House Hunting- The Medieval Murder House

Oh this week… really? Is it really only Tuesday???  Any moment I feel that Ashton Kucher is going to pop up and tell me that I am being PUNKED. That wouldn’t even be a relief to me because I loathe MTV and that show. He’s a babe though, don’t get me wrong.

 First of all, I do not want to move. AT ALL.  I love my house. I had a 11 month aneurysm trying to build said house while living in a one bedroom apt with messy tween child and snoring Sam. ... But apparently our town is broke from the devastation and the rebuild  and our taxes are 4 billion dollars more than we were told they would be after the tornado . It makes me sad... esp when there are no houses in our price range that I would remotely enter after my experience last night.

Let’s start with the house that my family and I looked at last night. We can call it “Murder House”.

 Our house has been on the market for a few months now and we have been trying to find something smaller to fit our needs. (Tornado 101: a small family of three does not need a 3000 sq foot house but small family Mama doesn’t know how to read blue prints.) Small family of three would rather have season tickets to the CUBS and continue to spend millions of dollars on travel softball for said small family munchkin of 13 years. It’s not the Olympics Libs, but we support ya.

 I spotted a beautiful home in a great neighborhood by one of my best friends. (House hunting 101- gotta move by at least one of my girlfriends so I can walk home after three glasses of boxed wine. (I don’t do Uber- as you will soon find out, I have a small murder phobia.)

I should have gone with my gut on this one, especially since the interior photos online resembled something out of Jumer’s Castle Lodge circa 1972. Come on Peorians, you remember the “Pheasant Under Glass”.  My personal favorite it was, along with the wedge salad. Could have actually been squirrel for all I know, that place had some major lighting issues. Ambiance my ass. At least the poor lighting allowed one and all to shove mass quantities of cinnamon rolls into mom’s purse or in the event we were using grandma’s purse, then “pocketbook” . 

Crap. Now I want a wedge salad. 

 Believe it or not, I wasn’t much on those gooey undercooked rolls. (I will be waiting for the hate mail. I can take it. )

 When we walked through the house, I seriously plotted where I would put the big dead 18 foot bear that used to scare the sh*it out of me on the way to the bathroom at the above mentioned Jumer’s Castle Lodge. I thought it would fit well in the hallway by the bathroom by the Knight/Sword combo. I thought maybe I could have the bear hold a basket of those under-cooked yet World Famous Jumer’s cinnamon rolls to ease the scare factor. Seriously, is this Medieval Times chic? Is someone going to murder me with a smoked turkey leg? (See… muderphob. Told ya.)

 I felt like if I touched anything in the home, an evil spirit may attach itself to me like on one of those Ghost hunting shows where every EVP machine in the world always says “GET OUT.”  I don’t give a sh*it if you want me to get out; I want the Little Lotto numbers. Be a good little spirit and tell me the evening pick three.  Mama needs a new outfit from TJ MAXX, bit*ch. And maybe some of those dog treats they try to upsell you at checkout. (I don’t have a dog, but who doesn’t love a good sale?)

Bear with me, I have a point coming. I swear that anything you read on here will not be as bad as “The Donald “talking about his temperament. (We will talk about that assbag waste of space at a later date.)

After traveling down the 3 foot hallway to the three bedrooms that were the size of a small stove, I decided to enter the “Murder Basement”. I cannot describe in words how bad this underground cave of wall to wall paneling   affected me, but I am quite sure I now know where they buried Jimmy Hoffa.  Curiously, one room in the basement had a 1980’s wallpaper border adhered to the paneling. Oh paneling, it’s like being at my parents house all over again. I said “Would you lookie there?Retro!” Ok, I didn’t say that. I may have said “WTF” but I digress.  Oh please people, don’t tell me your mom didn’t have a goose holding a basket of eggs or some shit wallpaper combo in your kitchen when you were in high school… because she did.)

The wallpaper border was one of those Lowe’s clearance bin $1 rolls with birdhouses and butterflies. IN THE BASEMENT! Apparently when you are being murdered “Dexter style” on the abandoned ping pong table, it is favorable to look at birdhouses and butterflies. (Don’t go into the light Carole Anne.)

Seriously though, I am no prude to unfavorable décor. Before the tornado took my 1975 Brady Bunch bungalow, I painted my kitchen cabinets in what Sherman Williams has patented as “baby poop brown.” Truth be told, because of that bit*ch Rachel Ashwell ,I may have dipped into the Shabby Chic craze of the 90’s. Sorry husband. You were right. Pink roses everything, in every room …not necessary.

Who knew.

    So yes, I may have had some rose on rose Waverly wallpaper in the kitchen at one time too, but I don’t think any dead bodies were under my stairs. If so, the F4 shi%t storm took care of those poor fuck$ers and I still don’t have the Little Lotto numbers.