Up to My Eyeballs in Boxes

We have less than two weeks left before we leave Las Vegas. My house is in a state of controlled chaos. We have a lot of stuff packed, and a lot of stuff not packed.

Then there’s my energy level. I’ve been on the edge for a few weeks now, and I have a few weeks left before we get back to a sense of normalcy. I’m still working (last day is this Friday) and I feel like I’ve had very little, if any, time to relax. But this move is a good thing.

We’ve been taking loads of stuff to donation centers every weekend.

We will be close to my family and not so alone anymore.

We will get a fresh start, which after the past few years, is sorely needed.

But first, there’s a lot more stuff that still needs to be boxed up.

Moving Is Exhausting

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Mister and I have been busy packing everything away and getting ready to schlep it all across this great country of ours. The picture above is the back half of our living room. The bookcases are empty, over a dozen boxes of book are piled up in the garage, and we started in on the kitchen last night.

By the way, books are heavy. I’m glad that we’ll have my young, strong nephew coming to help us load it all into the truck.

We took all the decorations down from the tops of the cabinets last night. What a huge difference that made in making the place look packed up! Today we’re going to pack up all the low-priority items in the kitchen. We have a ton of kitchen stuff, and we can do without a lot of it for the next few weeks.

Few weeks. We have less than a month to go – 28 days to be exact! And I have just 3 short weeks of work left.

Next weekend, we have a friend coming to visit us from California before we take off for the east coast, so the guest room needs to stay intact for the time being. But we did take out pretty much all the decor and furniture, so all that’s left in there is the bed and a nightstand. As soon as she leaves, that stuff gets disassembled.

We’ve spent a lot of our free time packing (when we weren’t being sick – both of us got some sort of fast-acting plague over the past week), and there’s lots more to be done. Not to mention a few craft projects that I need to finish up before packing up my crafty supplies. It’s gonna be a busy and exhausting few weeks!

Pack All The Things

Over the holidays, I had a ton of time off so Mister and I used that to our advantage to start organizing, decluttering, and packing. Our Leaving Las Vegas date is just under 6 weeks away, and we still have a lot to do, but we’ve also made a lot of progress.

A lot of the issues that I’ve had with clutter is that when we moved in together, I had a very hard time integrating our stuff. At first, a lot of my stuff was in boxes in the garage because I moved into Mister’s one bedroom apartment, and I felt weird moving in and declaring all of his stuff as ours. Then, when we moved house, I finally got to open those boxes, but the storage situation in this house kind of sucks, and things just got shoved wherever they could be put away. Not the most effective solution. I still clung tightly to that “mine” and “yours” attitude regarding our stuff, and in some ways, I think Mister did too. Either way, we just dealt with a lot of stuff by not dealing with it.

Now we come to where we are packing to move cross country, and we have to decide if we really want to move this stuff. We’ve already made multiple trips to donation centers and thrown a lot of stuff away. We still have a ways to go, but this decluttering feels good.

We’ve also made decisions about some furniture. I brought into the household a bunch of modular cabinets. Some of them you’ve seen before (here and here), but they haven’t had a proper purpose since Mister and I moved in together. They’ve just been extra places to shove stuff. So, they go. We’ll have to find some more storage, but it will be more effective and something that we both like, since neither one of us is really fond of the blonde wood.

We also made the decision to get rid of our desks. Remember when I showed you my desk? Mister and I both have the same desk – a slick glass desk with an extra shelf on it. It’s never been my favorite, but Mister insisted that with two desks in a small room, glass would be better because it would visually open things up. It’s a great theory, until you start piling lots of crap on your desk. Then it doesn’t matter what it’s made out of, the room just ends up looking cluttered and small. So we talked about it, and rather than risk moving two glass desks that we’re not fond of, we’re going to do something like this:


One long desk, and rather than the sweet $1 cabinets that John and Sherry used, we’ll use stair newel posts as supports, and use furniture we already have and love for storage underneath, like my aqua file cabinet and other small items like that. Then we won’t have our backs to each other, we’ll have a surface space that we can get better use out of, and we can use the wall behind us for bookshelves and have ourselves a proper looking office rather than a clutter cave.

So that’s where we’re at right now. Office and garage are partially decluttered, plans to declutter furniture right before we leave are in place, and we still have a ton of packing to do. I guess you all know what I’ll be doing for the next 6 weekends!

For Sale

Our house is for sale. We’re moving, but I don’t know where to just yet.

How our house got on the market is a long, drawn-out story, so I’ll give you the condensed version here. It involves the drama that I mentioned way back when.

April 2008 – We bought a house.

Early December 2008 – Mister is hurt at work. He informs his boss, sees his doctor, and keeps trying to work through the pain.

Long story short, Mister was fired while out on Worker’s comp. We got an attorney, are not pursuing the wrongful termination since it would cost a fortune and not have a very good return on investment, but are still, two and a half years later, litigating the the WC case. We’ve had to fight for every single benefit that Mister has received, and we’ve gone a long time on just my income.

When we bought the house, we were well within our budget. We paid just under $200K for our home, and we qualified for about $300K. We got a 30 year conventional, fixed rate mortgage with a good interest rate. But Mister made more than twice what I do, so paying the mortgage depended largely on his income. If the tables were turned and I was the one without an income, we’d still have no troubles paying it. But that’s not what happened.

