real estate

Home is Where the Hugo Is

Someone’s trash is another person’s excuse to add to the giant hoarding heap.

Lordy rat’s nest, do I have a load of crap in my house.

When you are trying to sell your house, it is considered wise to unclutter it, to make the path through the living room 6-inches wide instead of the current 3. It is prudent to not have the mold-covered boxes reach the ceiling when shoulder-level is more appropriate, and the collection of pigeon droppings in the corners is a big no-no.

I am not a hoarder. I am a thrower. I like to throw items away, and contribute to the eventual demise of our species when we are all swallowed up by the giant ocean garbage patches.

My husband is less of a thrower. He walks a thin line between saver and hoarder.

When my parents moved two years ago, my mother bestowed upon me all my childhood things she had been storing for all these years.

I received a garbage bag filled with Barbie doll heads; the hair shorn, the heads painted with nail polish. Ooh! I was looking for these! What a find. I immediately set them up on my mantlepiece and was promptly arrested for being a serial killer.

Or maybe I said “Why in the world did you save these?”

I am trying to avoid a similar situation of handing my son a bag of broken crayons and used pacifiers upon his departure from the nest so I have been throwing many thing away under the guise of “Oh, these are for the garage sale.”

There will never be a garage sale.

And my saver husband has been going along with it rather well.

There’s only been one slight glitch.

This apparently is moving into our new house with us:

Yes. His eyes are following you. You are not imagining it.

His name is Hugo. He is the man of a thousand faces, and was a puppet who haunted my waking hours as a child. My husband saved him from the stash of childhood things.

You used to be able to put mustaches and wigs on him or you used to be able to cower in his presence and beg your older brother to remove the mini-lifelike man from your sight. Fun for the whole family.

He currently lives in the basement because if he were anywhere in our living space, I would feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. He has not been placed in the garage sale box, but in the keep-in-the-storage-space box.

Look, he has hands:

The better to strangle you with while you sleep.

I guess I should be content with the idea of him moving into the storage space. At least he will be out of the house and stop whispering to me when no one else is around.

I have tried to move him to garage sale boxes, but he always manages to escape.

Evidence:

Hugo the man with a foot fetish.

I’m thinking he will make a fantastic college graduation present for my son. Fun for the whole family.

Gardening 101

We are in the process of putting our house on the market.

It’s been awesome.

Wait, is awesome the right word?

No…I was thinking of something else, like arrggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!?!

Yes that sums it up nicely.

So apparently when you want to sell your house, you have to really get it in good shape. You have to return to those home projects you long abandoned in favor of watching Bachelor Pad: The Night of the Living Herpes. For instance, you have to finish building the stairs so they connect directly to the second floor. You can no longer use your couch as a napkin. And you should dismantle the 50 Shades of Grey torture shack in the living room.

We have lived in our house for eight years. We began our home ownership with gusto. We painted the exterior ourselves and made a solemn blood vow to never do that again. We painted most of the interior, leaving the hallway and ceiling above the stairs unfinished because of the whole not-being-14-feet tall and the not-wanting-to-use-a-ladder-on-the-stairs-are-you-out-of-your-mind thought pattern.

Then our cable got connected and I tuned out the house projects and tuned into reality television. And the hallway remained beautifully unpainted. The landscape left to fester. And the dust bunnies met more dust bunnies, and you know how bunnies are.

But now we’re back in gusto mode.

Our realtor tells us we need to view our house through the eyes of the perspective buyer.

This is what worries me. Especially when I look at our non landscaping.

I don’t know how to garden. I have never had a green thumb, which I’m thankful for because that would likely be a sign of gangrene.

I don’t know. Be honest, does this scream “Buy me!”

See we have a carport, and a part or a port of the carport blew off, and we kind of threw that port or part right behind the house and piled some lawn chairs we never use on top of it. That’s a design of sorts, right? I believe it’s known as “clusterfuck”.

On the side of the house, we have trees that have commingled with our house à la Swiss Family Robinson style. But back-to-nature, no-birth-control-for-anyone-but-viagra-for-everyone, the Poltergeist-tree-is-real is all the rage now, yes?

Let’s hope so because this is my home:

It’s pretty in a my-house-is-being-made-love-to-by-trees kind of way. If I were the realtor, I would advertise it as a house with lots of oxygen potential. And most people are in favor of oxygen.

We also have a giant pile of leaves our neighbor lovingly raked into our shared bushes that is now home to a stray cat that enjoys spaying and mewing loudly. I would have taken a picture, but I was afraid my neighbor would see me. That should not deter you from buying the house. It’s not my neighbor, it’s me. I have gelotophobia, the fear of being laughed at.

There is much to do. And here I sit writing this blog.

But I’m hopeful it will get done because I learned today that this is not a flower so I can get to pulling.