Bathroom Storage

A few of you asked about that gorgeous mutha of a storage unit that I'm considering for That Ungodly Godforsaken Godawful Bathroom at The Pad By The Sea.

Relax, God, I'm working on it.



It's a Duravit Fogo Storage unit and it's the best solution that I've seen since the break up of Speidi.

I also found this.




It's an Ikea Godmorgon Storage unit that will do a comparable job if you purchase a couple and install them one on top of another. Why is this a serious option? Because you won't have to sell your car to purchase them, and they still offer enough room to store fifty seven different brands of sunscreen plus a condom or two.

Which is a really big deal since some of us have pasty spouses who like to have options when it comes to ultra violet protection. Not to mention that other kind, too.

Before + Progress Pictures: The Pad By The Sea: Bathroom, Part 1

Considering.

Italian slate floors, this faucet, an Ikea base, and some perfectly perfect Duravit Fogo storage.

More soon.

I Like Kids, My Husband Likes Kids

I like children. Most children. When I was in college I was a nanny for a two year old boy named Hunter. He was difficult and challenging and I loved him. He made me laugh. He wasn't boring.

Andrew likes children. He points them out to me at the grocery store. He calls me over to see pictures of them on Facebook. He talks about Little League and family vacations and infant size football jerseys.



But what about everything else that comes along with those pint size people? Like the poop bombs and the boosters and the chicken pox and the pediatricians and the paranoid parents and the poop bombs and the life insurance and the pacifiers and the poop bombs?

I asked a few of my mama friends about it.

"ALWAYS ASSUME THE WORST WHEN IT COMES TO THE POOP BOMBS, KELLY."

We've decided to refill my birth control.

Andy Flashpants

Andrew: The roof looks good. I'm glad it's finished.

Me: So you looked at it? Did you check the flashing?

Andrew: Am I supposed to know what a flashing is?

Ma'am, May I Rent Your Bitchin' Camaro?

This is what Andrew looked like moments after I asked a couple of new tenants what coast of Florida their hometown of Daytona is on.



This is what I looked like.



Before you judge me know that I was a little distracted, and it wasn't because of the roly poly who smelled a Krystal burger box at the bottom of my shoulder bag. I was signing a lease with a couple of twelve year olds who paid me with a personal check that was tie dyed and written in bubble letters, the kind that can be shaded and used to spell things like totally rad.

Totally radical rent, dude! Psych out! Bodacious! So awesome! Bitchin' Camaro!

That last one was for me. They don't even remember the eighties.

Or The Dead Milkmen. Or Camaros. I mean, rad Camaros.

AND THEY CALLED ME MA'AM.

Maybe it's a Daytona thing.

I hope.

The Surreal House At Barbican

Barbican Art Gallery is hosting The Surreal House, a dwelling composed of fantasy and subjectivity and nonsensical forms positioned in unexpected spaces. There's a slideshow on their website that gives you a sampling of the eye candy.



I'm totally intrigued.

If the gallery wasn't located across the pond, I'd drop every single thing I'm doing and run over there right this second. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm scrubbing grout and cleaning carpets at The University Townhouse today.

Really.

A Little Help For My Friend

Remember your worst day ever?

Or what felt like your worst day ever?

Tonight I'm thinking of a friend of mine who is having one of those really hard days.



She reads this blog. In fact, she visits here regularly.

I'd like to call her, but she doesn't want to talk to anyone. Up until today she was writing her own blog and had a Facebook account, but she's put those on hold, too. It's understandable. Remember your worst day?

I remember mine, which was a little over nine years ago when a five second phone call changed my entire world. For so long, I couldn't see anything outside of that singular moment.

Why am I telling you this?

I realize that you've never met my friend. Actually, most of you have never even met me. But remember your worst day?

I have a feeling that when she is ready, my friend will stop by here. And I think it might be helpful if she could read some words of encouragement. Please think about your own difficult times and offer whatever insight you feel is appropriate.

Would you take a moment and do that for me?

I would really, really appreciate it.

One Part Stupid One Part Inspired

So we're still away enjoying our fun weekend.

Don't I look like I'm having fun?



Nothing says "I'm having a good time!" like a mammoth bag of ice taped to my shoulder. You know, the shoulder that I managed to injure at the pool.

I swear I could hurt myself in a padded room. With only socks on.

AND, NO, THAT HAS NOT BEEN PROVEN.

In other news, I have a story about a drug deal at a laundry mat to share with you. At some point. I also think I may have seen my first gay prostitute, but I'm not entirely sure, because I've never actually experienced a drug deal, a laundry mat, or prostitution in real life (before this weekend), but I have watched Keeping Up With The Kardashians one or two times and it's like the same thing with better handbags, I think.

Oh! Also! There was this.



I totally want one. Or two. Or a small herd. Seriously. Minus the dirt and cigarettes, of course. Where can I find one? Companies that manufacturer drycleaning machinery? Laundry supply stores? Do such places even exist?

Anyone?

Three Things From The Airport

1. I found this on Andrew's laptop. PLEASEGODDON'TLETTHISBEAHAIRSTYLEIDEA.



2. Magic Erasers clean white sandals beautifully!

3. The roof is finished. Supposedly.

Gone With The Wind

I love traveling in sketchy cargo trucks, but alas, I get carsick. So jet plane, it is.

(No, not headed to Kansas City. That's next month.)

