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.)