A Meeting of the Mines

Hick had his first meeting in the office he built from dividing a storeroom, and furnished with all of HIS stuff from home. Here's a little reminder photo:

The assorted members of the board governing the senior apartments were in agreement that it's a nice office. Something that has been needed for a long time.

"This is much better than meeting in a hallway!"

"This is a great space. If somebody is interested in renting an apartment, you can bring them in here to sit down and discuss it, or do the paperwork."

"Or if somebody from an agency comes by, it's more businesslike to have a place to meet."

Hick said even the mayor (who is definitely no fan of Hick, and thwarts his efforts at every turn), said it was a nice office. "And she brung her grandbaby to the meeting! A toddler!" Because, you know, why would a city mayor show up to a scheduled monthly meeting alone, ready to devote full attention to a non-profit business that leases city property?

Anyhoo... Hick was quite pleased with himself for providing this space, decorated with his many treasures. I'm pretty sure he spent a little time explaining the decorations while waiting for all board members to arrive. I imagine he did a round of the room: "This is MY deer head that I got a good deal on. And these are MY scale models of NASCAR cars. Here are MY license plates that I've collected over the years." 

Hick has always done that. Everything is HIS. He even used to describe our house that way. And our 10 acres and other 10 acres and pretty much everything we own jointly. It's not as if he built everything with his own hands, like the themed sheds on Shackytown Boulevard.

Another Photographer, Another View

Here's another view of the front of Lap House. The Pony took this one, as we drove down the block on Errand Day. I parked across the street by the elderlies apartment building, and The Pony took it out my window.

I am just loving the look of this! Hick says he will probably paint the wooden support posts black. He's not sure of the color, but he won't leave them as bare wood.

I don't know what kind of tree that is on the left, but it has pink flowers on it! Anyhoo... I just wanted to show this view of Lap House, because it never occurs to Hick that he can walk across the street, rather than down to the corner stop sign to get a full picture.

Again, here's a reminder of the "before" shape of Lap House when we bought it:

That tall pipe is gone. Might have been a flue of some kind, for gas heat. And the mailbox hanging on the rail. I'm not sure what Hick will do about that old TV antenna behind the tree. And the roof has been re-shingled.

To me, it looks like a different house!

What a Difference a Paint Makes

Hick hired HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) to paint the base of the porch and the foundation of Lap House. They were going to do it last week, but HOS got sick in the heat, and could not. Funny how Hick told me this when it happened, but he had not yet bought the paint that showed up on the receipt he gave me yesterday. Maybe they had to pre-treat the area, or maybe Hick already had a little of the paint from another job. Anyhoo... HOS was feeling better yesterday, on an even hotter day, and got the job done.

I gotta say, that's a nice-looking front porch! Hick still has to replace the siding at the corner of the house, where he removed it to install the new electrical entrance. Here's a zoom-in so you can see more detail of the porch:

You can see here that the rail is no longer red, white, and blue. I'm not sure if Hick is going to paint or stain those support beams. Looks like a bit of soffit has been added to trim out the porch roof. This looks like a shady place to sit with a beverage and survey the neighborhood. Much better than what it was before.

I'm not sure if Hick will be replacing the two front windows. For sure he is going to put black fake shutters on each side. He says black now, but if the window trim is white, I could see white working just as well.

Now, if we could only get to work on the inside, where nothing has been done save cleaning out the basement to allow for the HVAC installation. And by "we," I mean Hick, Old Buddy, and HOS.

I'm Not Lovin' It

Hick and I really don't speak the same language. He ASSumes I will known certain construction terminology, but I refuse to let him make a rumpus out of me. I have to mount an offensive before he has a chance to declare: "You don't know nothin!"

Hick came in Monday afternoon and started jawing and thrusting money and a receipt at me before I could put down my lucky scratching quarter.

"Here's the receipt from Lowe's. It's got stuff from Lap House and Bargain House. The paint is for Lap House and the screws are for Bargain House. This is money for my stuff that will be on the Lowe's and Menards bill when they come." [It was $1294.00 in cash!]

Then Hick walked off! The receipt was 18 inches long, and he draped it across HIPPIE's keyboard. Only about a third of that receipt had items on it. Usually I don't get a receipt unless Hick uses cash. And the Lowe's statement does not have itemized prices. Only the total for each day's transaction, and a list of merchandise without individual prices.

