

The heating is fucked. A new heating system needs to be put in place. The ceilings on the first floor are high enough and the architecture simple enough (essentially boxes on top of boxes) that I don't think it would be a more-than-standard major proposition to put in forced-air, but until now it's been running on hot-water radiators, almost all of which are cracked, and the boiler done died. As far as my admittedly limited research shows, a forced-air system would be 10k for dropping in new duct work and everything.

The other problem is that we couldn't get the water on. The city water was on, we had one exterior tap with a hose hookup that dribbled out some water and the inspector could hear water rushing somewhere, but nothing came out of any of the taps. And we couldn't find any valves that hadn't been turned on. So then we turned the water off again so it didn't gush all over wherever it's hanging out. According to Folks (both relatives and the inspector, from what I remember) it could either be as simple as something that isn't turned all the way on that we haven't found yet or a cracked pipe close to the source/intake from city water that might be easy to fix. Or not. It's Schroedinger's problem.

And those are, by and large, the only two problems so far. I just got in the results of the radon test, that's fine, the inspector didn't make any other noises about things being dire, he took moisture readings everywhere there was water damage (there was another place that had water damage on the ground floor, but it was by a radiator and didn't leak in the rain so I didn't think it was a danger, and it didn't give off an abnormal moisture reading) and the normal walls were about, um. A 10? I don't know what the units of these things are. and then the leak in the bathroom was about a 31-33. I don't know what any of that means in abstract terms, but in relative terms I know that means the leak area isn't wildly out of step with the rest of the house. Pretty sure, anyway.

My plans for tomorrow are to dig in to forced air heating systems and educate myself there, and collect phone numbers and maybe call around for very rough estimates on forced air heating system installation and plumber opinions and whether or not they can come out and poke the pipes and try and find out what the hell is going on in there. Also talking to Realty Lady first to see if they can do that. That really annoys me. Not knowing what the hell is going on annoys me in general, in this situation it bugs the everliving fuck out of me. So. Those are the plans. These plans are, of course, subject to change depending on what the boy and I discuss tonight.

Heh. I am kind of glad and grateful that I have family support, now that they've been reassured that I'm not chasing after this wholeheartedly even with the attendant problems. I almost chewed on people today, 'cause of oi, with the I don't know if you can handle it. Yes, I can fucking well handle it! I can handle it by doing some research, calling around, and getting more information before I make a really big decision, that's how I can handle it. Yes, I'm in love with the house. No, I'm not going to run and buy it if something's terribly fucked. The boy won't let me, first of all, and second of all I'm not that stupid. I'll be sad. But I'm not dumb. Argh. Still not five years old, people.

Really, really tired though, which is no doubt contributing to the cranky. So. Horsies forever, or at least for a little while, and then writing. Because even if I can't do anything just yet about Old Hotness the Alleged House, I can do something about my deadlines.

( Русский язык )

Well, that was a little terrifying. We were going over the bank paperwork the other night and on the mortgage application there was a credit card debt listed to the Bank of Assholes (no, I don't like them, why do you ask) with a partial number so we couldn't even look up and see what the hell it was. Cue lots of snapping, mostly from the boy to me until I stomped on his foot and told him to quit it, and then a couple of cranky phone calls to the BofA. And then this morning we finally get ahold of his parents and it turns out it's theirs and not ours. What it's doing on our mortgage application I have no idea. His credit card also turns up twice. He has one credit card. We each have one, actually. And, actually... oh, never mind, I'll just pay that one dollar charge when I get the bill, it shouldn't be more than a day or so till the paper mail catches up anyway.

So, that happened. And then I ended up going to the bank when I should have been doing German, and at least I got the mortgage paperwork turned in. There's only one thing left to turn in that was sort of a last minute thing, but that's just "type up an explanation, sign it, scan it, email it." And then I got a call from Realty Lady saying that the bank was turning everything on and they just now discovered that the fucking boiler didn't work. Because they're incompetent douchebags who couldn't be bothered to investigate this four fucking weeks ago when they knew someone wanted to look at, inspect, and likely buy the house. They're getting bids on it now, and they ... ugh, I can't even. So pissed off. So. Very. Pissed.

