On The Beat

Riding Shotgun on Patrol with Annie O.



Have you ever had that feeling your face is so hot it would burn your finger if you touched it? That feeling where you try to breathe as slowly and deeply as you can, but your heart still races and feels as though it might beat right out of your chest? Well, I had that feeling for about six hours recently, while cruising in the passenger seat alongside a seasoned San Leandro Police Officer, Annie O’Callaghan.

To begin, a little about Annie O. She is one of those people who radiates toughness. Being in the same room with her, you can tell that she knows her stuff and she could tackle any situation put in front of her. Annie has spent years on the streets, working undercover to catch “Johns” soliciting women. She was a motorcycle cop for years, on patrol keeping Bay Area streets safe from criminals. She’s worked in narcotics. In a nutshell, she is one tough chick who can get the job done. I’d say she’s my hero, because there is no way I could keep my cool like she does.

During our patrol shift, the streets were calm. I have no heroic stories of breaking up gang fights or stopping robberies. The craziest event of the night was an (extremely) intoxicated man who ended up, somehow, on the floor of a local diner, unconscious and without ID.

That said, even the low key calls got my heart pumping. Being on a job where you can’t predict its path kept me on edge the entire time. I guess this is something an officer gets used to quickly, because otherwise that officer would have a stress-induced heart attack or find themselves with an ulcer in no time. But for me, the patrol newbie, this was edge-of-my-seat stuff.

We started on a few run-of-the-mill calls; an elderly lady with dementia who had escaped her assisted living facility, a noise complaint from an elderly man (not the first time he’s called), and a family dispute where the ex-husband was intruding on the ex-wife by coming to the house to do his laundry. I learned quickly that part of an officer’s job, beyond guns and handcuffs, is playing mediator, therapist and voice-of-reason. If someone calls, even over a simple family problem, officers have to do what they can to resolve the issue and ensure everyone will be safe when the officer leaves.

Of course, these calls wouldn’t be considered high-risk, but what I learned was that even when you are on the most mundane calls, you don’t know what lies ahead. Many officers are gunned down during routine traffic stops. Just a few weeks ago, a Riverside Police Officer was killed by a man on parole, who stole the officer’s gun and shot that officer as he tried to run. There are some people who feel they have nothing to lose in these situations and will do anything to get away. That is the risk an officer takes everyday. They don’t put on the bullet-proof vest for nothing.

We pulled over a gentleman for a gross polluter violation after crossing paths with his chimney of a truck, spewing toxic clouds into the atmosphere. As Annie got out to talk to the man, all I could think was, “What happens if he has a gun? What if he is running from a warrant and feels he has to do anything to get away from this cop?” This is all in a regular day’s work for officers like Annie O. Those thoughts don’t cloud her mind; it’s all business and getting the job done.

I may not have come home with harrowing tales of death-defying rescues or speeding car chases ending in the apprehension of a serial killer, but I came home with a refreshed respect for our women and men in blue. Their job is one I simply could not do. After just one shift, I counted the minutes until I could get home to my warm, safe bed. If my days were spent on patrol looking for the bad guys, checking around every corner and being on high alert for the next thing that COULD happen, I would not only have an ulcer, I would probably have a therapist on speed dial.

To those of you out on the streets, thank you. We couldn’t live the lives we do without you.

Me and My Three Boys

Or:

How I Learned to Live with Dirt.

I come from a clean house. When I say clean house, I mean white-glove clean. My dad, we'll call him the Cleananator, didn't believe dirt belonged in a house. Don't get me wrong, we went out in the great outdoors, played in mud-fest soccer tournaments, slid into home plate and got down underneath the Jeeps to fix a broken this or that. But we cleaned up before we stepped in the house. The Cleananator was a "take your shoes off and wipe your feet on the mat outside the tent" kinda guy. He followed us around as we cleaned to tell us the "right" way to vacuum and the "correct" way to clean a window. Our house was spotless. So I learned how lovely it is to have an impeccably clean house and how to do my part to keep it that way.

I'm pretty sure the Cleananator is rolling over in his Folgers can right now. You should SEE my kitchen floor. Dirt. Everywhere. Brown dirt on white tiles, white dirt on black tiles (where the hell does WHITE DIRT COME FROM, outer space?!) There are smudges on my brand new (custom made!) cabinets. DUST on my brand new (custom made!) counter tops.

Now, don't get me wrong... I clean EVERY DAY! Down on the floor, hands-and-knees-style. Dirt is my enemy and I know how to win the battle. But the war, my friends, is being lost.

This house cannot stay clean for more than five minutes. On a good day. Thirty seconds on the bad days.

We have no grass to speak of in our back yard and a pathetic example for grass in the front yard. This means, a step outside (unless you confine yourself to the steps) is a step in dirt. And this isn't the friendly dirt that likes the brisk fall air and prefers to stay outside. This is infiltrating dirt that will do whatever it can to get a ride into the house, desecrating my beautiful floors, counters, tables, bathtub even! This dirt knows no bounds.

It doesn't help having two 80 pound-plus mutts who, by necessity, must go in the yard to use the restroom. Not to mention, one of these mutts has a fondness for what I like to call the "TAKE THIS, MOM! on the dirt back flop." This is a full fledged sprint around the yard, ending in a double (or sometimes triple) summersault into the dirt.

Not to mention, bless his heart, a Shupasaurus who doesn't realize that he walks around on two full-time dirt factories, known as work boots. No, Shupie, it doesn't matter if you "worked in the office today," I see your dirt tracks on my newly refinished hardwood floors. I didn't simply guess the exact path you took to the couch, I see it like a bread crumb trail to the princess's castle. There are only so many ways you can ask, "Hey, do you mind taking your shoes off before you come in? Even when I'm not here to see you do it?" (The dirt tells the tale, Shupie. I know all when it comes to walking on my floors with dirt boots, I mean work boots, on.)

As I type, I feel a fever coming on, just thinking about this dirt on my floor. I can't stand it. I could quit my job and spend my days cleaning. I could sequester the mutts to their outside shelter and make Shupasaurus live there with them. But that wouldn't earn me many points, from Shupasaurus or his mother. (Hi Mama Shupe!)

So, I guess, it's time to surrender the war. Suck it up and live with the dirt. Put away my white glove and come to terms that this house may not be spotless every second of every day.

