A Day in the Life of Lola

It takes a unique (and probably a bit crazy) person to love Jack Russell terriers.  They're demanding, rambunctious, entitled, and precocious.  Lola is all of these - she is a diva. 

When JRT owners meet, they form an instant bond.  I have a virtual friend (we have never met in person) who has a JRT named Kooper.  She posted a blog about him that I just had to duplicate with Lola.

Lola LOVES the bungalow's backyard.  She especially loves that there's a cat next door to keep watch out for.  Since I work from home and my office has doors to the backyard, Lola is free to meander in and out as she pleases during the day.

Here is a typical day in the life of Lola:

10:00 a.m. - Optimum spot for sun and cat watching.

10:30 a.m. - Sun bathing by the pond.

11:00 a.m.

11:30 a.m. - Needing some couch comfort.

12:00 noon

 12:30 p.m. - She's made some big moves.

2:00 p.m. - Back to the couch.

2:30 p.m. - Uh, oh. Where's the sun?

3:00 p.m. - She's too busy pouting that the sun went away to notice it came back.

Knowing Lola loves to sunbathe, I sound like the worst mom ever moving her to Oregon.  She'll just have to get used to cloud bathing.  I have.

Love,

the bird (and the bloke)

Every day has its battle.

There's a theory (maybe not a good one, albeit, but a theory nonetheless) that successful couple's therapy can happen when the couple bonds over their dislike for the therapist.  So instead of battling each other, they team up to battle the therapist - it provides them with a common interest.  The bloke and I have had enough battles in the past few weeks to ward off any therapists for years.  Heck, we're modern day warriors.

First there was the toilet.  Before we had even managed to use it properly - if you know what I mean - it became clogged.  It's easy when a toilet becomes blocked - and you know you didn't do anything to clog it - to assume the other user was suffering the consequences of a large burrito.  But we both swear it wasn't us. 

So began the battle of the bird and the bloke versus the toilet.  They just don't make toilets like they used to.  The bungalow has those water-saving low-flushing toilets.  So the bloke's first attempt was to dump a bucket of water into the toilet.  No luck.  We finally brought over a plunger from the bloke's condo.  They also don't make plungers like they used to.  Plastic handles, really?!  What happened to the wood?  Anyways, round plungers in low-flush toilets don't create suction.  Second fail.

We had been toilet-less for probably a week by the time mama bird came to visit.  As I remember growing up, my childhood home was fraught with clogged and overflowing toilets.  This came in handy as my mom was able to successfully unclog the toilet (she's the plunger whisperer, I swear).  The plan was to teach us how to plunge before she left.  We didn't get the chance though, as it wasn't even 3 hours before the toilet clogged again (and again, not from a burrito lunch).

Crossing your legs to "hold it" can be distressing and nerve-wracking. To make it more bearable, we put our attention to the simple little tasks. Changing out the curtains in the guest bedroom seemed as simple as it could be. Loosen the rod, drop the old rags, slide on the new and re-attach the rod.

Loosen the rod?  Not so fast!  Of course it's attached with a screw.  A screw to suit no driver - it seems to have a special key that we of course did not have.  The option?  Remove the rails from the wall.  Naturally these are attached to the wall with more screws.  And of course, these are screwed deep into a wall that gives the impression of drilling to the center of the earth. This is no mean feat.

A feat that has to be repeated shortly after on another simple task.  Attach a small shelf in the bathroom and replace the toilet-roll holder. Whatever possessed the previous owners had clearly affected their tastes.  Such an ideal house adorned with some truly grotesque furnishings.  Either that or they knew the future owners would be tested to the full should they decide to replace these articles and insert holes in the walls.  For certain, these walls are not for coming down in a storm.  Heck, they'd withstand an earthquake and a hurricane.  At once.

After finally getting through the walls, we went to hang the fixtures, only to discover the screws were too big.  Whoops.  What do you do with 5/16" holes in your wall?  You make the holes in the furniture bigger, of course!

Our steel trap walls, however, still open their pores to visitors.  Ants!  We can only presume these co-habitants utilize some form of teleportation to transport themselves over, under, and around the newly sprayed barricades.  Uninvited and hungry, our little friends couldn't resist the kitchen.  They couldn't resist the bathroom.  They couldn't resist the office.  Most importantly, they couldn't resist the sweet tasting, mind-bendingly awesome ... BAIT!!!!

Every day has its battle.

Just before calling a plumber, the bloke found a snake in his garage.  The curtains are hung after sore arms and literally having to cut the old rags off the rods.  The bathroom fixtures are in place after using a bit of creativity.  And the ants are slowly dying off. 

