Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Middle School Open House

Yesterday was the Open House for Sugar’s new school. She enters fifth grade next week and therefore moves on to the middle school. They seem a little young to be moving in with the ‘big kids,’ but they are kept in an area of the school that is completely separate from the rest of the kids. I know my baby will be ok.

Sugar spent the night before at BFFL’s house, so I arranged with her mother to meet right at the school. I talked to Sugar during the evening to remind her that I would be there and to ask if everything was going well at her friend’s house. She told me that she had brought “Soul Surfer” with her so they could watch it together. I said, “BFFL didn’t want to see that movie! Why would you bring it?” I truly hope that she brought the movie to share with her friends because she loves it so much, not because she could force it on her friend after her refusal to come to the movies with us. As it turns out, BFFL, her two sisters and mother all watched the movie and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Spice and I got to the middle school on time and were greeted by Sugar and her friends. They seemed to be getting along quite well. We located her two classrooms and found the teachers to be overwhelmed with other parents, so BFFL’s older sister took us on a tour of the entire school. Sugar seems very excited and thrilled to start school next week.

As she wandered off to reacquaint herself with the friends she hadn’t seen all summer, I was left to deal with the Mommy Mafia and the drama that they bring to the table. Oddly, this time with the mafia didn’t go as it normally did. I didn’t feel excluded or talked down to. For once, I felt like I was part of the mafia myself. We laughed and joked. I told them about the new house and not knowing who Spice’s kindergarten teacher is. They insisted that the information was in the packet I received and *ahem* must not have read. But this time, rather than feeling that they were talking down to me, really being the only full-time working mama in that bunch (and therefore neglecting my kids), I felt as they were sympathizing with this HOLY SHIT LIFE IS CRAZY time.

Maybe my comfort level is higher because Skinny Bitch and I finally have kids in the same school, so we can face the beasts together. Having a sidekick helps. Her daughter went to the other elementary school in town, which both feed into one middle school. Our girls are friends, so I’m hopeful that they will become closer. It seemed like all the kids (and mamas) were from our school, but Skinny Bitch knows many from her girls’ involvement in softball. She got to see the mafia in action when one tried to act like she had never met her before. Skinny Bitch with Brass says, “Oh yes, we’ve met. Our kids played softball together.” Score one for SB, I would have stood there and pretended that I’d never seen her before either.

I wandered back down to the classrooms and got to meet both teachers. I have to say, I love them both. One said, “Oh, I’m so glad you came back… I was eyeballing your purse and wanted to tell you I liked it.” We took a few minutes out of our purse talk to discuss school, but we circled right back to talk about outlets and coupons. I really dig this chick. BFFL’s mom was off to the side, rolling her eyes, “I knew you two would hit it off.”

We had concerns when everyone got their letters assigning classrooms and Sugar didn’t seem to know anyone in her class. She was relieved to see quite a few people yesterday that will be with her. One girl she doesn’t care for at all… she tried to befriend her when this girl was new to town which went well for a short time. Then Sugar invited her to a birthday party and the new girl said she’d only come if she could bring her own friends. Since then, they haven’t spoken much… However, Sugar’s FIRST CRUSH from kindergarten is with her this year. She got all flustered when she saw him come into the classroom. His mother and I just looked at each other and raised our eyebrows. We apparently both remember that he called her Peanut in kindergarten. We both remember that during kindergarten graduation, Sugar looked right at me and said, “Mama, just look at his smile.” I’m grateful that she said it loud enough that we caught it with the video camera. It will be interesting to see if the crush remains or if her taste has changed.

We wandered out to BFFL’s car to collect Sugar’s things and I was pleased to see the daughters in this perfect family having a skirmish. BFLL starts hollering that she had called shotgun, but her older sister sat in the front anyway. As she closed the door to the back seat, her mother said, “Abby’s in the front because she’s my favorite. Bye BFFL!” She slammed the door and looked at me, “You know I’m going to pay dearly for that later.” I replied, “Yeah you will, but it was hilarious.” I truly appreciate and was happy to see another mother navigating though the battlefield armed with nothing more than a sense of humor. Mean mothers unite!

Crazy  times ahead. A new school for Sugar and a new routine. I was thrilled to see her interact with so many kids yesterday, she’s sure to find her spot in the place she will go for the next four years. It was interesting to see how tall all her friends got over the summer. I’m sure Sugar grew too, but she’s still so little compared to her friends. If Smiley Boy still wants to call his kindergarten girlfriend by her old nickname, Peanut still fits. 

Ice Princess

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


My thoughts are muddled and have been for the last week. That should explain the lack of blogging. I just can’t see straight. For a variety of reasons, my thoughts are overwhelmed and all jumbled up and nothing comes out that sounds right.

