My best friend/assumed lesbian lover and I moved out of our parents' houses (finally) into the most beautiful old house Davidson County has to offer. That doesn't sound very impressive, but it is.
It came complete with washer and dryer, refrigerator, attic full of dead bodies and shattered dreams, and stove. We moved our endless boxes of picture frames and squiggly candle holders joyfully over the course of five days, letting everyone else haul things like our beds and granite furniture.
The basement is a cross between Buffalo Bill's lair and the end scene of the Blair Witch Project. We avoid it and pretend the doors leading to it are just weird portions of the wall with locks on it. A common, uncreepy architectural error.
There is one miniscule bedroom and one large bedroom, so we decided it would be fairest to share the giant room and have a slumber party every night. This will also help keep up our lesbian appearance, which endears us to our lesbian landladies. Kacy's boyfriend doesn't help with this facade, so we say he's her brother to stay on their good side.
Our perfect decorating skills enabled us to mix and match everything we've gotten for the house since we first started this plan two years ago. Not everybody can rock a green stove and yellow and brown linoleum, but not everybody is as clever and sexy as us.
Every single person who's seen the house has exclaimed, "Wow, that's pretty, can I come sit on your porch?! Ha, ha." and I'm getting pretty tired of pretending that it's a cute thing to say. I'm going to start training everyone not to say it by kicking them in the shins each time until they learn how unhilarious and unoriginal they are. Also it's totally not okay to not even like me or be nice to me but expect me to laugh at your stupid "jokes" and allow you to make use of my porch swing.
We've been having the most fun of our lives washing dishes, doing laundry, sweeping, sitting on the porch, and organizing things. I announced our first piece of trash in our kitchen trash can, my first dirty laundry, our first load of laundry, my first shower, the first movie we watched (Hitch), first booger picked (Kevin), first poop (Brooke), and first (and last) trip to the basement, until everyone has started to ignore the things that I say even more than usual.
Moving all of our clothes has been the most challenging part, because we own approximately the entire mall's worth of clothes. It was torture folding, hanging up, seeing if things fit me... it was like trying on clothes at the store except without the claustrophobia and when something's too small I die a little bit on the inside instead of trade it out for a larger size.
I moved all of my movies into the TVcabinet, giving prominent placing to such classics as Night at the Roxbury and Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie. When we're not busy swinging on the porch, rearranging decorations, and telling people to admire our house, we rot our brains out with ridiculous movies and marathons of America's Next Top Model.
This is my blog and I have a right to gloat on it if I want to, because I so rarely have things to gloat about. So I would like to tell everyone that my house is the most rockinest home I've ever seen, and that includes the Biltmore House. No exaggeration. Come see it if you don't believe me, and bring presents.