I kind of want to go back to them and be all "SO. Want to revisit that earlier offer of $Shire now that the house needs a new goddamn boiler?" Incompetent sheepfucking douchenozzles. I want that house. I also want them to do the damn work they said they were going to do, which involved making sure the goddamn heat worked. They said that.

I'll stop abusing italics now.

( 日本語 )

( Deutsch )

I hate house-buying.

I have come to this conclusion that, admittedly, I already suspected. I hate looking at houses because I'm incredibly picky. Not that I have an idea that this room should open up onto that room and the other room, but I have an idea of how much space I want, and in what rooms, and how much I want to pay for what. Which makes me picky even in a buyer's market, which this is, and dear lord have I mentioned we are getting an awesome interest rate? Ahem. But I hate looking at houses, I hate dealing with the fucking goddamn paperwork, I hate legalese, and I hate bureaucracy. At least everyone involved is being a perfect doll about everything.

So, the upshot and cause of this tirade is that there is no inspection tomorrow, because the bank just now decided to let us know that they want the house under contract before they'll turn on the utilities, which makes an inspection largely futile. Tomorrow, then, instead of going out to Old Hotness (*weeps*) to inspect it, we'll go over to our realty lady and sign the sapling's worth of offer paperwork. Put down our earnest money, make the whole thing contingent on a good inspection. I'm reasonably confident that it'll be okay and, more importantly, the boy is reasonably confident that it'll pass inspection. And he's much less biased and ready to piss a circle around the house than I am. And then we'll have that started, and then the inspection can happen, and there will be pictures for everyone. So it's not a major setback. Just a very, very irritating one.

Anyway. My last arm warmer is almost off needles! After that I can work on all the hope chest things ever. I've already got one placemat started, I'm not sure what to do other than placemats and doilys. People! Help! What else should go in a hope chest? Other than sheets, because I am damn well not embroidering sheets with stupid little patterns. and I don't have an actual chest to put this stuff in. Oops. But, you know.

Argh I can't wait to tell you people about Old Hotness. Argh, I say!

( 日本語 )

( Русский язык )

FUCKING B7 CHORD.

Other than that, Johnny I Hardly Knew Ye is a pretty easy song, really.

Every once in a while I think Sherlock is right, and I want to cock my head at people and ask Dear god, what is it like inside your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Getting into all the myriad sources of this over the last 24 hours would take too long. But really. Is it nice in there? Peaceful, quiet?

As far as yesterday's kerfuffle I have decided that rather than be irritated by someone who doesn't know how to hold himself proper to the pose/stance/movement, I'm just going to use this to remind myself that if I want to kick that much ass, I have to work for it. And be more efficient at my workouts. Hip-drops hip-rolls kicks of various kinds chest and shoulder isolations back straight tailbone tucked soft knees aligned body parts. And just from being irritated over all of this has made me hold myself better, so something positive there. Just because it can be done doesn't mean it should be done casually, improperly, or in a vacuum.

... Although dancing in zero-g would be kind of sweet. I think. There, I cannot say, having never tried to.

It's a bit like me saying no one can bend their fingers proper to a B7 chord, when probably a few hundred guitarists do it every day, just because I haven't practiced properly to do it. Even if it is a fucking annoying chord.

And god knows there are covers and comics and other drawn images of people that defy the laws of nature and create ridiculous expectations in people about their bodies. Those would make great examples for such an article. I would be much happier if people would use them instead.

There was a question in here about the "Canadian shack" explosion I saw all over network and then I decided I was better off not getting involved as far as saying things with words. I did do some reading and some digging, and now I'll be over here working on my now much delayed SPN fic and other stuff.

Also, if you know me and Anna together at all and in any way, go read this. Seriously. This shit is old and tired and people need to stop fucking hurting my friend.

I am crawling under the internet and not coming out for a few days.