At least until we have sod. Then, IT'S ON!

Hey Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

It's official. I'm broke. Between the downpayment, paying every closing cost known to man, paying schmucko's SMUD lien and fixin up the place, I am left with a bank account that sends me statements only showing a couple bucks and a sad face. Literally. I go online and look up my account and it says, "Hi Chelsea. Sorry about the troubling number below."

Times are tough in California and all over the country. I know I am totally not alone in my low cashflow pain. But it's tough. For someone who's always worked, and oftentimes two jobs, it's unusual for me to really have to decide what I should and should not spend money on. I realize that this is ok because at least I spent all my money on a home and not, say, a fabulous wardrobe or a car with flashy rims and shiny paint. But still. I don't like the feeling of living paycheck to paycheck.

To add to this stress, I owe my mother approximately one thousand dollars for nearly every year I have been alive (give or take the years I want to forget), and Shupasaurus has a mortgage that he has had to pay on his own home, which (thank goodness) will finally have renters next week. So funds are thin at the Disco Ball Speakeasy. And it's the holidays, of course. It's hard to plan parties and think about presents when I'm wondering if I have enough dough to get through to my next check.

But I'm finally living downtown, where I want to be, in a great job, with a wonderful family, a fabulous boyfriend and more friends than I can make time for. Here's where a little perspective comes in.

One of the most profound reality checks of living downtown is being in the midst of how prolific Sacramento's homeless crisis is. I cannot ride to work, go to the market or walk to my neighborhood pub without seeing someone out on the streets, without a roof over their head, wondering where they are going to get their next meal. Sometimes they are in the process of finding that meal, looking in places you or I would never think of looking. Sometimes they're on the corner or walking past you, asking if you can spare a dime, a dollar, anything to help them buy a hamburger.

I have always been one of those who felt it was my job to help them out, especially since I have always been fortunate to have a good job, food, shelter and a family who loves me. But right now I find myself joining the ranks of those who always say, "Sorry, i have no cash." Or "No thank you."

Now, imagine if that were you. If you found yourself out of work (which so many of my friends and colleagues have). What would you do? Who would you turn to? Odds are, you have a list of people who would take you in, lend you some dough to get through a rough patch or offer you the shirt off their back. But what if you didn't? Where would you go?

This is one of the hugest tragedies in our society: The fact that people don't have anywhere to go when they are down on their luck. That the homeless population is all but tossed away. How about we all walk a mile in those shoes, for a change?

And how about those out on the streets due to mental illness and lack of availability of care? The thought of someone, lost in their own mind with nowhere to go and no place to find help, makes me struggle to keep from breaking down. It is so sad, it's hard to bear.

After all this sadness and talk of the woes of the world, what next? Talking about a problem is about as useful as "tits on a hog" (as my pops would say). So here's my challenge to you, eight faithful blog readers:

This holiday season, this month, this week, do something for those in need. Donate an old coat that you haven't worn since Nixon was in office. Collect canned food at your office and donate it to your local food bank. Adopt a family this Christmas whose children otherwise wouldn't have presents under the tree. Volunteer. It's free. I've picked two days this month to go help out at Loaves and Fishes. Will you? Go read stories to kids at the Receiving Home. Bring them toys. Ladies, grab your old work clothes that you simply can't be seen in because they are "so last season" and take them to a woman's shelter so a woman without those concerns can look stunning at her next job interview.

It doesn't have to cost money. An hour of your time dedicated to a woman, a child, a man, who spends their days and nights alone, is priceless. So I challenge you. Not only will you likely make their day (or year, or lifetime), but you can feel good that you did it and you will likely want to do it again. And I will be proud of you. And our world will be a little bit better place to live because of it.

Honey, it's time. . .

It is with extreme excitement and incredible happiness that I can report to you all that this week is the official housewarming at the Discoball Speakeasy!

After nine months of dreaming, preparing, saving, hoping, (crying), demolishing, reconstructing, painting, sweating and more sweating, it is finally time to CELEBRATE!

I can totally understand what an expectant mother feels after nearly a year of lugging around the idea of a new life. Now, of course, I didn't get the few side-effects of motherhood that I know most women love - the weight gain (hey, I think I might have actually lost a couple lbs), the grumpiness (nothing a glass of wine couldn't alleviate), the near-divorce moments (now,I'm obviously not married, but Shupie and I never had the "I'm staring at you so angrily that I might burn a whole in your cornea" fights throughout this project) and I never had to invest in fat boy clothes (although the ones I have are near and dear to my heart - I'll take your freshman fifteen and raise you ten!)

It took nearly seven months to get the place, two more months before we could move and now another month to get settled in, but now it's time to show this place what a REAL party is. If the house is a-rockin', you best grab a cocktail and come on in!

I cannot wait to have my family and friends, so near and dear to my heart, come over and celebrate the little house that could. Without them, this could never had been possible. I have some of the greatest people in my life and this is just one little "thank you" to them for being there with me through this whole ordeal. I know there's not enough home brewed beer in the world to make up for my weepy phone calls post-bank- backout, the endless "you won't even believe this one" stories I told month after month, the pleas for help during all-weekend demolition sessions and all the times I've had to pass up on other fun things because there was house this or that that just needed to be done right away.

So, thank you. Thank you to my wonderful family, my friends, my ever-understanding bosses and co-workers, and my eight loyal blog readers. You make my world a better place.

NOW LET'S PARTY!

Shoulda Read the Fine Print...

Well everyone, we have almost had our first week of living at the new pad... FINALLY!! I cannot tell you how amazingly awesome it is to have a home... Of my own... To go home to everyday. I am just pleased as punch.

Of course, in the first week of staying at the new house, we have had some big F-U-N! I thought this little gem was worth sharing:

So, on Saturday afternoon, I was lucky enough to have some of the Shupe family (sister-in-law Shupe and 2 Shupe nieces) come over and visit, along with a lovely friend of mine and her 4 month old daughter. I gave them the guided tour (all 2 minutes of it), pulled up some chairs and cracked open a little vino (for the grownups, not the kids, of course). Here was the beginning to a lovely first Saturday afternoon lazing away with fabulous friends and great wine.

After a few minutes, a bit out of character, I grabbed little baby Lily (one of the world's cutest babies, by far) and proceeded to play baby handler. (That's what it's called, right?)