Last weekend we had a few friends over and some of us over-indulged. Others were smart enough to beat feet out of my house at a reasonable hour. Those that stayed kept their wits about them until we insured that those driving seemed ok, and that the remaining children were bedded down for the night. We then adjusted our virtual party hats to a jauntier angle and delicately sipped our adult beverages at a leisurely pace. Ok, that’s a flat-out lie. We slammed beer like we were teenagers sneaking beers at a kegger. We drank like that day was the last we would live. If we had been lucid enough to find a funnel I’m sure we would have put that to good use.

It was another night when everyone present had their game on. Much fun was had and we all stayed up way past our bedtimes. The sleepover guests slunk out the door around 8 am to do the walk of shame down my driveway. Unfortunately, that meant that Spice was in my face screaming that her friend had left without saying goodbye.

Happily, my belly and my head, while not clear, did not ache. I was impressed with how good I felt until I stood up. Oh my dear God… I am 40 years old, how did I think that STANDING for nine straight hours was a good idea? Let me clarify that: I stood, in the kitchen on tile floors, wearing flip flops for most of that. Then around 11, Ultra and I headed out to the garage to hang out with the boys. I do recall mentioning, and her agreeing that we sit down. I don’t know why we never did, but my body hurt all day Sunday. Even my toes weren’t happy to have been separated for so long. I’ll admit to smirking a bit when my pal texted to see if I ached too… oh yeah… She might be younger and littler, but she’s old too! HA!

We also needed to get moving on school clothes shopping so we hit Old Navy on Sunday afternoon. We bought a few things, but I need to go online today to get more stuff… Online 30% off sale ends today, for those of you not in the know! After that, I think all we have left are supplies, backpacks and shoes. Of course Spice is dying for the Bella Ballerina shoes from Sketchers… because she totally needs a pair of shoes that will help her twirl better. Seriously. I’m hoping to redirect her attention towards the Twinkletoes. I think they’re adorable and if I can’t have them, one of my kids should.  

And then there’s the home buying/selling drama. We had our inspection Saturday which went pretty well. The girls and I stopped by quickly and I nearly died when I saw the house in the bright noontime sunlight. I love a sun-drenched house, hate putting lights on during the day. However, sunlight pouring through all those windows magnified the filth in that house. Nothing is clean. There is a layer of dirt, grime and scum on everything. It truly is gross.

Throughout the week, we have had different issues to discuss, forms to sign, documents to locate and scan…. Meantime we still have our house to sort through and list. I have tomorrow and Friday off to get this done. The girls will be away for part of that time, so I’ll be able to get through their rooms without their assistance and tantrums. If they miss anything, I can totally lie and say it’s packed to go to the new place. By the time we get there, they’ll have forgotten.

If I were to be totally honest, I would admit to the activity that has really been the one keeping me from blogging… It’s a stupid online game that I have become ridiculously hooked on… it’s a Scrabble game that you can play with your Facebook friends. And the kicker? I hate real Scrabble, but now I find myself even dreaming of those stupid letters. I’m such a junkie that last week when I threw down the word “dildo” in a game with EN’s Friday night goalie, I texted the rest of my gaming buddies so they too could be impressed with my dirty girl talk.

I have all these balls in the air, a crazy juggling act. Obviously, the juggling act is made crazier with my fuzzy head, filled with too many plans to make and things to do. I silently thank the Sweet Baby Jesus for helping me see the light on Saturday, knowing that my fuzzy head is as a result of stuff and not alcohol, because I still am never drinking again. 

Ice Princess

Thursday, August 18, 2011


I had an inkling that it wasn’t a good idea to invite the mothers to come see the new house last Friday. However, this is the year of the kinder, gentler Ice Princess and I was in the mood to be nice so I invited them. Reality gave me a dummy smack and I wondered, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?” before we even got to the new house.

I left work early to meet EN at home for lunch before meeting the realtor at the house. EN’s mother showed up nearly an hour early and she came to our house rather than meeting at the new place. Both those moves seemed odd to me, like she was trying to talk to EN when I wasn’t around. If that was her plan, then my presence ruined her day.

We arrived at the house long before my mother did, so Bug got a private tour. My sense of unease grew as I saw the house through her eyes. I felt like every place she looked, she pictured space for herself. She about tripped over herself trying to get to the stairs quickly when EN went into the basement. I didn’t go down with them, but EN later said that he had a similar feeling to mine. She's got a lot of stuff, and that big ol' basement gives her lots of room to spread out!

Throughout the tour she mentioned money and projects repeatedly, “This house is going to take a lot of money! This house will need a lot of work!” Ok, we heard you the first seven times, so stop. We understand the work it will take and the money involved. WE GET IT! This is the third house EN and I have bought together and we aren’t clueless. We dream big, but we are patient and will tackle one job at a time when money and time permit. EN is a great laborer and I’m a fantastic supervisor! Let’s call a spade a spade, I’m not at all mechanically inclined and even watching me paint a wall gives EN a tension headache.