( Deutsch )

Well, that was a thoroughly disheartening conversation with my mother in which she decided that telling me my monthly payments would be twice and a bit what I expected/what we could afford, and then spent the next twenty minutes or so attempting to take it back, tell me I'd get plenty of help from the family (which is probably true) and that there were plenty of affordable homes in the area (that might, for all I know, be trailers or fixer-uppers) and generally be of no help whatsoever. Oh mother. I love you, for most things you are helpful and reassuring, for this? Apparently not so much. I now feel even worse about buying a house than I did, even poorer than I did, and am terrified of going anywhere near the goddamn credit bureaus, let alone a loan application.

The questions I did want to ask, folks on my flist! You who have bought homes, tell me! My current impression is that it is easier to get pre-approved on a loan once you have an idea of what you want to aim for, spending wise, and then go house shopping for that range. Yes/no/where did you get that idea you crazy woman? What does getting pre-approved for a loan even look like? What kind of paperwork is involved, I mean, do they punch in numbers on a computer and then it spits out your suitability for whatever, and then they give you some paperwork to sign and you show that to the realtor/real estate agent/people with houses who ask? What ducks do you want to have in a row before you look at houses? What does making an offer look like, do you just say something or is there a written part too? I know the definition of escrow but the practicalities bemuse me. Enlighten me, o mighty internets!

Or, you know, don't. I'll be over here still cowering from my mother's "oh, *$500 over your month's wages* is about what I'm paying for that much house."

Seriously, there are two parts of my brain very much at war right now. One of them is running in circles panicking, tears flowing down her face, trying to stick her head in the oven because she's dirt poor and never going to be able to afford anything ever and what's the point of living??? And the other one is pondering dinner recipes and making lists of the rest of the shit she has to get done tonight, like Japanese and writing and reviewing for the Music Theory test. It's very weird in here right now.

This was going to be about more than just house buying, I swear, but I think I'm out of cope for anything more serious, so you get house buying panic. Sorry. Kind of.

( Gaeilge )

I can't even begin to tell you how unbelievably tired I am. Emotionally, less physically right now but that was last night, everything. Part of me wants to go back over the last couple of months and figure out if that's justified, the rest of me isn't going near that. Probably just reading over everything that's happened... off the top of my head, coming back from the con, people at work going on vacation and then breaking their hip, leaving us three people short. Prepping for a show. Dealing with said show and another craft show down the street at the same time, leading to probably a doubling of the usual amount of foot traffic in the store while simultaneously having two people off the other side of town at the trade show. Unpleasant revelations from my past. Boy sick for an entire week with viro-bacterial brochomonia. I'm fairly sure I was sick for a weekend in there, somewhere. Dentist appointment. Okay, yeah, that's enough describing all the various exhausting things that have happened to me above and beyond the multitude of things I normally do.

... Okay, it took me about two or three minutes to remember what I had to change and then how to change the keyboards on my computer, this is bad.

The boy's going to try to go to work tonight, I don't know how good of an idea that is but at least he says he feels a lot better. And he kind of looks it, but I still doubt his ability to get through a night's work, to say nothing of the wisdom of walking into a petri dish with him this sick. ON the other hand, if he goes to work hacking and wheezing as he is, they can't very well argue about him malingering at home. Bastards. I know his supervisor knows he's still sick, he called the other day at a more civilized hour to ask how he was doing.

Still haven't gotten sick. Still a little bemused by this. Normally, given the close quarters, when one of us gets sick the other gets at least somewhat of a cold, a something. Right now? Nothing.

Right. What do I have to do today? Try and finish my Original Big Bang draft, I guess. Work some on the Horror Big Bang, and my daily Mary Sue comfort fic. Filing at work, plus whatever else comes in. German, Japanese although yesterday ... no, the day before was just rules, yesterday there were no languages. Guitar. Music theory can wait a day. And I guess that's it. Doesn't look so bad, assuming nothing else comes up and socks me while I'm down. Hopefully I can make it through the day at work. If not, time to curl up with my knitting and let the Elf Lord poke the new computer.

( Deutsch )

Argh. Argh argh argh.

Let me posit a situation to you, dear readers. You're passing a cop on the street. Nothing terribly hinky seems to be going on. Said cop pulls out his gun, looks down at it. Frowns, waggles it, then puts it back in his holster and does not snap the holster shut. How do you take this? What do you do? Do you find this unusual? Worrying? Normal? Uninteresting? Inquiring and cranky kitties want to know.

