There’s something ‘wrong’ with every house that we like – or so it seems. For example:

The street is really busy!

It’s near a landfill (that’s been decommissioned and made into a really lovely park)!

The electrical work will likely cause a fire-y inferno in which we’ll all perish on the first night there!

There’s a load-bearing wall missing and the upper floor is sagging!

The exterior is hideous and needs a zillion dollars in work!

It’s so close to the neighbour’s property that I could step over the railing on the deck and onto the neighbour’s deck!

It’s too close to hydro power lines!

It’s too expensive!

The location is so far away from everything that we’d spend all our time driving!

We might get murdered living there!

The apartment building down the street looks like somewhere all of my clients are currently living!

.. good lord.

My blog has received a HUGE number of search hits for “what does the carpet doesn’t match the drapes mean?” and “carpet doesn’t match the drapes meaning”.

Since I’m all about being helpful: it means that the hair on someone’s head (the drapes) doesn’t match their pubic hair (the carpet).

When someone points out my pink/purple hair and asks if the carpet matches the drapes, they’re either pointing out the obvious fact that I dye my hair or they’re asking whether I dye all of my hair. Hint hint, wink wink, and all that.

And, in case you’re curious, the only appropriate response to the question is to roll one’s eyes.

Yesterday I actually allowed myself to ponder the idea of buying a minivan.

I can’t even describe the amount of work we’ve done this weekend; most of the big effort was Coffee’s while I puttered around complaining about being tired and sore. The fun isn’t over, though. I’m still off from work for another day (supervising drywall work and some trim work and meeting with a landscaper to get an estimate) and Coffee will be off later this week for a bit.

We’ll plow through the rest of our list. It’ll get done.

Next week the painters will be starting and, after that, there’s really nothing left but the last little touches. Carpet cleaning. Window scrubbing. Landscaping, if we haven’t found someone to do it for a reasonable price (oh, please, god, let us find someone who’ll do it for a reasonable price!)

So, with all of that said and done, today I decided that I don’t want to move.

Coffee looked at me, silently, then asked why. I told him.

Then he told me that I’ve got PMS.

Huh. There’s a pretty decent chance that he’s right. He’s pretty much always right about that.

So, I continued to put stuff into boxes and I mowed the lawn and I did some laundry and we ate pizza for dinner.

And now I think I want to move again.

It is mutherfucking hot outside.

What the fucking fuck is THAT about?

A few days ago, I was parked-in at an outreach location. This is nothing new; I often find myself trying to leave at the end of my time there and end up running around trying to find the owner of the grey Mazda or the beige Camry or whatnot.

The parking lot situation is such that there are two rows of cars – and those that arrive there first are at the mercy of those who arrived later. Some days are better than others but, generally, I can’t leave the place without asking someone else to move their car first. Sometimes this makes me ridiculously late for other things that I need to do.

On this particular occasion, however, I was trapped on all sides. The biggest offender was a cargo van whose owner had long-since left the premises for “a meeting” and would be returning late in the afternoon.

I couldn’t wait.

One of the other outreach workers came and moved her car, another came down and moved his, and then I was tasked with doing the “car shuffle” – a complex move involving a lot of forward-reverse-forward-reverse action that makes me crazy-nervous. I usually ask (jokingly) whether anyone wants to help me lift the car(s) that blocks me in and, generally, the response is that they’d totally help me if they had a bit of PCP first. Valid point. Let’s not do that, ok?

When I’m parked in, the intoxicated population in the parking lot always finds the extrication process to be completely hilarious. Me, in my car, driving forward, turning the wheel, driving backward, turning the wheel, driving forward, slowly making my way to a position where I can back out. There are two guys, in particular, who are always happy to help me with hand-signals to direct me out of the space.

On this particular day, I attempted to move my car, with my window down so I could hear the directions of one of the guys in the alleyway. But his attempts were covered over by the shouts of the peanut gallery – a bunch of people shouting over him, yelling opposing directions, cat-calling and jeering.

Finally, frustrated, I got out and asked one of the people who was attempting to help me if he could drive stick. He nodded. I asked him to please just get my car out for me. He did. Quickly, too. Forward-back-forward-back..done!

When he got back out of the car, I thanked him profusely and drove off to get on with my delayed afternoon tasks.

The guy who helped me isn’t a client of mine – but he’s someone who uses the services at this particular outreach location. He’s got a lot of shit stacked against him (much of which he’ll happily admit is his own doing and a lot which isn’t). He’s heavily involved in a few illegal activities, been arrested a number of times, and has a violent temper. I only know a tiny bit of his life story.

At the same time, he’s one of the nicest guys. In the winter, he clears the snow from my car (and lectures me about the importance of this activity). He offers to carry stuff for me in the mornings. He cracks highly inappropriate jokes.

He’s part of the reason that I believe in the general goodness of humanity. I know how big that sounds, but it’s true. Some of my favourite work-related people (clients or otherwise) are those who are the scariest on paper.

This is why I am blessed. I am blessed to see the other side – the caring, kind side. And sometimes I get burnt, yes, but mostly I exist in a beautiful space of kindness.