Here I am, chatting away with my gals, holding my four month old bundle of cuteness and watching the two nieces (5 and 7) run around playing with Shupasaurus, breaking in the new house with giggles and smiles.

(Let me interject a little background information here... I am one of the founding members of "No Kids Anonymous."
Me: "I'm Chelsea and there are no kids in my future.Period."
NKA Members: "Hello, Chelsea."
Kids have never been my thing. I get nervous, I don't know what to say, sometimes I even start stuttering and lose my words. I can't strap in a car seat and I'm pretty sure I could count on one hand the diapers I've changed in my life. I have a standing rule that I will not hold babies until they are able to write their name in cursive and get me a beer. That's just a little about me and kids.)

Back to the story...

After a while, the kiddos say that they see someone pull up in front of the house. Hmm... I didn't realize I was expecting more guests, although I have invited everyone and their brother over, practically.

So, I get up and walk outside, holding my bundle of cheeks, tailed by the two nieces, only to find my lovely coworker and her friend walking towards the shack from their car.

Here I am, "No Kids Chelsea," holding a months-old baby, being followed by two children under ten years old.

Apparently this house came with a litter of children and a brand new outlook on family life. I guess I should have read the fine print on my loan documents a little closer. ;)

My Fifteen Minutes...

Maybe I should back up a bit. Perhaps this should be called "My Five Minutes." That might be more fitting. Fame is fleeting, you know.

Anyway, for those of you who haven't heard, yours truly was interviewed for a story in the Sacramento Bee regarding the horror that is a short sale. I chatted with a journalist a couple weeks ago and was subsequently visited by a lovely camera man at my little shack that will.

"Sweet!" I was thinking. "Maybe I will get a quote or two and a little snapshot in the real estate section, which I can send to my mom, my aunts and my grandma, who would be oh so proud. Way to go, Chels. You're a star in those two sentences of newspaper copy."

Welp, that wasn't quite the case. . .

I woke up on Sunday and checked my Sac Bee app on the trusty iPhone, and there I was, top story of the "Top Stories" section. "No way," I thought. So, 6am in all my glory, I run to the Bordova Starbucks and grab the paper only to be greeted by none other than my goofy self. On the cover. In my painting clothes. With a wreck of a house behind me. And a big garbage can with the word "FREE" spraypainted in construction orange on it.



Let me clear a couple things up so I might live the rest of my life with a hint less embarassment:
1. Though I hoped that the Bee would spring for a little PhotoShop action, I was gravely mistaken. The camera adds ten pounds, ok?
2. Along with adding ten pounds, the camera adds about 100 years... To the house. My poor little Discoball Shack looks like a hot mess. I swear, it is no longer at that level of shack-dom.
3. The only reason "FREE" is written on the garbage can (which I am kicking myself for not moving pre-photoshoot) is because we had an abundance of oranges during last year's harvest and Shupasaurus left them out for our neighbors to pillage.
4. Yes, I realize I need to get those roots done. Hey, you try forking over your life savings plus ten million, then starting a construction project of epic proportions and find the time and money to get your hair done. Not as easy as you would think. And yes, I am forgoing food and necessities so that I can take care of it ASAP. Ugg, what would my aunt, the world class hairdresser, say if she saw my hair looking a mess like that? Thankfully she lives in LA Times territory and not Bee-ville.

Anyway, enough excuses.

I am happy that my bloggie got a shoutout and I know my mom is proud that her daughter made it above the fold and, in the words of a family friend, "not for committing a crime." I'm still waiting for the extreme spike in blog readership, but hey, I've got plenty of time. I'll take the 100 extra views this little blog has gotten in the last few days.

Thank you to Jim for including me in your piece. Thank you to the cameraman who managed to catch me not making too bad of a duckface (damn you duckface, for plaguing me in photos). And thanks to everyone who called me a star over the last few days. It may not be true, but it's fun to pretend.

Welcome to the neighborhood!

After working on the house for more than six weeks straight, we decided to take a break this weekend. Shupie took off for some fresh mountain air on Friday and I met up with him and the Shupe clan on Saturday for some R&R, fishing and non-work time. Man, do I feel rejuvenated. Being up in the mountains really does wonders. I suggest all of you take a weekend jaunt to higher ground. ASAP.

After our lovely little trip, we quickly got down to business yesterday afternoon and started on our last wave of improvements before the much anticipated move-in this weekend (hopefully).

We took yesterday to finish painting the kitchen (more on the wonderfully fabulous kitchen later), the doors and the window sills, as well as installing my very first housewarming gift (also to be discussed in a later post).

As a bonus, my big bro, Phil, came over to help. Phil is in the midst of readying himself for the upcoming Burning Man festival, to take place over the coming Labor Day weekend. What is involved in prepping for the festivities, you ask? Well, there's costume creation, bike decoration, arts and crafts making (hey, you have to have SOMETHING to barter with), packing and deciding on what kind of shelter you are going to rely on.

For those of you who do not know much about Burning Man, it's a week-long party in the middle of desert nowhere, where money doesn't buy anything and costumes are not optional, they are a requirement. The event's high point is, you guessed it, the burning of the man, followed by a Sunday of deep reflection about the man. And possibly recreational activities not likely to be recommended by the FDA.

This is Phil's fourth year in attendance, making him a professional burner of sorts.

Ok, back to the story.

Yesterday, as we were working away on the house, Philito decided to test out his vision of his shelter, which included a wooden structure covered with a huge Army net that was a score of epic proportion (according to Phil) from our back shed (thank you, whoever the heck you were that lived here, for leaving the most RANDOM stuff possible out there).

So, he created his structure, laboring with a saw, a hammer and a screwdriver. There it was in all it's glory, in our new front driveway of our new neighborhood: Dr. Phil's Army Shack of Love.

Did I mention that the house three doors down was having an open house all day yesterday?

Welcome to the neighborhood.

Special Delivery!

Over the weekend, as I was slapping on a fresh second coat of paint on our soon-to-be master bedroom, Shupasaurus walks into the bedroom with a grin that can only mean one of two things: he's just won the lottery or he found the last cold beer in the cooler, when he thought we were out.

