Housepocalypse 2013

So someone is out at our house today to “fix our air conditioning.”

The Expert and I laughed out loud when our landlord maintenance company told us this.  As if.  It’s going on three weeks that we’ve been in this house with a broken air conditioner. Now, we’re comfortable finally because the dear Expert found some portable air units and has de-pested the house which also seems to  be helping with the air quality and weird smell of the place.

But we are calling it “Housepocalpyse.” Well, because it is.

I came home on Tuesday to an upstairs tub, running full blast.

We could not turn it  (nor the main water) off.  Luckily, the drain in the tub worked well. Otherwise, I can’t even think about it.

Good thing we have learned not to rely on this crappy maintenance company (we called an emergency plumber who showed up around 11 pm). Our landlord sent out  a plumber the next day at 3:00 in the afternoon.  #fail

Then on Wednesday, I came home to find out that the washer was disconnected by the plumber who was fixing the upstairs tub. Which was interesting, because the washer was the one thing working in the bloody house.

Oh, and a massive hole in the drywall upstairs.

And a kitchen sink with missing pipes.

And a broken dishwasher.

And no plumber anywhere in sight.

The plumber did eventually show up again…. and seemed to have fixed everything.

Until we took a shower, and discovered that he somehow reversed the hot and cold water lines.  Must remember to wash clothes on “HOT” in order to have lukewarm water; must remember to wash on “WARM” for super cold.   And forget about bathing kids in this.  Let’s go to the gym and all bathe there…

And a few hours later, the sink was leaking again.

Neither of us will touch the Niagara Falls Tub, which is supposedly fixed.  Ha. Let’s experiment!

This cable bill was a real shock to the system.  (Thanks for the fifty-cent discount, Comcast.  That was a real help.)

And we received this gem of a water bill. Which I could understand if we had a swimming pool.  (Maybe we do. Expert, have you checked the basement??)

But really, the thing that takes the cake (mmmm, cake) in this whole Housepocalypse is not the missing air conditioning in Georgia in July (going on THREE weeks), nor Niagara Falls Tub, nor the Billpocalypse that has happened…

It’s the electrical system.

Only half the outlets work.  The other half that do work, only work half of the time. 

Oh, and our kitchen light has a mind of its own.  Well, we have two kitchen lights:  the one which is overhead, has never worked. This is Lazy Kitchen Light.  The other light over the table, Bastard Kitchen Light, decides when it will work, and when it won’t.  Flip the switch – sometimes yes.  Flip the switch – most of the time no.  We have resolved to leaving it on all the time. Once you turn it off, then there’s no tellin’.

And apparently, Lazy Kitchen Light talked to his buddies, Bastard Kitchen Light and Stinky Laundry Room Light, and they allllllll decided to go on strike.

Friday and Saturday night, we had no working lights in the back of the house.

“Guess we’ll go out to dinner.”

“And play Jenga.”  (Swim Bike Boy is a little of a sore loser. It’s okay. He comes by it honestly.)

As we were playing Jenga, the Expert looks up and realizes that the reason our living room fan won’t work ….is because someone appears to have painted it. All over. It’s spray-painted off. 

Sigh.

Someone please bring me a fish sandwich.

Oh, wait! 

Nope, I forgot THE thing that takes the Housepocalypse cake.  Ohhhhhh, this is good.

So the Expert and I are upstairs in the master bedroom on Saturday night, and I’m turning on Despicable Me for me for the kids, and I hear a noise directly above my head.  The Expert starts talking animated-like, and loud.   I hear it again.  It sounds like a baby ostrich.  But then it’s tappy… like there are hooves.

“What is that sound?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t hear anything,” the Expert says.  He’s trying to cover it up.  Like I don’t hear the feet.  The walking sounds above my head.  The slow moving walking sounds in our freaking attic.  That sounded like a baby hippo.

“WHAT is that?”

“Shhhhhhh!!!!” he says, pointing to the kids.

Some guttural noise comes out of my mouth and then, “It’s NOT the kids!”  A baby dinosaur?

“No, I know. But be quiet!!!! Don’t get them riled up.”

“OMG. $&^#.”

I take a deep breath.  We have a baby mountain lion in our attic. Holy lawd.

He whispered, “I heard it last night, too.”

“OH MY… FREAKING great!!!!”  I wail.

A baby hawk, in our attic. 

[Enter Nutella and Filet-o-Fish and Wine. Lots of both.]

So that was Saturday night.

I sent one of my token, lawyerly, strongly worded emails on Sunday morning.  But what do we know from our esteemed maintenance company?  Nothing.

The status of the Swim Bike Houspocalypse is:  no air conditioning, a baby zebra in our attic, ghost electricity, fleas and spiders (oh wait, no the Expert fixed that last week), and a plumbing problem.

Well, stop complaining and just move! I can hear some of you say.  Ha. Never mind the back-breaking work that moving is… but the expense…the terrible ATL rental market… (we just aren’t ready to buy a house here yet)…. the time off work… the headaches… and we just moved four months ago, which is now 12 (?) times in 15 years.  It’s too soon. We are worn slap out.

But we’re giving ourselves until the end of the month before we start losing our minds and planning an escape route.

Until then… the Expert is back on the workout track  (read his post from today here).  I’m doing okay with everything.  Completing about 2-4 workouts a week since the race. I’m still surprisingly sore when I run. My hips are not great, but I’m ready to focus again.

But my stress-food intake has been massive since Ironman CDA, and I have gained 10 pounds. But I’m okay with that. I know how to take it off (do I? ha)… and I am ready to get back on track.

It’s frustratingly hard to keep control of workouts and remain calm when a housing situation consists of a baby wildebeest in your attic.  A baby horse (which I want to feed so it doesn’t die and start to rot in our non-air conditioned attic)…

Sigh.

Tomorrow starts the official training (as in the Monster is back on my back) for Ironman 70.3 Augusta.  10 weeks.  Back on it.

Just Keep Moving (with a baby tiger) Forward.