We had a decent amount in savings, but over the next year we wiped that out trying to keep up with the payments and hoping that the WC case would get resolved. In May 2010, we stopped paying. We didn’t have a choice. My income allows us to pay all the other bills, but the mortgage payment is about 70% of my take-home pay. It was either/or, and we decided to keep up with everything else instead. Because of his injury, Mister wasn’t eligible for unemployment, since he’s unable to look for work that he has traditionally done.

We don’t have any other debt at this point. Our cars are paid off – my car is a 2005 Ford Focus, and Mister drives a early 90′s pickup truck. The credit cards are also paid off, so we only have living expenses. We don’t live extravagantly and don’t feel the need to have the latest and greatest.

We got our foreclosure notice, met with a different attorney who could walk us through the state’s mediation program, filed our request for mediation in early November 2010, and waited. Then we waited some more.

We finally went to mediation this week. Basically it’s just us and the bank at the table, along with a mediator, to try to work out an agreement. Since my income won’t support much of a mortgage payment at all, and Mister is still dealing with the WC case (he just had back surgery in May), we weren’t eligible for a reduced interest rate or principle reduction. So we’re doing a short sale.

It’s all just a matter of circumstance. The house is worth over $100K less than we bought it for. We did all the right things when we bought it, we tried hard to keep up with the payments, but we just don’t have the income right now. This is the sort of thing that could happen to anyone, regardless of the state of the economy. Heck, if the economy was good we’d have been able to sell the house, at worst broken even, and found something more affordable, all while keeping our good credit scores. But it didn’t happen that way.

The last 2 1/2 years have been stressful, to say the least, and it’s not over yet. Though I’m not sure how much more I can take without breaking.

Locked Out

This past weekend (when we weren’t being lazy), Mister and I bought a doggie door for Greta so she can let herself out at will. It’s the kind that installs into an existing sliding door, and Mister put it in since he’s better at that sort of thing than I am.

Instead of installing the latch, Mister made a new hole for the security latch at the bottom of the door. I didn’t even know we had it, but now that I did, it was giving me trouble. Mister showed me how it worked, but it just didn’t like me. First, I couldn’t get it unlocked. Then I couldn’t lock it back up. It’s no secret that simple mechanical devices don’t like me, but I should have mastered this.

Monday morning, after I got ready for work I went to take Greta out one last time before leaving for the day. While she likes her doggie door (so long as the flap isn’t down – she’s still afraid of the flap), she still much prefers me to go out with her. I went out the human door, closed it, and encouraged Greta to do her thing. She sniffed a few rocks and went back into the house through her door. I tried to follow.

When I tried to open the slider to get back in the house, it didn’t move. At first I thought that the weatherstripping fell down again, but I should have been able to push that out of the way to open the door. This wasn’t weatherstripping. This was very stuck at the bottom. It was the security latch. Somehow it had locked itself after I went out the door.

So there I was, ready to go to work, locked out of the house. The garage door was closed, the front door and slider were locked, as were all the windows. Mister was upstairs sleeping, and my car keys and phone were on the counter, way out of reach since my arms aren’t 12 feet long.

I stuck my head through the doggie door, but since Greta isn’t a huge dog, there was no way I was going to fit through it. I called for Greta, who came over, licked my face, pointed and laughed, and walked away. I stood up again, trying to figure out what to do.

I decided to go to the front door and ring the doorbell. I figured if I rang it enough times, Mister would hear it, get pissed off, and answer the door in a huff. I started ringing the doorbell with an incessant determination. I also found out that my dog doesn’t make a fuss when the doorbell rings. Figures. The one time ever I want her to bark like a maniac, and she goes back upstairs to go to sleep.

Twenty minutes of doorbell ringing and pounding on the door failed to wake Mister, so I gave up on that. I thought about throwing rocks at the bedroom window, but I figured that with my aim, I’d either miss the house entirely or break a neighbor’s window, so I nixed that idea. I started wondering if I could figure out enough about the electrical systems to go to the main wiring into the house and set off the fire alarm, since that would be sure to wake Mister, but since I spent half my childhood being very afraid of the simple act of plugging and unplugging things, I wasn’t going to master this task in a reasonable amount of time.

I turned to simpler solutions. I stuck my head in the doggie door and started calling for help. I yelled as loud as I could, calling Mister’s name and yelling that I needed help, but again, he didn’t wake up. By this time I was late for work, and my husband was happily snoring away, probably having lovely dreams about doorbells.

Finally, I remembered something – the whole doggie door panel. It was spring loaded. It wasn’t screwed in. It should work – it had to work. I wedged the slider open as far as I could to get a bit of room on the top for my fingers, and was able to get the doggie door out and squeeze my fat ass into the house. I leaned the doggie door against the wall, closed the slider all the way, and went upstairs.

Greta was excited that I was home – she always gets excited when I come back home, no matter how long I’ve been gone. I went into the bedroom, and Greta enthusiastically followed and jumped on the bed. I walked around to Mister’s side of the bed, and Greta jumped on the big lump to get closer to me. That’s what finally woke him up – a 14lb dog jumping on him.

I told him my saga, and told him that he can put the doggie door back in. Since there was a security flaw with the previous installation, he put it in more securely this time. He pointed and laughed at me, then kissed me and sent me on my way to work, 45 minutes late. Yep, I was outside for about 40 minutes trying to get back into my house.

The stupid latch still hates me, but now I just don’t close the door all the way when I’m outside. I don’t want to go through that again.