He hands me an envelope from the beloved IRS. "Hallelujah," I think, "my tax refund!" Of course, I know better than to say these things out loud, as every time I utter words of excitement about ANYTHING to do with this house, I immediately get shot down, one way or the other.

So, I open the envelope slowly, waiting for those thousands of dollars to come pouring out before my eyes. (This is probably the second time in my life I have EVER gotten money back on my taxes, the first time was when I was unemployed for the better part of a year and then got a $1000 bonus check from the IRS at the end of it. Getting rewarded for NOT working? Thanks, Uncle Sam.)

Here is what the letter says, in a nutshell:

"We have reviewed your income tax return and are holding your refund until we complete a more thorough review... If you have not received your refund or been contacted by us within 45 days of this notice, you may call us."

Here is what I interpret the letter to say:

"You thought your were getting an $8000 tax refund? HA! Chump! Call us in a couple months and we will be happy to send you to our automated line where you will get nowhere. BOOYAH!"

God bless the IRS.

The inevitable has happened...

So, it's a month into the project (as I mentioned yesterday) and we are chugging right along.

We went over and worked yesterday (as always), Shupasaurus hanging lights while I paint baseboards. After the mandatory four hours of weekday house OT, we head home to find that our mutts have chewed up every paper that was on our kitchen table and made one hell of a mess on the floor. Because I forgot to leave the door open. And they were trapped in the house for a 12 hour day with no potty breaks. And they are pissed because they are home alone all day, every day, with no one to take them on walks or play fetch with them in the yard.

I'm the worst dog mom ever.

I'm SO ready to move.

Blarg.

Thank god it's wine Wednesday.

Ten Things to Learn From the Construction Site

Today marks the one month mark of our little home makeover project. Nearly everyday has been spent swinging a hammer, a paint brush, a putty knife, etc. Through the exhaustion of the entire thing, I have found myself "in the know" with some of the tricks of the trades and the secrets your local handymen don't tell you. Here's my top ten:

1. The best way to score an awesome deal on reliable work is to ask around to those you know that have completed similar projects. Post on Facebook, it works! (God bless social media for your occasional benefits.) Thanks to the boss (ok, it was his lovely wife who finally dug up the number) for the AWESOME floor guy. Charlie has it going on with the hardwood refinishing.

2. No matter how many times you go to Home Depot, you will never find whatever it is you are looking for where you think it would be. This store is screaming for a makeover. Case in point: Wood treatment. Is it by the wood? No. It's by the paint. What the?!

3. Before taking the sledgehammer to the wall, make sure that the foreman sees exactly where you are pointing when you ask, "Right here, right?" Otherwise the next hour will be spent patching up the place that did not need to be demo'd. (HARUMPH!)

4. Awesome neighbors are a fabulous perk. That pitcher of ice cold tea on the 100+ degree demo weekend really hit the spot. Even with a few forehead sweat drips in it. Thanks, new neighbor!

5. Make friends with your local pub owner. He'll be much more likely to kick down cheap (or FREE!) drinks, and turn a blind eye when you come in covered in paint (or spider webs, or dirt, or sweat) and smelling like a barn.

6. No, there is nothing that will actually get that stuff off of your hands/legs/arms/girls. Apparently silky soft skin is a no-no in the construction site, as those silky soft parts soak up construction site goo like no other. (Ok, and one sub-point here: Wear a shirt, not a tank top. The girls pretty much act like a giant horizontal bib, catching everything that gravity insists must fall, including insulation, spackling mud, primer, paint, etc. And it is impossible to "look cute" while doing construction projects. You will inevitably look like Billy Bob the Plumber. Suck it up and get over it.)

7. Shupes are worth their weight in gold when it comes to construction projects. Need a door hung? Ask Papa Bear Shupe. Need a phone number for a good "insert specialty trade here" guy? Call Older Bro Shupe. Need help painting? Call Mama Shupe. Need everything else done? Shupasaurus is on it.

8. Family and friends will be there for you when you need them. Trips to the dump? Check! Trudging around rotted deck boards and sappy tree branches? Check. Tearing down walls? Check! A bucket of chicken when Shupasaurus is dying of hunger? Thanks, Mom!

9. Said friends and family will be expecting cocktails galore upon completion of the project.

10. It's not the destination, it's the journey. Your house will end up beautiful, but it's the fun you have on the way to gorgeous that really makes it fabulous. (Ok, and the HUGE party you get to have after you finish. Come on people, you know me.)

What matters most

For those of you who haven't been around forever, here's a very brief background about me:

My fam moved to Sac when I was a wee little one, from SoCal, where much of our family still resides. So, we came here, just my pops, my mom, my older bro and I. We have been pretty much in the same area of Sac ever since.

As our family is really small up here, we have always been really close. My mom and pops are the best parents a person could ask for and we have always been extremely close. This means that I was always there for the fun activities they did, like Jeeping, camping, going on trips, etc. This also means that I have become quite close with their group of friends.

A little over four years ago, we were forced to go through everyone's worst nightmare. Out of nowhere, my dad was diagnosed with late-stage Esophageal cancer. So, we went from a family on top of the world, living it up, to one in the midst of the fight of our lives. Sadly, our battle only lasted a few months before we had to say goodbye. I can say, without a second thought, that this was the hardest thing that my family and I have ever been through. It has taken this entire time to get any semblance of normalsy back in our lives.

Now, here are the few added bonuses that come along with a situation like this:

* A year (or maybe two) of regrettable treatment of friends and family by those going through the worst of the sad part.
* Ongoing, spur-of-the-moment crying jags. (Brace yourself, I'm going to share the worst of the worst... On my JOB INTERVIEW for my current position, which I love, I cried, in front of my then-future, now-current, boss. When mentioning what I did for work previously, I teared up at the fact that I used to help my dad with his business. Yep, crying on a job interview. It was THAT bad.)
* A feeling that, as I grow older, the things that most people look forward to their whole lives now seem like things I couldn't suffer to put myself through. Things like getting married, having a kid, buying a house now seem impossible because I don't have the go to person I always did to come to when I have a question about anything from how to change a tire to what to do when the bathtub drain won't drain.

Although I always kind of new this, here is what I have learned in the last few weeks:

There are always people that care. When you're in a tough spot or an unfamiliar situation, someone will be there. When you don't know how to do something, you have people you can call.

Case in point: this house.