Bug called us on Saturday and talked more about the house and asked more financial questions. She called again today and asked many of the same questions. It’s like she is hinting that the house is too much for us, both financially and work-wise and wouldn’t things be so much easier with her living there and paying rent? She was even bold enough to ask, “What will you do with that room above the garage? You know, that little Spice is so funny. When we were up there she said, ‘Grandma, this could be your room.’” Oh, I’m sorry, hit me with a 2x4, WE CAN’T HEAR YOUR IMPLICATION.

So now I’m miffed. I resent someone prying into my financial business. I resent someone implying that we don’t know what we are doing. This bothers me coming from her especially… she is a financial disaster. Because I don’t like to discuss my financial business, I won’t discuss hers here either, but I will say that she’s had many issues. She’d be one of the last people I would ask for financial advice. If friends want to talk to me about their business, even asking for advice at times, I’ll listen and help the best I can. Making sound financial decisions is something I am good at. I’m proud of my credit rating and lack of credit card debt. I have worked my ass off to get us in that position.

EN texted me about his mom and how he answered her questions. When she asked about the amount we owe on our current house, he said he wasn’t sure because he doesn’t pay the bills. When he mentioned the additional space in the house, I texted him back and said, “Tell her we’re buying two little African babies. There’s no room at the inn.”

Then he told me the “cute” conversation Bug shared about Spice. I told him to pass the message to Spice about the African babies, there won’t be room for her either. And to answer the question, “What will we do with the room above the garage?” It’s already equipped with the Boom Chicka Bench. That room is where EN and I will make sex videos to sell online so we can afford our mortgage.

It’s nunya… none of your business. And if she is going to ask questions that pry into my personal business, she is going to get a wise-ass response. 

Ice Princess

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Potty Talk

I’ll admit that I am a freak about certain things and have funny rules for food, house cleaning and hand washing. Despite what Shannon’s husband thinks, I do not walk around muttering, “Must wash hands” under my breath. Really, I don’t.

There may be piles of junk all over my house, but I keep the bathrooms really clean. There may be dirty laundry on the floor, but the faucet is polished and the sinks and toilets are disinfected regularly. No one will get a case of cooties from my bathroom. If you do, blame Spice. I have no idea what she does in there, but I do make her wash her hands upon exiting.

It is with great disgust that I come to work every day and use the bathroom in our building. Each floor has its own bathroom, so one would think that people would behave appropriately in the bathroom because we all know who’s using it. Not so much in this place. Every day, there are unflushed messes, nests of toilet paper on the floor, water all over the counter tops, graffiti on the stall walls, and the smell… The smell is usually eye watering and more than once I’ve had dry heaves while I attempt to quickly do my own business. Several weeks ago, there was an overwhelming odor of cat urine in the restroom. I’m not sure how that might have happened, who would let a cat come to work with them? I thought perhaps it was my imagination, but I asked three female coworkers and they noticed it too. One said she sniffed her clothes while in the bathroom, concerned that one of her cats peed on what she was wearing.

The building manager recently sent out a memo that all the bathrooms were going to be refurbished, one floor at a time. We might be inconvenienced, we’d have to use restrooms on a different floor when ours was under construction. We were all very excited. In our silly little heads, “remodeled” meant new sinks, toilets, stalls, floors, etc. We dreamed big and hoped for toilets that actually could flush more than one square of toilet paper at a time.

How sad we were when we realized that their idea of remodeling was painting a wall and installing new sinks. Though they have granite countertops, they are still drenched in water so if you lean against the sink when you wash your hands your shirt gets soaked and it looks like your belly button peed. Even worse, the walls are painted green, which clashes with the broken tiles on the floor, new granite and stall doors. Really, who chose this stuff?

We share the floor of this building with a company that seems to employ mostly women, so our bathroom gets a lot of use. Maintenance comes to clean it during the day, but they never bring the power washer they need to rid that place of its filth. Remodeling didn’t make it look any cleaner or smell any better, perhaps they could have saved money and invested in Lysol rather than green paint and granite countertops.

I am intrigued, then, when I go into this shithole (pun intended) and find women hanging out in there. They chat amongst themselves. They apply make-up, brush teeth or pop zits (seriously) at the counter. And yesterday, a lone woman sat in a stall and chatted on her cell phone. Really? You think that’s a good idea? Sitting in this dump, probably while taking one, and talking on your cell? First off, that’s just gross. There’s a line to multi-tasking that should not be crossed…ever. Second, I don’t want to hear your business and super-yuck to you saying “I love you” at the end of your call. Third, where exactly do you put the phone when you wipe? Do I even want to know?

