Our "custom" home

We call it that so we don't cry as hard when we hand our credit card over to the latest friend who is doing some sort of repair.

The Door Guy is here now to replace our front door (that doesn't unlock without two hands and enough cursing to peel the paint. Trust me.) and our back door (that, when shut, still lets in light around all 3 sides. Also, the frame has expanded so much with the heat that the door sticks and when opening it, you have to pull so hard that when it finally flies open you have to hold onto the handrail to avoid flying backwards down the basement stairs. Charming, yes?) He's been here since noon (purt near 4 hours now) and he's not done yet. He called around 11:30 this morning to tell me he was on his way and I kindly informed him that he would be here awhile so he should probably stop and grab a Coke or something he can eat for dinner or whatever. He laughed and said he's been doing this for 17 years--he's seen it ALL. Again, I kindly reinterated that he was going to want to stop before he got here or he was going to get hungry, cranky, thirsty or all 3 before the job was done. Yep, this joint even has Door Guy With 17 Years Experience (his name changed once I learned his credentials) scratching his head and muttering "What the hell?" under his breath. We are soooo lucky. Not only does some new adventure crop up every couple of weeks (Thank you, Lisa, for forgetting to put on the emergency brake so your car rolled into (and I mean INto) our garage) we have a list a mile long of things that we KNOW need to be fixed. Sigh. Remember when we paid $300/month to live in Scott's Grandma's little house in Midvale? That was fun. 90 degrees in the summer fun but not a million dollars in home repairs in 2 months fun. (Okay, a million is a SLIGHT exaggeration, but I'm fairly certain I'm only off by pennies.)

I guess the good news is that stuff is getting fixed (I'm not going to lie that I'm probably not going to miss my "really fancy" carpeted threshold) The bad news is that the people at the plasma donation center are going to know who we are by name and we're going to start getting sales phone calls from various and sundry fix-it friends offering their services because they've heard that this house was a mess and if you name it, we probably need to fix/replace it.

The joys of being a homeowner. Now, who can get us a homey hookup on carpet?