We know, from the last posts, that the BF (Shupe) has been amazing through all of this construction business. Patience is a virtue he thankfully has a lot of.

Phil, my bro, has been a huge help, giving up his perfectly nice weekends to help take down contaminated sheds, sand walls and many other completely yucky tasks.

My mom, has come through like a shining star for me. Not only did I hit her up for her spare change to purchase the house, but as the deal got closer, the number grew exponentially. And she smiled (through possibly gritted teeth), sighed, and opened her checkbook. Without her, this blog would be a continuous story about life in Bordova... Certainly not a bestseller.

After this past weekend, I have to share another example of my family coming through to make my dream come true.

This weekend, after the tragic bailing out of our hopeful cabinet man, I felt like this thing may never happen. With a quote from our local big box home improvement store for cabinets to be ready in six weeks at a price I thought was rather high for "we deliver - you install" cabinets, this meant that our approximate move in date of early September was shot to the moon. And I must mention that we started this process in February, so we are going on eight to nine months working on moving to this place.

Enter surprise saviors, stage left.

Our old family friends, who will remain nameless for privacy purposes (I know the CIA must be on to this blog by now). ;) To my surprise, my family's oldest and dearest friends, who just happen to own a top of the line, absolutely amazing, awesome cabinet shop, popped up and made me an offer I couldn't even dream of. Not only will they do my kitchen, but perhaps even in a timeframe that would allow for our actual move-in date to stick relatively close to early September.

Now, these aren't your "we do cabinets when we want because it's fun" kind of people. They are busy, with hectic schedules and big (HUGE compared to my place) jobs for important people. But, out of the generosity of their heart, they made me the offer and agreed to help little old me have the kitchen of my dreams. And this isn't some easy task, as my kitchen is the approximate size of a box of Cheerios. And not the big Costco box, I mean the Safeway box.

So, with already booked schedules and deadlines, they have squeezed me in and are actually looking forward to the project.

This had made me so excited that words cannot express. Not only will the kitchen be absolutely stunning, but as the focal point of the house, it will be the room that I am most proud of and spend the most time in. (Hey, vegans get hungry a lot.)

The lesson of the day is this: Family is the most important thing in the world. They are the ones that can pick you up when you're down, show you how to be a better person, and make your dreams come true.

Thanks, Mom and Pops 2. My dad would be so proud.

What's a project without a couple setbacks?

So,they say life's the journey, not the destination, right? Welp, that is certainly true. Without the trip it takes to get where you're going, what's the fun of it? The road trip to the wedding is always as fun as the reception, the bus ride to the soccer game is what really makes you stick with the team, and the free drinks on the plane to Vegas are what really get you in the mood to par-tay.

So, here's to appreciating every step in the way to this new house, good or bad.

Here's what brings me to this moment of reflection:

After two weeks of planning on swapping "labor for labor" with a custom cabinet maker (thank goodness for boyfriends who know electrical), our cabinet guy from heaven has officially bailed. Now, I understand we are all busy and I shouldn't have banked on someone "finding time" to put together a whole kitchen full of wonderfully perfect cabinets, but, silly me, I did. So now we are three weeks into this fun little adventure and no closer to having a put-together kitchen. Of course, I'd be willing to go with the "Coleman stove on the floor and sink on saw horses" set up for a while, just to move into my own place, but I realize that just won't work. (Although, here's an annoucement: I stayed the night at the house for the FIRST TIME this week! After a cocktail-hour turned cocktail-evening at our local pub, it was just a better idea to mooch couch cushions from my lovely friend's dog - yes, her dog - and sleep on the floor at the Discoball. And it was fabulous. Minus the thousand brain cells I probably lost sniffing freshly lacquered floors all night.)

Anyway, we've checked Ikea (would I really go with particle board?!) and Home Depot (five grand and a six week wait for cabinets WE have to install?!) and no decisions have been made. I know, I know, I need to shop around, but when we are talking about a month plus to get the suckers, time is of the essence.

So, here's to finding the dream set of cabinets this weekend and shelling out the dough to get 'em here sometime before the first snow. The worst part? I used to moonlight as a "Home Show Cabinet Pro" for some family friends, so I know what good cabinets are and why they're worth it. Note to self: save dough for the dream cabinets BEFORE you buy the shack that really could use them.

Gotta jet now... Bordova house needs cleaning and then it's off to sand and mud the walls at the Shack. Have a fabulously sunny amazing weekend to you all. Cheers.

Adventures In Manual Labor

So, it's been nearly three weeks since we FINALLY got keys to the new shack. And I am LOVING IT! Every day, I wake up excited to work on the next project. Previously a construction neophyte, I have almost officially earned my own hard hat at C&C Construction, or so I have named us.

Here is a brief rundown of what we have done in these two and a half short weeks:

Clear out and tear down back shed
Clear out garage and take out half-assed bathroom
Tear down dilapidated deck
Completely gut kitchen and laundry
Remove doors in kitchen/laundry and kitchen/dining, add arches
Re-tile and paint bathroom
Install new VD-free toilet
Take down huge tree in front yard, including stump

This is certainly an abbreviated list, but you get the point. Every waking hour not spent at our day jobs, Shupie and I are working on the shack. And boy is it coming together. I have chronicled all the progress in pictures, which I hope to turn into some fantastic coffee table book or best-selling coffee table book.

The latest adventure in remodel-land had me spending the better part of Saturday learning to "tape and texture" walls. Upon first look, you would think, "Hey, EASY job! Put goo on wall, spread it with a flat tool thing and you have perfect walls." But, after about ten minutes I realized that this was certainly not the case. I was covered, nearly head to toe, in said goo after about an hour. To add extra fun to the job, I had to goo the archway, meaning that when the goo was applied to thick, it would fall directly on my head, down my shirt (thanks to the girls for being team players and not breaking out in a goo-caused rash) and anywhere else below.

But, all in all, it was a fun job and I love getting my hands dirty. Good thing, since that was coat 1, out of the 4 coats necessary to complete the job.

Another highlight of the project has been the willingness of my great friends to lend a hand. Two of my very best friends came over, on a perfectly beautiful summer day off, and helped tear down stinky walls, load up the pick-up and actually accompany me on a trip to the dump. Now THAT is friendship. Needless to say, this was both of said friend's first trip to the dump. Not to worry, I promised next time they come over, it will be for wine and a chatty, not manual labor.