I was so disgusted by the potty-going-cell-phone-talker that I posted something on Facebook about it. Several men on my list commented about “concentrating” while on the throne, multi-tasking while in the bathroom, talking to their *ahem* business… I think about the men that I have seen enter “the office.”  My father, the men I’ve been married to, the men I work with that I watch go out the office door and into the men’s room. At home or at work, I’ve seen guys bring into the bathroom with them: an iPad, cell phone, books, magazines, newspapers. That just ain’t right.

This is the way it should work… Go to the bathroom unarmed-no book, no phone… get in there, do your business and get out. This room is not meant for hanging around, all business in that place. I can’t comprehend why someone would actually want to spend extra time in there.

Meanwhile, as it turns out, Skinny Bitch works for the same company as the gross women who share my floor. She is fortunate that she works from home, so she doesn’t see the impact her coworkers have on public space. I’m encouraging her to offer a training class titled Etiquette in a Workplace Restroom. She hasn’t come through for me yet. 

Ice Princess

Friday, August 12, 2011

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

 I had an opportunity to take a few pictures of the new house today and thought I would share them. Upon closer inspection, we realize that this house will need a major cleaning, some necessary work and a whole lot of cosmetic help.

The Good:
Nice trim in dining room. 

Tray ceiling in master bedroom. Love it!

Family room on first floor. I love all the windows. 

More pretty windows in the dining room. Look to the right
and you'll notice the door  has no trim at all.

Have always wanted wood staircase like this.

The Bad:

Weird cabinet in kitchen. Not sure what it used to be. Spice can
fit inside it. That's all that matters. 

The sink in the master bath. I call her "Peg." 

Tub in master bath. Teensy jacuzzi floating in a sea of cheap plastic.

Not sure where this toilet went. 

Teensy little light in the 20 foot cathedral ceiling. I had to zoom in. 

The Ugly:

The mantle is barely tacked to the wall. Notice there is no fireplace. Yeah, that's sheetrock. Sugar and Spice get to draw a fire on it when we move in.

White carpet in this big room with the weird walls. EN thinks
it was supposed to be church-like. I'm leaning in the
opposite direction.

Window seat covered in maroon carpeting one would find in
a whore's bedroom. I call it the Boom Chicka Boom
Boom Bench. 

Divorcing Hair Girl

There are so many salons in my town that it can be difficult to choose where to go. I’ve gone through several, never being faithful for long. Sooner or later, I’d have a hard time getting an appointment so I’d move on. No big deal.

For the past four years, I’ve gone to the same gal. First, she ran a salon out of her house, then she moved to the same place as Spice’s daycare so it was even closer to home. Since I pay a decent sum for my “fancy highlights” I was delighted to learn that I would get a 10% discount because my child attended the daycare next door, which happens to be run by my stylist’s mother.

She’s been there over a year now and I’ve continued to go there every eight weeks or so. I know everyone that works there, so it was especially frustrating for me that every time I went I would have to ask for the daycare discount. After this long, they should remember me. Second, they have a computer system with all my information, how difficult would it be to put a note in there to give me the discount? I feel like I sound like a cheap bitch, asking for my discount.

Last Saturday I went for my appointment and she did the same cut and color she always does. A few things I don’t like, but whatever… no one is perfect. I went to check out and once again, asked for the daycare discount. Hair Girl says, “Spice isn’t at the daycare anymore. You are no longer eligible for the discount.” I said, “Oh, everything your mother ever sent out about the salon said that alumni were eligible too.” She then stated that she asked her mother repeatedly to take off “alumni” because they aren’t eligible. Ok, fine. Now I look like a cheap bitch asking for a discount that I’m not entitled to.

I fumed inwardly while writing out my check. I was humiliated to be talked to like that in front of the receptionist and another client. Thank you Hair Girl for being so loud. I am further pissed off at myself because it didn’t occur to me to not tip her. I mean, isn’t that proper etiquette? The owner of the salon doesn’t get a tip?  I don’t know, maybe that rule changed.

On the way home I called EN and bitched at him. I texted Fly Girl and bitched at her too. She used to work for the daycare, I knew she’d be sympathetic. After I vented, I made the decision to divorce the stylist. We know the Ice Princess doesn’t like confrontation or change, so we know how it’ll be handled: I’ll call the salon after hours and just cancel my appointment.

Boo and Ultra are floored by this takesie backsie of the discount. Ultra told me today that she’d bitch slap me if I ever went back to the salon. She’s younger and littler than me, but the thought of her bitch slapping me scares the shit out of me. Maybe I could pay her in beer to go slap Hair Girl.