The bathroom towel rack/shelf affixed to the world's strongest walls by giant screws.

 Pretty (un-ironed) curtains in the guest room hanging from the permanently affixed rods.

 All of that black stuff in the bait are ants!  I would venture thousands of them.

Now that we've reached a peace agreement with the bungalow (at least for the time being), it's on to the fun part ... more projects!  Here's another preview ... the living room is almost done!

Stay tuned!

Love,
the bird and the bloke

Meet the neighbors.

Right when the bloke pulled up to the house with the truck full of furniture, we met the neighbors.  But they didn't come bearing homemade baked goods or even pleasantries.  They showed up with a "what was that noise?!"

Flash back about 30 seconds and I'm inside the house chatting with the bloke's friends.  I hear the truck rumbling up.  Then a loud BOOM.  At that moment, about three of us - in unison - said "tree."

Okay, rewind back those 30 seconds again.  The bloke is in the cab of the truck.  His friend, riding shotgun is saying, "Oh, wow, is that the house?  Oh it's nice.  Oh wow, look at how big those trees are in your yard."  BOOM.

Yep, the bloke did not clear the tree.

 The view from the inside.  Let the sunshine in.

 Doh!  Some of the tree made it inside the truck.

The wounded tree.

All of the guys are laughing away, while the bloke assures us, "It's okay.  I bought the insurance."  I thought to myself, "Wow, I've never bought the insurance.  I always thought it was silly.  I guess it does come in handy."

Then, upon returning the truck, we discover this:

"CUSTOMER is responsible for ALL overhead damage."  Dang it.  I wonder if there's every been anyone else who has made a homeowner's insurance claim within the first 30 seconds of arriving at the house on move in day.

Like I said before, and as all of the neighbors heard, we know how to make an entrance.

Love,

the bird (and the bloke)

P.S.  Here's a little sneak peek at one of the projects we've been working on.

We know how to make an entrance.

Last week, I kept repeating the old adage to myself: If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.  Hence my absence from blogging.  To sum up the last week in two words: Banks suck.  But lo and behold, we closed on the bungalow!

Today is Lola Dog's eighth birthday.  I feel like this is a big birthday, as she was diagnosed with cancer in January and given one to three months to live.  She's showed them!  So what did I get her for her birthday this year?  A house!

She was so excited to see the bungalow - she couldn't have been happier running around her new yard and sniffing out the new smells.  In fact, she was so excited that she vomited on the front porch.  And in the kitchen.  And the dining room.  And in my car.  And the bloke's car. 

As the bloke reminded me, "I've been sick on my birthday many times."

But the best part of the day had to be our arrival to the bungalow.  After entering the house for the first time, we let Lola out to check out her new yard.  We did not notice that the fence gate had been left open ... but Lola did.  She ran straight out of our yard and to the neighbor's yard, where she proceeded to immediately take a poo.

We know how to make an entrance.

Love,
the bird (and the bloke)

Square Feet Into a Round Hole

Between the bloke and me, he's the one who is good with numbers.  He is an accountant by day and obsessive spreadsheet user by night - he has a spreadsheet down to the dollar with how much money we will have after we close.  Me?  I'm terrible at numbers.

The day after we put in the offer on the house, the bloke left for Europe (yes, it was quite the experience trying to buy a house when one was overseas).  He first traveled to Spain, then onto Scotland.  He gave me a call the first night he was in Scotland and it went a little something like this:

the bird: It's midnight there.  You're in early!
the bloke: No, it's one in the morning.
the bird: Isn't it an 8 hour time difference?
the bloke: Yes.
the bird: So it'd be midnight there.
the bloke: What time is it there?
the bird: Five.
the bloke: And 5 plus 8 is ...
the bird: Twelve.
[silence]
the bird: Please don't tell anyone that just happened.

(And here I am divulging this embarrassing story.  But in my defense, I am great at words.  The bloke, not so much.  He's a terrible speller!  Here are just a few of his misspellings:

plough
realise
neighbour
centre
cheque
sceptical
tyre

Tee hee.  And the Kindle doesn't let him use British English when we play Scrabble.)

With regards to numbers and moving, I'm a bit mind-boggled.  My apartment is 450 square feet.  The bloke's condo is 1,471 square feet.  We have a total of 62 boxes.  We are both at about the same stage of packing.  So far, I have filled 22 boxes.  The bloke has filled 6.  As we've seen, I'm no math genius, but this doesn't seem to add up at all.

Love,
the bird (and the bloke)

P.S. Look how pretty the blooming tree is at the bungalow!

Fitted sheets or feta cheese?