I have to give a couple more shoutouts, first to my favorite construction guru, Shupe. Without him, I would still be walking around in circles trying to think of what to do. And if it weren't for his drill sergeant attitude, we wouldn't be moving in for another year.

Also, my bro Phil, who has helped us with the worst of the worst of the projects. Clearing out the shed, which we were sure would contain at least one dead body, taking out the tree that must have been planted in the mesozoic era. Phil is putting in more than enough time to earn him a key to the new downtown boozer crash pad. Thanks, Phil.

Oh, and this story wouldn't be complete without a big THANKS to Morgan's, our neighborhood bar. We are officially regulars, and have become the new "NORM!" of the place. Thanks for the cold beer, yummy food, and for letting us in even when we are covered with schmutz and smell like cattle. Here's to our long and boozie relationship.

So, here's to more adventures in manual labor. Next on the agenda: plumbing, cabinets and more wall texturing. And maybe a few brewskis in between.

One million thanks

As the four of you that read this probably know already, I GOT THE HOUSE!

Officially officially, it's mine. I have keys, in my hand. After nearly six months of ups, downs, excitement and let downs, we are done! Well, done with the actual purchase. Now the real work begins. But first, I have to give thanks where thanks are due.

First and foremost, I have to thank my mom. Without her, this whole deal would not have been possible. Seriously. After we found out about the five thousand dollar bomb, I thought it was over. But, after seeing how much I was really really dying for the place, my mom came through without blinking an eye. There's something to be said for a mom who cares so much that you are happy that they will put you first. I am one lucky daughter.

Now, there's Shupe who,as we have seen in the last three days especially, has his work cut out for him. He has been here through all the crying jags when Jerky Bank #1 changed their mind, when I thought there was a $30k repair bill coming, and when I just got so tired of waiting I could kill someone. And now that it's ours, he has jumped to get to work, which is the reason why our demo is nearly finished and the first weekend isn't even over.

I have to take the time here to thank my realtor as well. As a family friend, I'm sure he thought, "Hey, I'll help. Sure. How difficult could it be?" Welp, after the events of the last months, I'm sure he regrets that decision. Of course, know he doesn't, but man has it been work. They hourly rate of this deal is probably down to Wal-Mart greeter status. He has put many, many hours into this thing, put up with my occasional grumpy email when it seemed like a new twist was just unbelievable, come to my office at a moment's notice to have me sign something or talk about conditions, and even gone to the house in the scorching heat to make sure repairs were made that were required before I could complete the purchase. And, to top it off, when I walked in my house for the first time, there was a bottle of bubbly, chilling on the floor with glasses and a card with my other key in it. What a way to begin a life at that house. For his efforts, I am truly grateful.

Also, my lender was amazing. This loan could not have gone any rockier, but he was there to make it happen. Once again, the time spent on this thing will not be reasonably compensated due to the extreme length of the transacton. Thank you to Nick, for all of your hard work.

I must also thank my great friends, who have been here through the whole thing, excited for me the whole way through. Even after talking about it for months, they still don't mind when I say, "Guess what is happening with the house today..." I really do have the world's best group of friends.

Now, to the project. It's been barely three days and we are moving right along. Everytime I walk in the door, meet a new neighbor, show friends and family the "before" house or even just have a beer on the front porch, I am as excited as I was the first time. Here's to a great future in my little shack that could.

More on the fun of demo later. Cheers!

Looking for something fun this summer?

So, after nearly six months of waiting, it appears that we might be getting close to wrapping this bad boy up. I type those words with a huge sense of doubt, although I hate to admit it. I have gone from extreme optimism to extreme pessimism when dealing with this house situation, which is not like me. Usually, the glass is DEFINITELY half full and NEVER half empty (unless you're running to get refills, in which case I would LOVE another Ketel on the rocks, thank you).

But here we are. My final loan documents have been drawn, sent to title and now we wait to schedule our appointment to sign away the next thirty years of my life. I am so excited I don't think there are words to express it. I have, over the months (and months, and months), the trials and tribulations, become quite attached to my little shack.

I know, I know, there is A LOT that needs to be done before we can even move in, but even the prospect of having shack keys in my hands gives me jitters. I haven't been more excited to clean up someone else's mess since my brother used to slip me a $5 spot to clean his room (and do his homework- I had to earn my money with Phil). I cannot wait to clear out the old food in the cabinets, the breast pump in the living room, the golf clubs, baby pool, the 800 doorhandles in the garage and the 10 different appliances spread throughout the house, yard, garage and shed. THAT is how much I love this place.

Now this is when I have to let reality sink in a bit.

Shupie and I sat down a couple days ago and wrote a list of who I need to contact (concrete guy, cabinet guy, tile guy, the place where you get huge bins to throw stuff away, A/C service guy, etc.) and what we need to ask (schedule, timeframe, cost, do they take payment in kidneys? etc.).

Now, being a first time homeowner, this is all new to me. Let's just say I am thanking my lucky stars right now that Shupie is the handiest person I know, and his awesome brother is willing to brave the heat and help with the repairs. Sometimes I just sit back and think, man, what would I do without these guys? Answer: live at home until I'm 30. (No, mom, there's nothing wrong with that, of course.)

So, if any of the five of you that read this are looking for something fun to do this summer, feel free to stop by the Discoball Speakeasy and lend a hand. I promise, I will pay in wine and cold beer - TOTALLY worth it.

Oh, wait a minute, I forgot one little detail... Schmucko's SMUD lien... Well, we'll keep it short and just say that I am signing papers BEFORE I find a stranger on the street corner to grab a $5k cashier's check and take it to SMUD. Hey, do you happen to have $5k lying around? Just askin'... Nothing like getting down to the wire, eh?

Wish me luck...

Anybody up for a good Catch 22?

I have now realized that sometimes life's stories are so completely unbelievable that it seems a Harry Potter book would be more realistic.

As of this time last week, I was riding high with optimism. I had an offer in my hand from Bank #1 to pay off the SMUD lien from hell, give me three weeks to close and get this thing wrapped up. Best of all, I had word from my wonderful Realtor that we would NO LONGER HAVE TO DEAL WITH Bank #1. HALLELUJAH!! I couldn't have been happier if you told me that I had won the biggest jackpot in Lottery history. No exaggeration.