The other massive annoyance of the day: now I really need to get my ID renewed because I can't get a working debit card without it, but this means dealing with social security because this state's DMV won't give you an ID without the actual social security card. Can't use your passport, your medical insurance, tax forms with your SSN on it, no, you need the actual card. Which went through the washer years ago. ARGH. I mean, I've been meaning to do that anyway, but I really really hate that so much of what you need to do in this country you need to do based on a piece of identification that you're supposed to have on you at all times and is made of fucking paper. Hopefully this won't involve too many hoops. I may hurt something.

Well, no I won't. It'll be frustrating and it may take a while, but it's not anything I can't get done by flashing the contents of my Important Shit folder and going and showing things at offices. And until that's done, and all my bills are paid anyway for a while, but until that's done I have enough cash to get by for a week or three. Still cranky.

And I have a sick boy at home to deal with argh. At least most of my errands are done. Still need to beat up the tea place for great teas, but that can happen at the end of the day. Oof. Now, work-type work. All the packing and all the unpacking and bleh. This week better improve from here on out, 's all I'm saying.

( Gaeilge )

Got a bunch of stuff done last night. Little fiddly bits, but a lot of things. Printed stuff out, pulled together documents, made lists. Made lassi. And then I got on the phone and talked to my Mom for a couple last bits of information and got yanked completely off my equilibrium.

There's a... a thing. That happens, sometimes. If you don't know all the details of your past or, hell, even if you think you do. I thought I did. I thought I knew the worst that was in my past, as far as my bio-dad, who I haven't seen since I was three or four. And then I called my Mom and got some stuff from her for an official thing, and there was a place for information about my bio-dad. I put 'unknown.' I still got off the phone with my mother with the option to contact him, because I'm going for my annual physical in a couple weeks and having a medical history would be really nice. But other than that, I don't think I want to know. And what she told me makes me even want to know less.

The shortest version, the version I feel comfortable putting out there (although it's my day to check in and I really need to unscramble this) is that she told me not to Google him because I would find some really unpleasant shit. And then she told me the gist of the unpleasant shit. And, Mom, I love you, but if you tell me don't look at this because you don't want to know and then tell me anyway? What's the point of telling me I don't want to know.

I have no idea how this affects me. Or, no, I have no idea if it affected me before I knew, because now that I know it sure's hell affects me. It makes me question a lot of shit in my life. It makes me scared. It makes me angry. It makes me want to destroy all the contact information and it makes me want to call the guy up and scream down the phone what the fuck are you? Which, according to one of my aunts, he has patched it up. And changed. And all that. So I don't know. It's just, bad shit. All of it that I found out last night. I called up my Mom to get one piece of information and got knocked completely base over apex.

Something something. Today almost everyone in the store except two people have doctor's appointments, so this is going to be one hell of a day. Expect either silence or explosions.

Oh right. I was going to post this.

Starts out in the back of this van with a guy who may or may not be my boyfriend. He keeps shifting back between an ex and the boyfriend. It's raining, we're half-heartedly trying to keep the windows and doors closed but rain like ash keeps coming in. And we're talking. I don't remember what we're talking about but eventually I have to get up and go somewhere.

Somewhere turns out to be this classroom that looks like it's in the anthro building at college. Actually it looks like the old classroom, go in and turn left and you're there? The desks have been cleared to the side from the floor and we're learning magic. We're learning magic from this roundish older guy who's trying to teach us something that gives me the creeping jeebies. I'm not sure what the techniques are but eventually I get fed up with it and start pushing questions at him. I keep pushing questions until it turns into a battle of wills. Then it turns into a battle of magic. By this time I've realized that he's actually teaching the indoctrination lessons of a cult leader who's a major dark magician, and while the teacher doesn't have much power in and of himself the person who's pulling the strings does. I go head to head in a magical battle with the teacher, who keeps manipulating shadows and energy. I win, because although this class was supposed to teach some kind of fundamentals of magical theory I'm actually more powerful and, through what I've gleaned from intuition etc, better skilled. I manage to pry the guy from his master's control, and at least a part of it involves the pipe music from Dark Crystal. Go figure. I use that as a focusing device; another student joins in on a flute because she recognizes it. The people in the background, the other students, tehy actually recognize it as the music from Dark Crystal too, but since I'm singing I can't actually explain to them how I'm using it as a focusing device. By the end of the song the teacher is out from under the influence of the dark magician, at least for now. The pathways are still in him to be influenced by the man.

