I thought I’d made peace with the freaky-assed crawl space below our house in Los Angeles. It’s not a nice, solid basement, but makes sense to have easy access to plumbing and the electrical lines for our drip system. And after multiple years, the only scary thing lurking under our house had turned out to be our own mischievous dog.
Until recently. Continue reading Something Is Under the House (#236)
I live in Los Angeles and there’s something under my house.
Don’t freak out.
It’s just a crawl space. Continue reading What Lies Below (#187)
If I had known that buying a new house would inspire inspired a visit from Andy’s parents, I’d have barricaded myself into our old townhouse for life. I knew that we wouldn’t be able to keep them away if we ever had a son (hence my ongoing lobbying to adopt a little girl from China), but I had no idea a new house would be such a draw. Given my father-in-law’s obsession with photos of the house, I should have known what would happen.
As soon as Andy and I finished our year-long, DIY remodel of our new house, my Chinese-American in-laws decided they needed to make sure we’d done it right. Jay and Sunny informed Andy that they were coming to visit in April.
I was not consulted. Continue reading Poker Face (#155)
When I see hashtags, I think of home improvement. Maybe it’s because social media really took off the year that we worked on our new house. Suddenly # was no longer “the pound sign” on the landline phones of my youth (remember, I’m old). Instead, it became a marker that people used to look up conversations/ events on Twitter, or #CatsofInstagram.
Other people use hash tags to convey particular (usually snarky) emotions, or an action expressing disbelief. Like #facepalm, when reading any of Donald Trump’s tweets. About anything. Continue reading Hashtags & Home Improvement (#150)
I’m not very handy. I’m super competent, yes, in small ways: I can change a tire, hang pictures, put up window treatments, paint, tape trim, move spiders outside, clean lint out of the dryer vent, plunge a toilet, and get plant cuttings to root.
But Do It Yourself projects? Uh, no. I didn’t even know what studs were until I met Andy. (Yes, ha, and yes, true.) DIY scares me, probably because my father’s efforts at anything beyond caulking involved profanity and fears of an untimely death. Continue reading Demolition Man (#142)