With this news, I grabbed Mr. Shupie and stormed the local home improvement stores, doing price comparisons of all the goodies we would need to buy in the upcoming weeks to make this house a home.

This is about the point in time where the light at the end of the tunnel turned into a train. (Thanks to Liz for the perfect analogy.)

Enter Monday.

As it turns out, Bank #1 allocated the funds to the SELLER rather than the buyer (me). Conveniently enough, the seller IS Bank #1. So, they generously allocated $8500 towards their own closing costs, with nothing allocated to SMUD, nor myself. Apparently what a bank says on the phone and what they put in writing do not have to be the same thing.

So this leaves us where we were about, eh, four weeks ago. Here are our options:

1. I pay the $5k for Schmucko's SMUD lien.

2. I forget about the whole damn thing and spend my saved up down payment funds on therapy to help me get over the whole ordeal.

Wait wait wait, I forgot one thing... I can't pay the SMUD lien. According to FHA guidelines, the buyer cannot pay the seller's lien. So, the lien must be paid, but not by me, but not by Bank #1. Interesting predicament, eh?

For those of you (like me) who are thinking this is too crazy to be true, that there must be a way to get Bank #1 to pay the lien (as they said they would), here are some of the ideas that got shot down:

1. Bank #1 credits me money in closing costs, so I can pay, er, have some stranger pay the lien off. Nope, we would have to put that info on a HUD statement, at which point Bank #2 would say, "HEY! We're only getting $3k (out of the $80k we're owed) and you are crediting the buyer $5k? No way, Bank Jose!"

2. I offer to pay Wells Fargo an additional $1800, which would make them receive the same amount that Bank #1 is paying towards the SMUD lien. Nope, any funds I pay MUST go to Bank #1, not Bank #2 or anyone else.

3. I put in an offer of $5k less than we are paying and take that money to pay the lien. (Er, I mean find someone who is not me to pay the lien. Forgot about that again.) Nope, now that I paid to dollar for a great appraisal, showing that the property already has $15k in equity, the bank isn't going to take any less for the property. More money well spent on my part.

There are many more ideas I could add, but you get the point.

Oh, did I forget that while this is going on, the awesome incentive tax credit is tick, tick, ticking away and (WHOOPS!) expired yesterday.

So, I sucked it up and begged the best mom in the world to pleeeeeeease add another $5k to my ever-growing tab (I believe she has started calling me Norm, from Cheers, at this point.) Thank goodness I was blessed with an awesome mom who would do anything to help me in my time of need. And needless to say, I will be indebted to her until about a week after I'm dead. It'll be worth it, right?

So here I am, about to be another $5k poorer, on the verge of being ready to throw in the towel on this one. I have to recite the "It's a good investment, you'll love being downtown, it will be worth it, you won't really have to go all Cinderella at mom's house for the rest of your life" mantra about ninety seven times a day. But I am starting to believe it. I think.

What's ahead? Welp, it looks as though we are ready to draw documents the beginning of next week, after the holiday. Isn't it funny how sometimes a holiday can fall right at the time you DON'T want it to? Oh well. I guess I will be lazing away this weekend rather than starting my month-long renovation project on my dream shack.

Here's to a week with no speed bumps, a light at the end of the tunnel that does not turn out to be a train, and a couple a brewskis to pass the time in between. Happy 4th of July.

I acquiesce...

Ok, let me start this by fully admitting that I have committed the cardinal sin of blogging: I started this blog, put up a couple posts and then let it lie dormant for, well, a whole month. A lifetime in blogland. I know, I did it, now let's get past it.

For the record, I had my reasons, and they were good ones. I started this blog to entertain you with the adventures of new homeownership... But three couple weeks ago I had the rug pulled out from under me. The lovely bank (who will remain nameless until I have keys in my hands) that holds the first loan on the property changed their minds. Yep, changed their minds. After signing a contract with me and accepting my offer, they said, "If you don't close by Monday, we're foreclosing." This was on Wednesday. Needless to say, I proceeded to crawl under a rock and feel sad about my bad fortune and another summer NOT living downtown. Let's just say, things have changed. Here's a brief re-cap of the events of the last month in Discoballand.

1. We find out there is a SMUD lien on the property for $5k. SMUD will not negotiate the amount, take payments or anything of the like. It must be paid upon closing.
2. I offer to pay $1500 if Bank 1 pays $3500. (God forbid the schmuck who took out the loan actually pay for it.)
3. Bank 1 takes approximately 3 weeks to get back to me, within which time I find out that under the terms of an FHA loan, I am not allowed to pay back any of the SMUD lien. An interesting rule (to put it nicely), if you ask me.
4. This is the point at which Bank 1 tells me that if I don't close the loan in 4 days, they are foreclosing. Now, call me a pessimist, but the idea was floating around that the bank had a cash offer, no strings, waiting to buy the place on the courthouse steps. This hasn't been confirmed, but the events of the following week lead me to believe it's true.
5. I get really sad, then really mad, then really really mad, about this crappy treatment and the fact that some jerk with cash can blow my deal out of the water. I'm preeeetty sure that schmuck with cash has no plans to actually live in my little shack, but rather improve it to livable conditions and rent it out. I resign myself to no longer looking for a place to buy (did I forget to mention that even if I did find another place, I am now ineligible for Uncle Sam's generous first time homebuyer tax credit? Oh yeah, that's important, too. Thanks to Bank 1 taking upwards of 4 months to make decisions, I'm SOL.)
6. I test out the ride (on our bikes) from Rancho Cordova to downtown Sac. Hey, an hour and a half isn't THAT long, right? I can totally stay in Bordova for the summer. 100+ weather and an hour and a half to get to the beers, no problemo.
7. My Monday deadline to close the loan comes and goes.
8. Wednesday rolls around and I get a call from my wonderful Realtor, who was "giving me time to think about what I want to do." Why the heck is he calling me??? It goes a little bit like this:
Wonderful Realtor: "Are you sitting down"
Me: "Umm, why?"
Wonderful Realtor: "The other realtor called. Bank 1 changed their minds and they are willing to pay the entire SMUD lien and give you two more months to close."
Me: "Umm, what?"
Realtor: "You heard me right."
Me: "I think I might have a heart attack at 27."
Apparently that cash offer did not show up on the courthouse steps. Too bad for Bank 1, tough luck.
9. Here we are. Appraisal, done. Inspection, done. Underwriting, working on it. As of now, it looks like next week or the week after I might be signing papers and getting keys to my new little shack. Now, I know that a lot can happen between now and next week, but all signs point to go.