Then the nightmare really begins. I ask the class, including the former teacher, if they want to learn real magic. I'm a little shaky about this but since I know magic and I know I'm not under the influence of anyone, I'd be a better teacher than the other guy. So I start getting the desks set back up and go to sit on the front desk, and the guy goes to the bathroom, and then the screaming starts. The dark magician has apparently learned that his lackey is loose and decided to take steps. And while I watch and try to put a cage or a shield around the man, his heart slowly bursts in his chest and his eyes turn black from the blood and he dies screaming. Yay.

There were more details to the magical battle but I can't remember them right now. Then I woke up.

( Русский язык )

We'll start with that fucked up dream where I was wandering around some place that apparently used to be a camp or a school I went to, and was now being occupied by Christian fundamentalists. I can probably squarely blame this on the "good news" packet left on my doorknob yesterday. (And if I could find the originating church I would probably leave them a note that says "I appreciate the intention, but please save the $1 it cost to print this for me and donate it to a homeless shelter fund or a soup kitchen instead.") And I was walking around with this stereotypical SWS twink looking young man (pasty, dark scraggly hair, in need of a sandwich, wide trusting eyes, rather cute in a starving goth kind of a way and probably gay, given SWS and what happened next) when we start getting dirty looks from everyone. So we get ready to leave, and there's this older, 50s to 60s skinny country-style thug looking man. Who tries to give me a folding pocket knife by way of a threat. And I try to get out of there even faster, but somehow me and the twink get separated and the next thing I know the poor boy's lying on the ground with a knife hilt buried in his chest and I'm trying to keep him alive.

THEN. Oh god, then. Then I wake up, for the second time since the boy hit the snooze button on his alarm. Now, the cats have had 2 and a half years of training that I get up at 6ish, I feed them breakfast. So who do they go walking all over and pawing at when the alarm goes off at 5 and they don't get fed? I'll give you a hint: it's not the boy. So he got to sleep a little longer and I got to wake up a little earlier, and then THAT was the dream, up above, that I had. I wake up, stumble around the apartment, throw on some sweats. Think, maybe I should just go back to bed. But do I? No, I go stumbling out of the apartment. Without my keys. And I realize it just as the door locks behind me.

Thank god for kind-hearted early to work maintenance men who aren't even on the clock yet. I love you, maintenance guy. I think I even got his name, so I will have to send him a card or something. Christ, this has been a shittastic morning and it's not even 8 am yet.

Rrgh. Okay, better things. Adorable pictures of Bruce Boxleitner sitting in an old, ugly looking (yet probably fairly comfy from the look of it) chair with his glasses and a book and a geeky looking t-shirt. The fact that Draco is going to be at Dragon Con again, and maybe this time there will be less of a line, or I'll be able to get there quicker. The fact that despite that morning snafu I was pretty much able to complete my routines FUCKING ON TIME. RARR.

Oh. Less rarr. This didn't happen today but we figured out that basically what's happening with my laptop is the screen is, well. Burning. So I can either just cave and get a desktop where I can actually replace all the components (for a while) as they burn out, or I can replace the laptop screen. Neither of which is cheap. So, yeah. At least my credit card is paid off so if I have to get a new computer, I can. The boy is advising to wait till he's got a month or so of work under his belt; as irritated as I am by a lack of instant gratification, I'm inclined to agree. I have my pocket ninja, anyway, I'm not going to be completely lacking in computer time. Just annoyed.

(And seriously tempted to put a donate button up here. Every dollar gets you a hundred words of fiction or something. But on the other hand, I can afford a new computer way better than some people who don't have steady jobs. Stupid fucking economy.)