Monthly Archives: January 2012
The House That Has No 90 Degree Corners
My House it has no 90 degree corners
90 degree corners have not my house
If my house had 90 degree corners
It would not be my house.
When I was house shopping I knew what I wanted. I wanted a house with character. I wanted gorgeous molding, built-ins, original hardwood floors, quaint rooms with sloping ceilings and side attics. I got all that, plus a traditional old gas lamp on the walkway and so much more. A stair case so narrow and steep we had to tear my double bed sized box spring apart and rebuild it in the room to get it up the stairs and a dining room floor that looks like its been through a war zone with hundreds of holes after being covered over in three separate layers that were nailed and stapled down for the past four or more decades. But its most recently significant charm, is with all the lovely so-called classic lines comes the classic . . . no longer holding their line, lines.
My humble abode is a lovely 1922 one and a half story bungalow. Anyone of you who has ever lived in a house that has hit or is nearing the century mark, you know the extra challenges that brings. All building settle over time. And my home sweet home has been settling itself for 90 years.
Her floors slope, the new windows, level with the ground, are not framed parallel to the crown molding, the door to the shoe closet sticks and needs to be filed down . . . again. . . and furniture needs to be shimmed in order to keep from wobbling. But all this has been part of her charm, fixed in a blink of an eye or ignored having no major consequence . . . until I needed to put doors up.
I remember my brother rebuilding the closet in the spare room downstairs for me before I took in my first tenant down there about a year ago. He ripped the frame out, added 6 inches and reframed the closet doors. The closet in is original size was not deep enough to fit a clothing hanger. I recall his frustration at nothing being square, how nothing lined up. I do not think I truly appreciated it, however. Until those closet doors broke on this same closet and needed replacing.
This should be easy! no problem. Like an idiot I had visions of waltzing into my local big box hardware store and walking out with affordable stock doors that would not only fit, but would be easily installed same day. What made this journey even more hysterical is I decided this was a good time to go shopping for the door I wanted to put in at the top of the basement stairs. HA!
I went in armed with my measurements (not mine, the doors’) and my ever capable and way too good to me father. His trunk is bigger than mine (his car’s). Quickly I came to realize that they only stocked 80″ doors. Closet or otherwise. There were not stock sizes in 1922. But this was okay for the closet doors. The flush bi-folds we were able to cut down to size, put the knobs wherever we wanted. They did not give us grief until putting them up in the track. The two doors would not meet up at the top, or where they closed . . . one door refused to close. It took us two days to do this simple project. Taking the door off, adjusting, putting them back up, and repeating for hours on end. And we were forced to deal with idiocy not of my crooked house’s making. Two doors, same company, same exact style, with unmatching hardware, and not even the right hardware.
But the true major project still lies ahead. Looming. Scary. The door to the basement. If we were to put in a stock prehung door, we would have to cut the thing down to size, and wind up with a door handle at our knees. But the width of the jam would be way off and would look really stupid. Like the door handle at knee level wouldn’t look stupid enough. Jams back then, as mine are, were 51/4″ vs the 41/2″ they are now. Too bad since a prehung door can cost as little as $40 on sale. With door knobs and trim, this would fit nicely into my broke-ass budget.
We could have the prehung door custom ordered to fit the hole. A great option . . . if you have $200 available, and more after doorknob and trim. $200 hundred dollars? to make the same thing that costs forty, WITH LESS WOOD? And with one more drawback that either prehung option presents. These framed portals come with standard 90 degree corners. To fit in nice square places. I do not have a nice square place . . . Forcing a prehung door into too off of a space could fracture the joints, and may just be plain not doable.
So we are left with the old fashioned option number three. Buy a door, build the frame to fit. An in between cost of about $100. But a hell of a lot more work than I really want to put in . . . or rather want to ask help with.
Ah . . . the joys of old home ownership. Stay tuned for the future drama of project basement door!
No Synonym For No
I read an article not too long ago about how men are genetically designed to be persistent in their hunt toward mating. That the drive to spread their seed has produced the idiot at the bar, the mall, the office, the coffee shop, with the relentless, constant approach. The idea being its a numbers game. He knows he’s going to get turned down, but the more he asks, the greater his chances get for actually landing what he’s fishing for. If a dude has a .1 percent chance, all he has to do is approach 1,000 females and he’ll land one of them. So they do.
Or they’ll just ask the same woman 1,000 times. Same logic right?
Not on this side of the fence.
Over the years I have found myself in uncomfortable situations, having to wriggle out of an inappropriate situation or gently turn someone down. There are some that believe that this is just the fate of being female. As a female my logic in my methods in turning these men down seem very sound. I have three ways of handling the situation.
1) Logically outline how the situation is not feasible. Maybe you work together or he’s married or engaged to someone else (this is my favorite in the long line of inappropriate male attention), or maybe he’s Persian and lives with his family in Iran, just to name a few that I know of from experience. No matter what you say, you will be agreed with that, yes, these things are in fact true. Cannot be argued otherwise. However, for some reason, these things are not obstacles to men. Hey if things work out, the job is worth the risk, the other woman can be gotten rid of, or I would be happy all the days of my life being pampered like a princess in some foreign hostile land halfway around the globe from everything I know and love. And when you try to explain how these things are not appealing to you and that you completely disagree, they simply tell you you are wrong, or that they can change your mind. NOW you say no. But you are saying no to how you will never change your mind, and men know such few things about women, what they do know they hold on to as sacred law: women always change their minds. So now, you have presented both hope and a challenge.