Catch you on the flip side, Bouncers.

I'm Laughing JUST Like Tom Today

Hey, everyone.

Thanks for all of your emails about The Roof progress. I'm incredibly appreciative when you check in on my projects at all, especially the ones that I barely mention, especially when they are costing us the price of a small child on the black market.

Today, the workers are coming to finish the garage which I'm turning into a studio, and I'm feeling a wee bit on edge (imagine that!) about how it will end up. Please cross all of your fingers and toes that hopefully one or more of these things won't occur...


Thank you all (again) for hanging in there with me throughout this latest renovation. I can't wait to show you some more Afters soon.

And really!

Thank you!



p.s. I went back and read a bunch of my old posts last night and about eighty percent of them are too terrible for words. I literally had to sit on my hands so that I wouldn't delete half of this blog, because at some point I thought that dark videos and close ups of reptiles should be included in a variety of my posts. If you've unsubscribed to us in the past, I want you to know that I totally understand why you're not reading this right now and I harbor absolutely no hard feelings.

p.p.s. Unless you are reading this, and then eff you, you're a flipping hypocrite.

p.p.s.s. And, nope, I'm not going to write out the word fuck because it makes me feel like a bad person and then you win.

p.p.p.s.s. And why should you win if you're not even a subscriber?

p.p.p.s.s.s. Unless you're not a subscriber and you're not reading this, in which case we all win.

Let's Bounce

Andy: Let's bounce. I don't want to be late.

Me: Uh. All right. Let's bounce then.

Andy: What?

Me: Nothing. I'm just envisioning you double fisting a couple of forties with your hat turned sideways.

Andy: You know what forties are?

Me: Holla.

Why Wasn't He Named Randy Couture?

And to think that he's deathly frightened of hairbrushes.

And shopping bags. And fireflies.

And toupees.

Randy Couture is probably afraid of those things too, though.

That's why he has no hair and plays indoor sports.

Ready, Set, Rent

Last weekend we hit the beach.

I adore the beach.

Love.



What I'm not so fond of is lying on my towel and doing a mental checklist of our upcoming vacancies and what needs to be done for who to go where and how much was that check for and did I forget to cash it or was that the one that I spilled Vitamin Water all over?

It's just not as enjoyable as, say, doing the backstroke while guzzling a Bloody Mary.

Or, sipping, rather. I meant to write sipping.

Anyway.

The first thing I did when I got home was pull all of my files and begin going through my checklists for each property. In case you find yourself in the same predicament, I've corralled together a number of posts that address some of the key issues that you'll want to make sure you get out of the way with before handing your keys over to a tenant.

Which means more time for wave jumping and jet skiing and paddle balling. And back stroking.

And Bloody Mary's.

Sip. Sip. Siiiiiip.

GULP.

Helpful Posts If You're Getting Ready To Rent

Read this if you're getting ready to purchase a rental property.

Read this if you're considering using a management company or curious about different ways to advertise.

Read this for tips about Home Owner's Associations and their rights and procedures for approving tenants.

Read this to learn about the types of information to request from your tenants on a lease application.

Read this for important notes to include in your lease agreements.

Read this list if your tenant has signed a lease and passed all background checks but not yet moved in.

Read this if you'd like to extend your lease with your current tenant.

Read this if your tenant moves in but stops paying rent.

And if all else fails, read this.

Hard Core Negotiations

I was searching for the bicycle pump in the garage yesterday and I found a small leak coming from the ceiling, below the only roof that wasn't replaced by the sellers.

Andrew consoled me by whipping together this breakfast, and his gift with pancake batter is the sole reason that I said, "Fine, we won't patch it. Give the contractor the okay to replace the whole flipping thing. But I don't want to know how much it costs until after I've had my coffee."

That Week I'll Be Gone In July

Andrew: I think when you go to Kansas City, I'll paint The Master Bedroom.

Me: But won't that eat into your beach time and cocaine binges?

Andrew: I don't mind.

Me: What about the escorts and pole dancers?

Andrew: Maybe they'll help me paint.

Miracle Workers, I Mean, Walkers

These nautical inspired Skip Bow Sandals are proof that not only can cute flops cost under fifty bucks (Juicy and Rainbow, I'm talking to you), but that it IS possible for my mangled toes to look attractive. Well, if you tuck a Benjamin under the strap.




Not bad, right?

Slobber Separates The Women From The Girls

Because I Have To Decide Soon-ish

So I'm thinking of relocating the The Living Room's Shaw Wooly Bully Area Rug to The New Master Bedroom instead of purchasing my original choice for The Master, Anthropologie's Modern Heraldry Rug, which I adore enough to marry.

Why?

Because after looking over the pictures I think that replacing the Wooly Bully with a larger version would better define the space.




Plus, that bad boy is so soft that it seriously feels like your feet are swimming in sheep. AND WHO DOESN'T WANT TO WAKE UP TO SHEEP UNDER THEIR TOES?

Andrew thinks a larger rug in The Living Area will cover too much of the hardwood floors.

Your thoughts?

Art Versus Nonart

Yesterday I finished battling that painting. I use the term painting loosely, because dumping a series of stains across a canvas that looks like it was stolen from the interior designer of a Starbucks should really only qualify as abuse.

Here is the finished product temporarily sitting in The Office. Bonus points to whoever figures out where this piece is going and why.




So what do we think?