This means I have to figure out which items went to which flip, and record the costs for each, to use for tax purposes, and to determine our asking price when we are ready to sell the flip houses. Plus, I have to decide which merchandise was for Hick's side jobs like the senior apartments, or his SUS2.5. The latter which also is needed for his business taxes.

"Hey! Wait a minute. Is this receipt for cash you spent? Or the debit card?"

"Nooo. I put it on the Lowe's card."

"So when I get the Lowe's bill, it will have these charges for both flip houses, AND stuff you bought to use for something else?"

"Yeah."

"So you're just giving me the receipt so I will know the price of what went with each house?"

"Yeah."

"How am I supposed to know? I can't tell what you bought! What's a 1/2 CAT OSB SHEATHING? Or what's a LG JAR PWRPRO INT 90X3?"

"I told you the paint is for Lap House, and the screws are for Bargain House!"

"You come back here! Take this receipt. Use a pen, and put an X by stuff belonging to one house, and I'll know the rest is for the other house."

"You always have to make everything so hard!"

Well. I don't think I'M the one making things so hard. I just want to keep accurate records. Hick marked the receipt for me.

Hick even made a key for me at the top, showing that X was for Lap House, and O was for Bargain House. Not to be confused with Hick giving kisses to the first, and hugs to the other! I'm not lovin' this system, but now that I've forced Hick to clarify expenses, I can figure it out when the monthly statement gets here.

I Suppose It's a Job for Somebody Who Is Not a People Person

Remember a couple weeks ago, when I was surrounded by Amazon delivery vans, when I'd never heard of them or seen one before? My package arrived at just the right time, as I was coming up the driveway. That's when I noticed the lack of joy in the deliveryperson.

It's taken me nine days, but I FINALLY realized who that Amazon Driver reminded me of: OTTO, the school bus driver on The Simpsons. He looked exactly like Otto, but with his long bushy black hair pulled back in a neck-nape ponytail.

As I sat in T-Hoe's driver's seat, parked off the driveway in my front yard, I thought Otto might bring that package over to me. That's what I would have done, if I was an Amazon Driver, and a car came up the driveway and pulled off into the yard while I was getting the package out of my van. I'd walk over and ask, "Did you order something?" And hand them the package. Saving myself a walk across the concrete carport, gravel driveway, Hick-laid brick sidewalk, and steps to the porch. Just hand it to the person and be done. I don't think Amazon takes a picture of their delivery like FedEx. I didn't get one.

Anyhoo... Otto glanced at me, then awkwardly, stepping over Jack and dodging Pepper's playful gamboling, walked my small bag of three vitamin bottles to front door and set it down. Walked back to his white Amazon van and got in. Not acknowledging me at all.

As Otto drove past me on the gravel driveway, I gave the lifted-finger wave, and a thank-you nod. Otto wouldn't look at me! He appeared to be silently fuming! His cheeks were flushed. His hair looked extra-wiry. As if I had annoyed him by coming home to see the delivery!

Maybe Otto just does not like his job. More likely, just does not like to work. He was definitely Gen Z. The kind I see out and about sometimes, who would rather slither through a door and let it close on his shirttail rather than give it an extra push for the person on his heels. The thought of actually holding it open for somebody would be as alien as deciphering a rotary phone or an analog clock.

I really wanted Otto to know that I appreciated his delivery, but he was having none of it.

The Pony Was A-Gassed

Thursdays are when T-Hoe gets his weekly allotment of gas. I stop at the Casey's over in Sis-Town during my other errands there, like bank and post office. If The Pony is along for the ride, I can skip the pumping myself, and only have to go in and pre-pay. For the past couple months, we've been having a problem. I first thought it was just the pump I always use, #4. But after having the same thing happen at #3 and #5, we figured it must be T-Hoe himself that's causing the pump to stop every 3-5 seconds.

I told Hick about the issue. The Pony thinks it might be some kind of vent blocked, and that gas or fumes are splashing back and causing the pump to stop. Hick said that MIGHT be right, and he will have to check, but it's not easy, since he will have to take a couple things apart. 