Ice Princess

Thursday, August 11, 2011

News to Share

It’s practically officially official… the bank accepted the last offer we submitted. It looks like the Ice Princess has a new castle. In fact, for the moment, the Ice Princess has TWO castles. Dear God, what were we thinking?

This has been a crazy week. We’ve gone back and forth with the bank numerous times. I’ve been frustrated with the waiting and frustrated with their counter offers. They started off being highly inflexible so I researched foreclosures to see if that was standard behavior. As it turns out, banks are known for not negotiating. I read it on the internet, it must be true. Therefore, I feel lucky that they came down on price, contributing to closing costs and will pay for the propane and water hook-ups.

Though I consider the last week to be crazy, I’m smart enough to realize that the next few months will totally suck. We need to dejunk our house and get it listed. We need to close on the new house, move all our stuff. During that, we will be living in a home that is on the market… with two kids and three dogs.

In the short term, we are committing financial suicide. We will have two mortgages. We are taking from 401ks and savings for the down payment. Our savings will be low and there will be a 401k payment to make… along with the two mortgages. During this time, we hope there will be no catastrophes that would force us to spend more from savings.

Last night I had a complete panic attack and wanted to pull the plug on the whole deal. The thought of being so financially strapped took my breath away. I am extremely conservative with my finances. After dropping daycare, we are finally able to breathe each month. Now we are burying ourselves. So I did what no one will believe: I prayed. I didn’t ask for any favors. I simply said, “Dear God, I don’t care what happens… just make it all work out like it’s supposed to. Amen”

I think I’ve said before, I’m not traditionally religious. I don’t go to church and I’ll keep my thoughts about The Bible to myself. I do believe that there is a greater being that watches over us all. I believe we are never given more than we can handle and everything happens for a reason. Based on these beliefs, I knew that any Higher Power in my world would make things work out as they were meant to be.

I’m also a believer in karma, you reap what you sow, you get what you deserve. If that’s the case, two hard-working people that take their financial obligations seriously deserve to win. They deserve to be able to take a risk and have it all work out in the end.

Keep us in your prayers. And hang on tightly… we’ve just boarded the crazy train. Wild times ahead. 

Ice Princess

Monday, August 8, 2011

Simply Befuddled

Some processes are so painful that you go through them once and you say to yourself, “Never again!” The first two times I was involved in the home buying process, it was horrible, but nothing compares to the hell we went through when we bought our current house. Anything that could go wrong did: the neighbor sued the builder over property lines, two trees fell on the house during the construction process, the floor plan wasn’t what it was supposed to be. I could go on for days, but that would constitute whining.

In short, over the years, I think I forgot how bad this process is. Or maybe it really is even worse now… or maybe a whole bunch of different issues because the property we are interested in isn’t owned by people, it’s a foreclosure being held by a bank.

First issue occurred before we even got home on Saturday from writing the offer. Our realtor emailed and said that she realized that even though we are already preapproved, we also needed to be approved by their bank (I guess that makes it “themselves”?). How incestuous, right?  So I gathered up all the paperwork and called them this morning. We were preapproved and I received our preapproval letter quickly.

Then our realtor hears from the listing agent that neither water nor propane is hooked up to the house, nor is it winterized. Funny, none of this was disclosed on Seller Statement! The agent was also kind enough to send along an estimate of what it would take to have propane connected. There are so many issues with that statement, where can I begin?

First, the house is NOT winterized? Then why is there a sign on the door of the home that says the house is winterized and to not touch the fixtures. One would assume that the agent put up this note, correct? The house has been listed for less than a week, could it have been dewinterized already? Doubtful.

There is a well on the property, but EN noticed that some wires or something seemed to be cut. I understand that the house is being sold “As Is,” but we need to get a home inspection done before getting a mortgage, how can we get a full inspection without knowing that water is able to run through this damn house?

Same point with the propane. If propane isn’t connected to the house, how can the furnace get tested? In this area of the country, one would NEVER be able to live in an unheated house. The foreclosing bank, who wants my mortgage business MUST be aware that a mortgage can’t be written for a house with no heat?!

This confuses me greatly. Do they want to sell the house or don’t they? One would imagine that they would want it off their books as soon as possible. Given that the quote for propane hook up was $1500, you’d think they’d bite the bullet and just do it, so it’s not a bone of contention. Same with the water hook-up. There are some things that houses just cannot be sold without.

Let’s just project into the future and imagine that EN and I were able to buy this house without having water and propane hooked up. We then go ahead and get everything hooked up and worst case, all the pipes in the house burst! Imagine, if you will, that fixing that mess costs us gazillions of dollars and we are unable to make our mortgage payments… to the bank that has already foreclosed on the house once before. Does this sound stupid and make no fucking sense to anyone besides me?!

I’m amazed that the bank would rather mess around with teensy little numbers, when they could just pony up the coin, get those things taken care of, and sell it. Stupid people run this world.

