Every day is a new opportunity for something to go wrong. Yes, it's true. It's the age old adage's fault; "If something can go wrong, it will." But take heart, dear reader, because even though every day is an opportunity for something to go wrong, it's also an opportunity to say, "You are not gonna defeat me! I shall smote your wrongness into ruin and be done! Now...away with you." Okay...so no one really talks like that and even if they do, it's probably just in their head.
My house is trying to kill me. Never buy a house, children. I know there are people who push the issue, "Buy!" they say, "Raise a family!" they say.... They never say your crap is gonna break daily and you're gonna have to fix it cause you make a house payment instead of pay rent. They would never say that. Real estate agents aren't born evil. I even know a couple who to this day aren't evil, but a tiny bit of warning that you'll pay and pay and pay some more would have been awesome. Plus, if you're lucky---errr---if lucky is want to call it, your house will come with a yard. You can plant flowers and put up little fences and it will be yours--your own--your precious. Ah, but along with the dying flowers (black thumb syndrome...mine will never be green) you will have grass. Grass grows. This summer I have been absolutely convinced that someone sneaked onto my lawn and covered it in fertilizer then sneaked around and made the lawn mower uber angry, to the point that it would hate me for all the days of my life. I know I have enemies, but sheesh! Couldn't you have shaved my head in my sleep or something? I mean really...that would be so much easier to deal with than the ding dang hayfield that becomes my yard every week. I can't keep an aloe plant alive, but I sure can grow a lush lawn of grass. What the heck is that about?!
I know folks who love mowing. I'll never understand that. Maybe if someone hadn't jacked up the mower I'd like it just a little bit more. Maybe if the top screws wouldn't come out or the dang thing would actually shut off when I tell it to, I wouldn't face the task with such daunting dread. Maybe if I had a nifty zero-turn mower that weed eated (eated? ate?) killed the grass and made me dinner, I wouldn't wanna hijack a concrete truck and "accidentally" spill the contents all up on the grass. I'd complain about the fact that it's 650 degrees in the shade every single time I decide to mow, but I probably shouldn't. That way when it's 10 below zero I can complain about that and no one can say, "Weren't you just griping about it being hot last August?!" This woman is rarely completely content.
Would you believe this blog was supposed to be about a three day clogged pipe incident with witty statements about plungers, bleach and drain cleaner? I think I'll just advise you to rent, not buy, and leave it at that. Get a good landlord. Surely they'll be much easier to get along with than a mortgage company anyway, right?