2) Directing their attention to another woman. “Maybe you should ask Mary out.” or “whatever happened between you and Ann, maybe you should give it another try.” Man, is this the worst possible approach. For the longest time I thought it was solid. Just veer his attention elsewhere. Set him up with someone else and get him off your back. Why this does not work: by presenting the option of another woman being interested you have now unwittingly shown you believe he is worthy and attractive.
3) Putting it on myself. “This is not a good time in my life right now.” Job, just broke up, health, school, mother on the death bed, whatever the reason, you do not have time for that right now. And probably that’s true. But let’s be very honest with ourselves, ladies: if the right man came waltzing in to your chaotic life and asked to join it, you’d probably make room. Well . . . most of us would. I have to admit, I probably would miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. I am the girl who turned down a date with her high school heart throb because of an anatomy test she needed to study for. And the girl who tried to shake the guy that ended up being her so-called college boyfriend because she didn’t feel she could get him “scheduled in.” He was very arrogant and persistent and made a reasonable argument for giving it a try. But I was entirely annoyed at first. And that does NOT condone the continued persistence of others.
But back to my point with number three. I am always honest, sincere, and I think, firm, in this approach. But thinking like a woman, trying to keep from making a scene or hurting anyone’s feelings, kept me from saying the words that needed to be said: No. Not Now. Not Ever.
I have to add the not ever bit, because you might sell them on the not now, but now is only right now. Tomorrow things could be different! So . . . in a week, a month, 6 months, it always comes back to bite you in the ass. Even if it is a situation that the possibility is there, never say its a possibility. Never hint it. Never give hope. You just turned a pesky situation into a bloody never ending nightmare.
I cannot count the times I ask the question: “Why can’t men just take a hint?” To me I have said it loud and clear and they still are not getting the message. Well . . . there isn’t anything wrong with men (in this instance). The fault does not lie on them. I can’t spend my entire life waiting for the male race to wake up and “get it”. I need to change my behavior, and my words, to get my message across.
I was manhandled by a gentleman tonight. An acquaintance. I had made the mistake in hoping I had made things clear previously. But clearly had not. In one evening I used all three tactics and watched them fail before my very eyes. I even flat out said “just friends”, but that probably falls into hope and the ‘females change their minds’ category. After trying to lay things out gently I was manhandled. He was not abusive or forceful beyond my capable deterring hands, but it was embarrassing and uncomfortable to be paid attention to in such a manner that was unwarranted and unwanted.
Embarrassing and uncomfortable for me. Not for him. Never again. Next time I will not attempt to spare the feelings of another and risk the comfort and safety of myself. Next time the words “Brian, I have no interest in you. Not now. Not ever” will come boldly forward. Of corse it won’t be this Brian. I will never see him again. The next man who tries to embrace me against my will, will more than likely get punched in the face. I will have already said no and if “no” isn’t clear enough, maybe THAT will send the message.
The Magic Box of the Lost and Forgotten
I was moving things around in the office today trying to make room for furniture that came up from the basement that is just lying around the dining room waiting for a place to go. The book shelves came up and I pulled over the boxes of books and movies and started to fill the bookshelves. At the bottom of this pile of boxes I find a magic box . . . labeled “office/papers.”
Being in the office its in the right place, but I have no idea what is in this box! I do not recall seeing this box before. I have undoubtedly pushed it and carried it around this house a few times over the past few years . . . but have I ever looked inside it?
Now incase I need to remind some of you, the accident that gave me my brain injury occurred just hours before the move into my house. I not only moved while concussed, I do not remember the entire month following . . . so I unpacked concussed . . . . . and it is quite possible that there may have been some last minute concussed packing.
Thus this box that I know absolutely nothing about.
Low and behold this box contains a lot of stuff!!! Some of which I have been looking for! This was exciting. I found my closing paperwork for the house for which I spent the first 6 months of last year searching. I found the abstract for the property which was handed over from the previous owner. Found a clip board with working repair lists for the house, one marked “Post Purchase”. I found to do lists and notebooks, folders and schedules for multiple Local Charm stores . . . A folder full of training docs and store info for the then new Baton Rouge location where I spent January and part of February of 09 training their new management and staff. And a folder of all the faxed paperwork for the purchase of the house I was trying to navigate long distance.
And pictures . . . some really neat pictures . . . along with really great cards and memorabilia.
This was my desk. This box was full of everything that was on the roll top desk, and in the top right hand drawer. And here its been all the this time.
I am struck by the silliness of a box that had gone “missing” and finally pops up after nearly three years . . . . I am struck at my former self’s masterful ability to multitask and keep organized. I am struck by the dreams on the lists regarding all the work I wanted to do to the house . . . . things that obviously never got done. I am struck by the discord in my sense of time. . . . How these last three years have been so quick and sudden, a blink, making it seem like this box was my yesterday . And how these last three years have also been vast and endless, a bubble, making my pre-conk life seem so far from where I am now. Most intensely, I am struck by the feeling of going through someone else’s things. Private papers and memories that belong to someone else.
I am not sure if that feeling is a healthy one or not, or perhaps its just natural. I am saddened by my loss tonight. After hours of shredding, recycling, and sorting, I feel like I have just gone through a box of paperwork belonging to someone who is deceased. Cleaning up, deciding what to keep and what to throw. In many ways, that’s exactly what it was like.
I am pleased to have found the box and the important documents and other lost and forgotten things that were inside. I am grateful to be able to have the ability to remember that life, and those things; grateful to have my long term memory. I am also honored to have not only known that amazingly organized, multitasking, home buying, traveling professional, I got to be her. If only for a little while. That was pretty cool. It was a good life. I loved that life. I was very blessed.
Now its time to go be someone else . . . . an opportunity for which I am also blessed. . . . for it easily could have been someone else going through that box tonight.
theidiocyofamandajarvis 