***I was once dealing with this stupid-sounding woman who had screwed up royally. As she tried to talk her way out of it, she said she was, “simply befuddled.” I vowed then that I would someday use that stupid word when I dealt with a situation that is beyond comprehension. Here we are. 

Ice Princess

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Offer Sent In!

Rather than sitting around, trying to decide what to do, we made a decision on Friday night. Yesterday, we put in an offer on the foreclosed house we looked at on Friday. I still feel sad about potentially leaving this house and I dread going through nine years of junk and readying this house for sale. However, I’m excited by the prospect of what that house could be.

Up until about an hour before we saw the house Friday, there were multiple offers on the table. I thought that we’d have to fight for it if we wanted it. Then our realtor let us know that the offers had been withdrawn. This made me nervous as we don’t know why. We do know that it happened before inspections, so I know that wasn’t it. Our realtor was told that they were withdrawn for “the usual reasons” so she assumes the buyers couldn’t come to terms with the bank.

This, coupled with my recent dream about a house with two staircases and the first four digits of the MLS being my parents phone number, makes me feel like maybe it’s meant to be ours. Yes, I too can be superstitious at times.

We met with the realtor yesterday afternoon and were relieved that her idea of a good offer was the same as ours. She also told us that nowadays, it's somewhat standard that buyers ask for help with closing costs. The last time we played the real estate game, the market was so hot, no one asked for that. 

The girls were beyond excited while we made the offer. They tried their best to sit patiently and color but as always a few comments bubbled to the surface. The realtor even said to Spice, “I bet you’re Spice!” Then they asked for, and got, a tour of the real estate office. I think Spice liked the kitchen the best and even asked to see the inside of the refrigerator. Dear God.

Sugar got into the offer process herself by asking if she could submit a letter to the bank. We gave it to our realtor and it will be presented along with our offer. This is what she wrote:

Dear Bankers,
I think my family should get that house on Horizon Drive because my family doesn’t have a big backyard like that one has. My dad says that backyard can have a pool, a big deck, an ice skating rink in the winter and a swing-set.

My mom will love it if you let my family have that house because there is a play room above the garage so me and my sister don’t trash the family room with all sorts of toys. She also liked the bathroom that leads to the master bedroom because it has a stand-up shower and Jacuzzi.

I like the house because it is super close to my new school. I also like the house because it has lots of windows. I also like the way it is formed. I love the neighborhood because it is very flat.

So if you would just let my family have this house, we would love it. Thank you!


The only input I gave was the correct spelling of Jacuzzi.

After we signed the offer, the House Stalkers went to window peek once again. Our plan was thwarted by the presence of an extremely bitchy realtor. EN asked if she was a realtor and said we were just there to window peek. She had nothing to say so he said, “I guess we’ll move along then,” to which she responded, “Thank you.” As we pulled out of the driveway an out-of-state car pulled in. Even if they loved the house, I know my offer got in first! Not that it really matters.

Skinny Bitch and her girls went over to check the house out too and we have their seal of approval. Her girls said that it looks like a party house and her little one asked if she could have her birthday party there. I’m sure they’ll be less impressed when they see the toiletless bathroom and the little kitchen that isn’t.

Now we sit and wait to hear. Smart people would start going through the years of accumulated junk, just in case. I'm scared that pre-sorting will jinx us. 

Ice Princess

Friday, August 5, 2011

Might We Move?

I know it is a bad thing that I have a job that is really slow sometimes. This job also gives me internet access. That means that I can surf the ‘Net all day and look at things I really shouldn’t be looking at. I’m not checking out raunchy sites that would get me fired, nor am I shopping for shoes and jewelry. Ok, you caught me, I do “window shop” online quite a bit, but I rarely buy anything.

Instead, I do stupid things, like look at houses for sale. If I see a house I like that goes on the market or know of someone selling, I stalk the properties like mad. The dream houses are always ones I could never afford but it’s fun to look and see how the other half lives.

On Tuesday, I stumbled across this one:

What is this? This is a foreclosure in my town. It is located in an entirely different neighborhood with much bigger lots and homes. What brought this house to my attention is the price tag. It is listed for a fraction of what other houses in that neighborhood would go for. It’s 500 square feet bigger than the house we currently have. The yard is twice the size. The style is completely different from the standard colonial we have. And the price is less than what we paid for the house we currently live in.

All that good stuff, how could I not tell EN? I texted him and told him to check out the listing online. His response was immediate, “Holy shit, we need to drive by at least!” So EN and the girls spent the bulk of the week stalking that house. I went once, on Wednesday night and peeked in the windows. There were things I liked and things I didn’t but I could definitely see that it is a great value.

