Back from vacation, if you want to call flying to Denver, running a 10k, buying furniture, closing on a house, and flying back for Chris’s allergy graduation “vacation.” We now own a house, which is beyond cool. It’s also beyond anxiety-producing, because I’ve got workmen tramping through there all willy-nilly without me being around to say things like “don’t wear muddy boots on the carpet” and “stop hiding dead bodies in all of our crawlspaces.”
There are FOUR different crawlspace areas in the house, and I’m a proponent of locking them all up, boarding over them with drywall, and pretending they don’t exist. Crawlspaces are just havens for spiders and places for hiding victims, if you ask me. They terrify me. The house has about a zillion finished square feet, so WTF do I need 500 additional square feet of unfinished doom-holes?? Can’t I store my Christmas decorations in a spare bedroom or something? Nightmares.
Plus, we only had about three hours after our closing to pick out paint colors, get bids on the ductwork for a ventilation system in the kitchen, and play “imagine the furniture layout.” This is NOT enough time to do those things.
Then we had to fly home on a teensy plane that was bashed around so much by rogue air pockets that I think I may be suffering from shaken baby syndrome. Still. OH! And when we were taking off, I decided to help myself get over my paralyzing fear of flying by looking out the window the entire time during takeoff. Yes, I still had a small amount of valium Irish-jigging around my bloodstream, but it was a big step. Exposure therapy, I reasoned. And it would be no big deal, and I could stop burying my face into my own crotch during every single takeoff. Solutions!
As it turns out, this was a poor idea. As we took off, we made a sharp right. I started to imagine the plane crashing and burning…right as we flew over (I am so not bullshitting you here) a “test crash” plane site. The little tester plane was burnt to a crisp, and had burnt the surrounding field for quite a distance. One of the wings was broken off and laying about three feet from the rest of the body. I asked Chris to confirm that there was a plane wreck about 100 feet below our current plane window. He agreed, and then started to laugh and say “well, they have to practice somehow.”
To further our comedy of errors, we returned home to find that I had defrosted some ground chicken a week and a half ago, and had forgotten about it in the fridge. I NEVER leave the house without cleaning the fridge, but had just overlooked it this one time. Stink. Filth. Pestilence. It was gross. The refrigerator got thoroughly emptied, disassembled, scrubbed, dried, and restocked. We were out of dairy anyway, which meant I got to go to WhoFo after the farmer’s market and get our final batch of dairy for this house. All at once. I LOVE getting all new dairy at the same time. It makes the refrigerator look so new and fresh.
I do weird shit like this all the time. I like to organize my pantry and take pictures of it. I unload all of my farmer’s market items and take pictures of them before I put them away, too. If I were still in school, I’d do it with my school supplies. I’m like a friggin’ magpie who will only collect new string. Kind of a neophile, maybe, but without the revolutionary obsessions.
Two things to spot-
1– the expiration on these items is for the week we leave Texas FOREVER
2– there are definitely the makings for another round of burrata
I’ll post a recipe for some really easy, fantastic, vegetarian Mexican soup later today, but I wanted to show off my dairy and tell you about my harrowing past week.
Try to feel bad for me. If you can’t muster pity, at least share my fear of crawlspaces.