This weekend was full of activities - a birthday gathering, a baby shower, and a luau.  It was a great opportunity for me to get more used to gluten-free beer ... and get more sad about not being able to eat chicken fingers and cupcakes.  Regardless, it was a fun weekend and, as is always the case with the bloke, a learning experience.

When we hang out with the bloke's friends, I'm usually in the minority being an American.  The baby shower was no exception.  And as has been from the beginning, when we gather with the bloke's friends, it's always brought up how much more difficult his accent is to understand than the others' (including the Irish!).

A bit more about that.  While the bloke was courting me (how sweet!), he would call to arrange dates.  I wouldn't have a clue what he was saying!  So I would ask him to text me.  Before our first date, I was hanging out with some friends - a guy from London and his wife who lived in Scotland for awhile.  I was expressing my worry about not being able to understand the bloke, and my friend said, "As long as he's not from Glasgow, you'll be fine."  Turns out he's from Glasgow.

Keep in mind, the misunderstanding of accents works both ways.  It's not usually problematic unless we're both not understanding the other.  Fast forward to a few months after the first date and we're on a mini-vacation to the coast.  We're making up the bed at the house we were staying at.

the bird: I hate fitted sheets.
the bloke: Feta cheese?
the bird: Yeah, fitted sheets.  Because you never find out if you've put it on the wrong way until you've hooked three sides.
the bloke: [confusion on his face]
the bird: You know ... what we're doing right now.
the bloke: Oh, fitted sheets!  I thought you said feta cheese.
[we share a giggle]
the bloke: So why do you hate fitted sheets?
the bird: I don't know, it tastes sour.
the bloke: [confusion on his face, once again]
the bird: Did you say fitted sheets or feta cheese?
the bloke: Fitted sheets!
the bird: Feta cheese?
the bloke: Fitted sheets!

At this point, we always end up just spelling what we're trying to say.  To this day, we play the "fitted sheets/feta cheese game."  My accuracy has improved to about 75 percent.

Now combine the accent with the bloke's use of British words, and I'm oftentimes at a loss.  With this upcoming move, he's using vocabulary I've never heard before.  For example, he was vacuuming his place getting ready to show it to a prospective renter when he cut his finger and needed a Band-aid.  But when he comes in to the bathroom where I was showering, he says to me, "I cut my finger on the hoover and need plaster."  What on earth?!  I thought I was just mishearing him over the water, but that's indeed what he said.

At the baby shower, one of his friends asked me about the bungalow's garden.  I said, "It's a little late to plant this year, but we may start one next year."  It wasn't until hours later, when the bloke referred to our yard as the garden, that I realized the friend was not asking me about planting flowers and vegetables but about our yard.

Other gems from this weekend: we moved boxes out of the boot (trunk) and we packed using selotape (Scotch tape).

So, as a recap and vocabulary lesson:

American boot

British boot

American garden

British garden

American plaster

British plaster

I'm awaiting the day when the bloke runs an errand for me to pick up a new fitted sheet and comes home with feta cheese.

Love,
the bird (and the bloke)

Sedate Meets Bold

Okay, now I'm nervous.  The bloke is sorting through potential renters of his condo to take residence June 1.  I've put in my 30-day notice that I will be vacating my apartment.  If something goes haywire with the house, we'll be homeless (so very Portland of us).

So, instead of obsessing about the underwriting process, I've been shopping for paint and browsing pinterest (or pinister, as the bloke calls it).  The house is move-in ready, but painting is a relatively cheap way to make the house ours.

The bloke and I went to Home Depot to start collecting swatches.  Within minutes, we found ourselves gravitating towards different sections - I was enamored by the bold colors; the bloke the neutrals.  Now take a look below at how different each of our homes are:

Above is the bloke's.  As you can see ... white walls, beautiful art, and neutral carpeting and furniture.  He calls his style "sedate."  When I'm over there, I feel like I'm in a hotel.  It's very cozy.

Above is the bird's.  I love color.  Everyone who visits me, when I ask them if they like my apartment, says, "Well, it's definitely ... you."  Which I guess is a kind way of saying, "I wouldn't live here, but more power to you!"  My mantra: the more color the better.

So now comes the task of blending these two styles together.  Luckily (there's that luck again!), it's very "in" right now to have splashes of color throughout a house.  So it looks like we're both winners.  The bloke will have his neutral walls, and I'll get to add bright spots of colors.  The perfect blend.  (I've already picked out a few old pieces of furniture that I'll be painting in bright colors to make new again!)

Now it's just a matter of sorting through the endless possibilities we've collected ...

Love,
the bird (and the bloke)