And so… we bit the bullet today and went to see it with our realtor. I convinced myself that I would hate it. The master bedroom is on the first floor, so there isn’t a whole lot of family living space. The kitchen seemed to have only a few cabinets and they were white. I hate white cabinets. This house has too many doors to the outside, seven… not including the garage doors. Who needs that many freakin’ doors?

And this is what happened: I walked into this house and it took my breath away. The garage has space to build a fantastic storage area to keep coats, shoes, hats and mittens. The living space on the first floor didn’t feel as small as I thought it would. There is a beautiful wood staircase, leading up to two bedrooms, a bathroom and a huge room that is railing on one side, so one can look down below. The trim in the dining room is gorgeous. The master bedroom has a tray ceiling. There are two Jacuzzi tubs in the house. There is a separate staircase leading to a room and bathroom above the garage. This could someday be transformed into a master suite, so there is more living space downstairs.

And the bad… The kitchen is a disaster. Not only are the cabinets white, but they are bottom-of-the-barrel cheapies with a countertop that looks like plywood covered in laminate. The flooring doesn’t even go to the edges. Some tiles have been replaced, much of what is there is cracked. The wall oven sits on the floor and there are empty built-ins that seem odd. The bathroom fixtures are junk, with the sink in the master bath held up with a piece of PVC pipe. One toilet is completely missing from a bathroom. The light fixtures are bogus. While some of the trim is elegant, other spots have no trim at all. There are light switches through the house that seem to serve no purpose. There is a mantel in the family room with no fireplace installed. There is no central air and the washer and dryer are in the basement. The yard consists of nothing but weeds. 

I walked through this house in awe. I could picture it finished and it is divine. It is a castle this Ice Princess could only have dreamed of. I envision walls painted in warm colors. I see a fabulous kitchen of gorgeous cabinets and granite counters. I see a master bathroom with enough room that I could have the little built in area to do my face and hair, like I always wanted.

There are things about this house that are perfection: the neighborhood is awesome. We would absolutely be able to resell and make a huge profit. The yard is completely flat, unlike our current yard which is on a hill. The house is full of big windows, making it extremely light. Sugar and Spice adored this house and ran excitedly from room to room. They would have space to each have their own room and a playroom to share. EN stood in the garage with his mouth hanging open, knowing full well that even he doesn’t have enough shit to fill that up.

I am excited, this is a tremendous opportunity to have something for a price that is unreal. On the other hand, leaving the house that I built makes me sad. Both EN and I moved a lot as kids, neither of us have ever lived in a place as long as we have lived here. We built it and we’ve loved it. Our view of the mountain is stunning and our girls really have never known any place else as “home.”

However, opportunity knocks and I’m afraid we’ll kick ourselves in the ass if we don’t answer the door.

Ice Princess 

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


I am joyous to be tasked with providing food, space and meeting coordination for a bunch of animals who have taken over our office for two days. I am tremendously excited to have a different batch of babies to whine at me, and complain about nonsensical things. I wonder what they do when they work out of their home offices and have no one to complain to? I can’t imagine their wives put up with this level of bullshit?

It began on Monday afternoon when one dipshit called from Baltimore, demanding that I find him a flight. From what he could gather in the airport, flights were being canceled due to weather delays. Because I am She Goddess Who Can Do Everything, he decided it was a good idea to call me. Despite his insistence that there were other flights to be found, I was unable to help him (not that helping him is in my job description anyway). I giggled like mad when I arrived in the office Tuesday and heard that he never got to leave Baltimore the night before. I still feel giddy every time I look at him.

Yesterday they descended on our office and proceeded to take things over. In the past we have had these meetings in various hotels down the Eastern Seaboard. It is with great sadness that we don’t get to travel anyplace fun and must have the meeting in the conference room with food catered in. When we were at hotels, I could escape to my room. Here, they all found my office first thing so they knew where to go for help. 

As the meeting is made up of mostly men, the high points of the day occur any time they get fed. You know those Discovery Channel movies where they show people dumping raw meat in for lions? It’s kind of like that.

They are accustomed to having hot breakfast. When I set up my first meeting, I followed the guidelines set forth by the boss and served a continental breakfast. The VP walked in and asked where the hot food was and said, “Something needs to be killed for this to be considered breakfast.” Since then, I always order meat and eggs. For this meeting they were warned in advance that we would only have bagels, pastries, fruit salad, coffee and orange juice. This kept their food complaints down to a dull roar. They did find many other things to complain about: the temperature of the room, the size of the room, their connections (or lack thereof) to the Internet. They were happy with lunch too. However, those scurvy bastards broke into the cookies before snack time so I had to take them back and hide them, because the sandwiches, salads, chips, pickles and French bread weren’t enough.

Even dinner last night went uneventfully. We went to a really nice restaurant and had a private room so we didn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone. The food choices were good and the desserts were to die for!