Hick also said that HE has the same problem with SilverRedO. What are the odds that this would happen to both our vehicles at the same time, and at separate Casey's? Hick said one of the pumps at the Backroads Casey's is worse than the other one he always uses.

The Pony did some investigating, and said it COULD be a problem with the pump handles. That if they are old, they sometimes shut off like this. A possible solution was to turn the pump handle sideways, or upside down. That didn't sound like a good idea to me, but The Pony said it might be worth a try. It was NOT!

The Pony was still pumping when I returned to T-Hoe on Thursday. Upon finally finishing, and climbing into the passenger seat, an apology was offered:

"I hope you don't mind the smell of gas on my foot."

"What? I didn't notice. Until NOW! The fumes just got to me."

"It won't be for long. We only have the grocery store left."

"I guess you tried the sideways handle?"

"Actually, I tried the upside down handle. Even though you said not to. And this was my reward. It spilled on my foot and shoe."

The shoe being open-toed Puma slides that I had given The Pony a while back. I made The Pony promise to wash that foot as soon as the groceries got carried in.

"I'll put away my freezer stuff, and leave the rest while I immediately go put this foot and shoe in the bathtub. I think I'll use hand soap, because it will probably foam up better than body wash."

We'll see if The Pony still stinks this week on Errand Day.

The Corpse in the Garage

Our garage it detached. As detached as the retina of that whiny rich dude who got hit in the eye by an olive choked up by Jennifer Love Hewitt at the bar in Heartbreakers. That's one of my favorite movies. If you've never seen it, and like a 2001 ribald comedy and/or Sigourney Weaver, Ray Liotta, and Gene Hackman, you should check it out.

Anyhoo... the weather here has gotten steamy again. I have trouble opening the people-door of the garage. It's just a green metal door with a window in the top half. You should be able to turn the doorknob and pull it open. But no. The wood frame swells up with the humidity. Hick insists on closing that door completely. As if the cars are going to escape. I simply push the door to until it sticks. Then the next day I can pull it open with a slight tug.

Hick keeps the dry dogfood in the garage. The bag is sealed in a big plastic trash can with a lid. I suppose he sometimes drops a nugget or two when dipping the food out to put in the feeder every morning.

Anyhoo... I tried to get in the garage on Friday afternoon. Hick had closed the door. It wouldn't open. I had to set down my purse on the side porch, and grab the handle with both hands. I was afraid that doorknob would come off and send me sprawling backwards onto the sidewalk. It took four tries before I got that door open. I might have dislocated a shoulder momentarily in the process. The dogs were watching with tilted heads.

I picked up my purse and stepped inside. Whoopsie! I almost stepped on something lying just across the threshold. 

A DEAD MOUSE!

He was on his side. Perhaps in a position that mice like to sleep. Yet he wasn't moving. Not a pointy-nosed nasty rat. A fluffy field mouse with big ears. Dead as a doornail. I have no idea what happened to him. He might have been stuck inside the garage, and started to bake from the inside out. It's over 90 degrees in there.

Disposing of dead mice is not part of my skill set. It's not something a VALedictorian needs cluttering up her gray matter. That is Hick's territory. The disposing, I mean. Not the cluttering. I'm sure he would gladly do it for his Harem. So he darn well better do it for me.

The mouse was still there when I got back home. No miraculous resurrection. I stepped over him, and sent Hick a text:

"Dead mouse inside the garage door."

Hick came into the kitchen a half hour later.

"Did you get my text?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you know what it said?"

"No. I didn't read it. Here. I'll read it now. Huh. I guess I'll go get it."

When he came back, I didn't ask what he did with the dead mouse. Probably took it by the tail, and flung it as far as he could into the yard, where the dogs would find it later. With a bigger carcass, like a possum, Hick takes it to the end of the driveway, and tosses it into the big sinkhole. Or once he just threw one over the barbed wire fence into the thicket of brush of our neighbor.

"WASH YOUR HANDS BEFORE YOU TOUCH ANYTHING!"

"Huh. I'm going to the bathroom anyway."

And with that, Hick picked up his partially-full bottle of Diet Mountain Dew by the lid, and walked through the kitchen. I did not check the bathroom sink to see if it was wet. I am regretting that I later picked up the TV remote without wiping it off.