I can’t believe two whole years has gone by since my good old blogging days as a Clueless Newlywed! I have to admit…I’m embarrassed that I’ve let this much time go by without a peep. And for that, I am truly sorry. It’s amazing how fast life passes you by if you let it.
But enough excuses. This is me…Nikki Flores…Telling you that I may not be a Clueless Newlywed anymore, but I still have a plethora of clueless adventures to share…
I remember that we had looked at a ton of houses, but we were struggling to find a home that we BOTH liked. There were a lot of bungalows that were “move-in ready” that I liked, but my husband tended to like the houses that had more space, and needed what he called “a little love.”
I still remember the day my husband stumbled upon a foreclosed house that needed “a little bit of work” barely a mile away from our then-current duplex. Reluctantly, I agreed to look at the place, even though I swore up and down that I would NEVER buy a “fixer-upper.”
As we walked up the broken cement sidewalk, I remembered what all of my friends who had already gone through the first-time home owner’s experience had told me: “When you find the house, you will know it’s the one. You will know it the second you lay eyes on it.”
Well, let me tell you this…The first time I laid eyes on this house, a little voice in my head said “Oh hell no!”
“Wow! Look at that gorgeous door!” The hubby exclaimed.
Before I could say a word, I saw it in his eyes. He definitely had the “This is the house” feeling going on. No joke, his eyes were as wide as a little kid’s standing at the entrance of the Magic Kingdom for the first time. Immediately, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me up the broken sidewalk and crumbling porch steps…
Just so we’re clear, the so-called gorgeous door didn’t really fit the door frame correctly. So much so that I had to yank on the handle and give the door a firm kick before it would open. And the only way I could get it to shut was to turn the deadbolt. Nice, huh?
The next thing I remember after I manged to get the front door shut was my husband running to the right and saying: “Look how big and bright this living room is!”
Truth be told, I barely noticed the so-called bright room because my gaze immediately fell to the hardwood floors, and all I could see were tons of deep scratches and stains…
My husband must have noticed that I was trying to figure out what could have possibly damaged the floors so badly, because the next thing I knew, he had dragged me across the hall into the dining room and kitchen.
“Look!” He said, “A big dining room for the Sabbath and dinner guests…”
I stood in the middle of the room, my mouth agape. I started mumbling something about needing to carbon-date the blinds and chandelier, when he exclaimed: “And look at this HUGE kitchen…”
After I looked around the room, I remembered thinking: Yeah, it’s huge because the only appliance in here is that broken down stove.
Then, I gasped as I walked around and peered into the sink. Now I may not know much about kitchen sinks, but I do know the difference between a rustic sink and a rusty sink. And let me tell you…This one was definitely the latter:
My husband, sensing that I had seen enough, grabbed my hand and said something like: “Wait until you see the upstairs!”
I reluctantly allowed him to drag me up the staircase where I was greeted by six more doors. Three of which led to (tolerable) bedrooms, and one which went outside to what my husband referred to as a “good drinking porch with a bonus — The bonus being that he could easily attach one end of a zip line to the porch and attach the other end to a tree in the massive backyard.”
I groaned when I saw the nasty patch of mold growing on the bricks just outside the doorway:
Once back inside the house, I remember opening the fourth door and staring at what can only be described as the fugliest 70s-style barbie dream house look-a-like bathroom I had ever seen :
Oh and how can I forget the attention to detail (natural wood showing through) on the the second shower. (Yes, I said second shower. The first one, with all of the pretty Barbie pink tile, was sealed off and in-operable.)
It took all of my husband’s strength to hold me back from running back down those stairs and out the door at that point.
He literally shoved me up the second set of stairs up toward the finished attic, promising me that there was an elegant claw-foot bathtub. Oh, and when he said elegant, what he really meant to say was old, stinky, hideous green claw-foot bathtub:
The basement was a blur to me, but I remember that it was un-finished, and one of the windows was broken. (I’ll save the pics for another post.)
My husband and I had a long conversation that night about the pros (according to him) and cons (according to me) of buying this money pit of a house. In the end, the only pro that I didn’t have an equal con for was that we both needed sleep. Badly. And we obviously weren’t able to get that with our current living situation.
It wasn’t until we were awakened for the ump-teenth time in the wee hours of the morning that night that I rolled over, tapped my husband on the shoulder and said, “Fine. We’ll buy the house.”
And thus began the whole first-time homeowner process, with many, many, many more clueless adventures to follow…