Today everyone should have been tired and less hungry. Let’s face it they were putting back prime rib at 9:00 pm last night. I could barely force myself to have coffee and a chunk of watermelon for breakfast. However, by 11 am, not a croissant crumb was to be found. The juice from the fruit salad even disappeared.

The drama started when they broke for lunch ten minutes early. Add that to the delivery guy getting lost and arriving right at noon-when lunch was scheduled to be served-and I had a near riot on my hands. I scrambled around, trying to set up three hot entrees, salad, rolls, garlic bread while they salivated just outside the room. Once everything was set up, I ran to the kitchen for serving spoons. I returned to the conference room less than two minutes later to find them circling the food like their last meal was a decade ago. They were drooling, stabbing at lasagna and eggplant parmesan with plastic forks-nothing had even been cut yet.

I walked in with a huge knife and serving spoons. The wild wildebeests went still.  I said, “What are you doing?” and they stood, staring at me clutching the knife. I said, “That stuff isn’t even cut up yet.” Mr. Texas pipes up, “Well, it was all set up and smelled so darn good.” I looked at them all and growled, “STEP OFF.” They all jumped back from the food and I was able to cut things into beast-sized pieces. They dove back in as soon as I stepped away from the table. Again, I tried to hide the dessert but someone discovered it and dug in before I could put it out for everyone.

I ran into the guy that seemed to be the culprit, digging in too early and he apologized. I just looked at him and said, “You almost got stabbed today.”

I just don’t understand this behavior. Each one of the people attending the meeting earns in excess of six figures a year. Certainly they can afford their own food. There’s a cafeteria and vending machines on the first floor of our building if they really need something to tide them over. But truth be told, they are unwilling to spend their own damn money when there might be free food available. That behavior disgusts me. 

I was glad to see them all leave this afternoon.

Ice Princess

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Nice Voice

I wrote a few weeks ago about the proper way to complain. I neglected to include something that I’ve been accused of using at times. It’s called Nice Voice. My normal voice probably has a sarcastic edge to it most times, but when I need to, I apparently have a cutesy, sing-songy voice that I use.

I never realized I did this until I was making a call from my office for my boss. There was some sort of issue, so I had to fight to get my way, but be professional about it. I must have been over the top, because during the call, I could hear my boss smacking the wall between our offices. I’m pretty sure I heard gagging sounds too. After I got my way, I went into my boss’s office and said, “What?!” He imitated my tone, voice and then accused me of using Nice Voice.

Since then, every time I use that voice at work, it is mentioned and even worse, imitated. I know in my heart that I do not simper, giggle or bat my eyelashes. I think imitating Nice Voice just isn’t as much fun without over-dramatization.

I use this voice mostly with our IT department because they notoriously don’t help people they don’t like. So I try to make them like me from afar. I chat them up and get personal information so I can ask when I call next time, because we all know there will be a next time. I chatter away in Nice Voice asking about their kids, jobs, weddings, softball teams and pet snakes in their office. Oh yeah, I’ll even go there. I’ll even let the IT girl call me stupid on occasion. It makes her feel superior and she delights in helping my stupid ass out. She’s also the one with the snake in her office, she can say whatever she wants to me so long as I don’t have to contend with that snake.

Yesterday, my boss decided that he needed something done IMMEDIATELY and since I’m known for pulling crazy shit out of my butt, I was tasked with it. I had to call my friends in IT. I knew that Nice Voice wasn’t going to work for this one. The last time I asked for this favor, they said no and shut me down. I had to tell my nemesis that he had to do it himself (he was so mad he didn’t speak to me for over six months).

It was a ridiculous task really, one that I could do if I had high-level access, but no one is going to let me touch the inner workings… So I invented Sweetie Muffin voice. I pulled out all the stops. When I dialed, I initially sounded teary, then I flirted, batted my eyes and even simpered a bit. Not only did my little IT friend say he would help me, but he took care of it right then and there. He even sent a follow-up email to ensure that everything was working properly.

The follow up conversation with my boss went something like this:

Me: I just sucked up to an IT person to get it done.
Boss: IT Girl?
Me: No, she was on vacation. I used Sweetie Muffin voice on someone else.
Boss: Never try that voice on IT Girl.
Me: It’s called “role playing” and it works. I believe your favorite female employee ever used the same technique.
Boss: Fascinating.

So I got to thinking, how far is one willing to go to get assistance or get something they need? Is it ok to flirt with someone? Are you also willing to flirt with someone of the same sex (knowing they are homosexual and you are not)? Is it really so wrong to use our feminine wiles to get what we need? I say no, and I recommend that you look back to a post I put up months ago, about getting pulled over but not getting ticketed. My advice stays the same:

Shake what your mama gave ya! 

Ice Princess