So, now I am getting back to this blog and looking forward to keeping you posted on the antics of the weeks and months to come. I promise I won't wait a month to post again. Kisses.

TORTURE!

Now, let me preface this little rant with the fact that I have been thinking this for MONTHS, without saying anything. Unlike some of my dear friends, I try my best not to use Facebook and other online avenues as my own personal complaint filing cabinet or therapist or something. But, figuring the minuscule number of people that might actually read this, I figured I could share.
Here goes...
Everyday, on my way to work, I drive by my perspective new house. Now, obviously that means that one of the lovely traits about the house is that it is smack dab in the middle of about 4 freeway interchanges. If it were any closer to the freeway, I would have to pay car registration for the place rather than property taxes. It's that close. Looking on the bright side, it will be easy to get everywhere, since I walk out of my front door and say hello to 50, 80, 99 and 5. Want to go to LA? Done. Want to go to Tahoe? Done. Want to go to Wyoming? Come over and I'll show you the way!
See, convenience?
Anywho... So I drive down Hwy 50 every day on my way to work. Usually I am stoked on my way to work because I am fortunate enough to have a job I love and work with people who I actually like spending my days with. (Most of the time.) I consider myself quite lucky in this.
However, these days, as I wait patiently for Said Bank #1 to deny my plea for help paying Homeowner Schmuck's delinquent SMUD lien, I drive by this house with furrowed eyebrows. This process was started almost 5 months ago and I have yet to see a "Sale Pending" sign put up at the place. Now, I know that short sales often fall through, but I would like to tell the selling realtor that even just that little sign would give me a little piece of mind. Come on, woman, work with me here!
So everyday, like clockwork, I drive by the place and see it sitting there, getting older and more lonely by the day. Sometimes I try to block it from my mind by blaring a little Jamiroquai or Stevie Ray. But no matter what I try, my eyes always wander to my little shack by the road. (Don't worry, mom, I still watch where I'm going... Usually.) Today I even found myself listening to Aaron Neville love ballads on my way to work, singing about his yearning for that missing girl, and I could almost commiserate with that feeling of longing for "the one." Although I'm sure Aaron Neville's "one" would put my "one" to shame.
So, here's to another month of lonely drives to work. Although, I guess I should be thankful because all of this has really made me desire to take the light rail more than ever. What are a few unsolicited advances from homeless people compared to having to see my long lost (and seemingly unattainable) friend everyday on the way to work?
Here's a status update for you: Said Bank #2 has declined our pleas to help pay for part of the SMUD lien. (Hey, can't really blame 'em... They are getting $3k in the deal, rather than the $80k that is owed.) So, now we wait for Said Bank #1 to decline our pleas, then we suck it up and get rolling on the appraisal (and finding someone in need of a kidney, to whom I will sell one of mine).
Cheers and Happy Friday!

Hey, with shenanigans like this, why not share?

So, why did I choose now to start a blog? Welp, to tell you the truth, I finally have something others might find interesting going on in my life. I mean, I know the antics of my two mutts and the tomfoolery my friends and I come up with are often great conversation starters, but I figured that now that I have big kid prospects on the horizon, I might as well share it with my friends and fam.

So, I will get you up to speed, with the short version of it:

I am in the process of purchasing my first home. Yep, a home with my name on the title, no kind of co-signed stuff with my folks. I picked it out, fell in love and put in an offer. Now, that's not to say it is a dream house by any stretch of the imagination. Nope, it's a shack. But it will be my shack. And it's downtown. Close enough to my work to ride a bike or walk without having to call for a ride half way there. Oh, and the mere possibility of selling my car gets me giddy inside. I would LOVE to join the hordes of on-the-grid dudes and chickies who make their way around town without leaving giant carbon footprints and polluting the earth with tons and tons of carbon emissions. Needless to say, I'm stoked.

Here's the catch.... It's a short sale (collective sigh of despair). In laymen's terms, NOTHING will go as planned.

First, it took more than two months to get my measly offer accepted. Then, come to find out there were not one, but three surprise liens on the place. We have now gotten two taken care of, but as it turns out, the third one is the burden of the purchaser (little old me?!) upon sale of the property. The amount would be considered by some to be small, but $5k is a lot for a mid-20's "legislative assistant" like me. So the big decision comes: suck it up and pay for someone else's bad money management or forget about the place. So I am in the midst of making the big decision and I think all signs point to sucking it up and forking over the extra dough. It will be worth it, right? I guess my affinity for good wine will be put on hold for 12 packs of PBR this summer.

I can't help but mention that I am already getting out a big chunk of change to make repairs to the place, simply to make it livable and workable for my lifestyle.

But hey, we (the bf, mutts and I) will finally live downtown... Where the magic happens.... There are fun dog walks galore, awesome places for afternoon cocktail imbibing (if I ever have a spare dollar not going to home repairs) and great fun things to do all over this area. It really can't be beat. And with the recent awesome cruiser I received as the best xmas gift ever (thanks, Shupie!) I am ready to hit the road pedaling!

So this little experiment of online blabbing will be my way of sharing the ups and downs of homeownership (hopefully!) with those who might care, those who might need a laugh, and those who want to feel good about not making the mistake of purchasing a one bathroom great depression area barn. So, here's to the next year, may it be a great one for all of us.

Oh, and where does the name come from, you ask? Welp, along with the added bonus of about 100 doorknobs we found in garage #1 at the new house, and the dishwasher full of dishes, hooked up to the back yard water hose, the house comes with an awesomely random disco ball!!! Lucky us!! I can't wait to spit shine that thing and hang it in the kitchen! (Kidding, mom!) So, hence the disco ball. And the speakeasy is a goal of ours. A fun place for friends and fam to gather, cocktail and cause a little trouble.

The place was built in the wee years following prohibition, but still during the doldrums of the great depression. I am hoping we can dust off it's pride and turn it into an awesomely fun casa. Here's to the 21st amendment!

I look forward to sharing the events of the next year with you! :)