Alternately entitled: Why You Should Change Your Wallpaper Occasionally At Least Like Every Century or So.
Alternately Alternately entitled: I’m Betting Keelin’s Mom Recognizes This Because It Hasn’t Changed Since She and Mickey and Mommy Were In High School Even Though Now All Their Kids are in College.
And I thought yesterday was fun. Oh, ha! Painful photography and embarrassing service people with our family issues? Nothing. Because today I got to strip. Wallpaper.
Of course there are pictures. As Susan was tearing the paper off, she said, “Oh, I hope you took pictures,” and then kind of laughed and said, “Wait. I’m telling your family to take pictures?” Yes. the family that spends half the given time for any activity documenting it for posterity. Which could explain the metric assload of Baby Spawn of Mickey #1 pictures that we found today. Colleen said there were more photographs of that child than Prince William. She’s probably right.
Because we figured that maybe the metallic silver that was literally put up in 1960 (yes, for reals) wouldn’t just rake in the potential inhabitants. And I sure as hell am not moving into this. I don’t care how adorable the neighborhood is or how many times I’ve mentally placed my unborn children’s cribs in the adorable bedroom upstairs. Hell no.
There it is. Covering the ceiling. When one steps inside, it’s like a bright shiny cave. A bright shiny cave from the Kennedy era. Jackie would be proud.
Ooh, wait. It’s too bad I don’t have a picture of the kitchen, because then you could see that the turquoise flowers match the turquoise EVERYTHING in there.
Yes, folks Someone actually thought that this was pretty enough to put underneath the door handle. Dear God. We may bypass the renters altogether. Hell, I may go through menopause before this place is ready for me to live in.
Sadly, we’re missing pictures of the upstairs bathroom because I left my camera downstairs. If you did have pictures, they would mostly be of my trying not to retch while standing in the tub (I’m sorry, I won’t call that a shower) pulling moldy wallpaper off. Or me trying not to retch while pulling brown-stained wallpaper off from around the toilet (I don’t want to know!!!) or me trying not to retch whilst discovering that the entire room is actual a horrid orange color underneath it all. And the dust and random allergens and floaty things?
I had to come home and wash my hair. Unholy things fell into it.
Skipping around, I’m amazed that man made it to 91 and didn’t fall to his death down these stairs, which I, a healthy 20-year-old almost killed myself on, like, six times this afternoon. And I wasn’t even drinking. Yet.
Then my brother found this DVD and it made me laugh. I’m sorry. But if you’re compiling a DVD on the Pacific victories during WWII? You should know that unless “hour” is possessing of the “on” (unlikely), it does not require an apostrophe.
Yeah. It’s going to be a fun couple of months.
We’re going to leave on a sentimental note. Being in his house isn’t has wrenching as it was a few weeks ago. On the day he died I actually cried more standing in the hallway upstairs than sitting with his body that morning. (No, we’re not Jewish. Just procrastinators.) That’s gotten better, especially as more things get changed. But I can’t get over how unreal it is that he’s not there. I kept expecting him to come into the room, or walk out to the car, or answer the door. And he’s not going to. There are all of his papers and notes and stuff covered in his handwriting that I can totally see him writing. Less than a month ago I took him down there to putter around for a few hours and we cleaned out his fridge. I convinced him to leave most of the stuff because it wouldn’t expire before he came back home. That was less than a month ago. Maybe I just process things slower than most, but I didn’t have time to get used to him being sick and dying much less gone. And that’s what I think is going to take the longest to come to terms with.