Ain't Life A Beach?

Well, not exactly. LOL Yeah, I followed my dream—finally—and I am here on the beach. I don’t know what the eff I was thinking when I moved. Really—I don’t. Somehow I think I got so caught up in it all that I believed life would become magical and perfect.

It didn’t.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not homesick. I LOVE being here. I’m happy here. Happier. And I know things are going to fall into place the way I want them to. See??? A positive attitude is half the battle, isn’t it? And I’m positive things are going to work out.

So what am I griping about? A whole bunch of things. My sister told me that she is going to buy up the rabbit’s foot market and give all those little bunny feet to me to me. LOL

First up? We arrived at our new home late afternoon. I’d never seen the house with the power on. It’s a rental. I had decided I didn’t want to own anything anymore. I want to be able to pick up the phone when something leaks or shorts out and call someone to fix it. I’ve been too responsible all my life. Time to become a slacker. HA!

So we walk into the house and I immediately notice stains on the freshly cleaned carpet—was too dark to see them before. The refrigerator was dirty. The bathrooms had not been thoroughly cleaned—pubic hair in the downstairs shower. Yeah, that’s what I said. The sliding glass door was filthy—hand prints all over it and something sticky, too! Basically, the house was a bit dirty. So we had to break out the bleach and smell good products before we even unloaded. When you pay a $1,500.00 security deposit, you expect to encounter a very clean property. At least I did. Sighhhhh

So after two hours of four women cleaning, we started unloading the moving truck. We got about a third of it completed before it was simply too dark to continue. I made a beer run and the pizza arrived. And we were all exhausted. We slept on air mattresses that night. The beds were still in the truck. No problem.

The next day is when I discovered the garbage disposal didn’t work and there were dripping faucets. Nothing to worry about right away for sure. Eventually, a new disposal was installed and the drips were repaired. Next, the dryer stopped working. I reported that right away to be informed that the washer and dryer were not a part of the lease. HUH? I didn’t argue. Didn’t scream. Didn’t tell anyone off. When I got home, I checked my lease. The washer and dryer are most certainly included in my lease. I called the realtor and was still denied a repair. They forgot to check the box that indicated the washer and dryer were not included and their mistake still costs me.

Well, it’s like this…I would never have signed the lease without the washer/dryer being included. I HAD a perfectly good washer/dryer. But I sold them because there was already a set in the house. So I have pretty much demanded the repair but nothing is happening. Which means I will have to play hard ball. I was so hoping I could just live quiet and easy once I moved. No stress. HA! Am I crazy or what?

Then I broke my ankle. Slipped down the stairs while carrying a laundry basket. Yep, I’m washing clothes here and hauling them to the place up the street to dry them. Inconvenient, but I was still maintaining my cool—until I had a broken ankle that is. Now stress is my middle name. My girls don’t like dealing with laundry and argue like crazy when I tell them it has got to be done. And that brings me to another story.

My girls. They’ve both lost their minds. There is something about this place that has shifted them into a higher level of lack of maturity. They have both become very lazy. Now they were never perfect. Not by any means. But now they just don’t think they are supposed to do anything. My old house was one level. This house is two. I’m downstairs. The kids all sleep upstairs. I have NO reason to go upstairs—except for the day I figured I’d look for extra dirty laundry. Yeah…and broke my ankle.

The boy’s room is in pretty good shape. He vacuums daily. I hear him doing it. I see him bringing down his trash. Room looks okay except he is not the best at making his bed. But the girls’ rooms? Oh God! Big messes.

The weekend before I broke my ankle, the boy had a friend come down from NC to spend the weekend. No problem. His friend is polite and a good kid. That same weekend, the oldest girl’s best friend and four of HER friends came down for a visit. PANDEMONIUM. Beer pong table. Vodka stored in my freezer. And I found out that two of the guys that were in my house were Facebook friends of the best friend. She’d never even met them before. I HAD STRANGERS SLEEPING IN MY HOME!!!!!!!

Needless to say---no sleep for me. And it will NEVER happen again.

The latest thing to happen? The AC went out. I had NO AC for two days. It was NOT fun and I ended up with a really bad rash due to the boot I’m wearing for my ankle.

So, do I like where I’m living? Did I make the right decision? HELL YEAH!!!! I love it here.  Am I writing? Not yet. I am editing some, though. Because of my ankle, my time at the desktop is limited. My foot hurts if I don’t keep it up above hip level and I can’t do that because it hurts my back. Sighhh…

And I can’t walk on the beach because of the ankle either. But that’s okay. The ankle will heal and I’ll be on the beach soon enough. Unless I break the other ankle, that is.

Wish me luck. I think I need it.