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Thursday, March 31, 2005

I hesitate to post these...

for a couple reasons:

1) It actually doesn't look as heinous in the photo as it does in real life. Remember this next time you go browsing real estate publications, people: Photos LIE!

2) My daughter knows how to log on to my blog and may attempt to do so from Nana's house in order to learn compromising secrets about her mother that may be used against me at some unspecified future time, perhaps to secure a new car, or an apartment of her very own when she realizes the direction her life is moving in upon viewing these photos, and will then ring me several dozen times throughout the day crying and whining and threatening that she will not live in such a dump.

But here goes.

On closer inspection, we decided the classical influences were decidedly more Greek than Roman. This because we discovered a brochure with a photo of a Greek "artist" on the kitchen counter and there was a handwritten letter in Greek left on a small cot, the only furniture in the house. Oh why did I decide to learn Latin first? We suspect he is the guy responsible for remuddling the place. There's a touch of Alamo thrown in with the adobe looking side planter-wing things, and also some piratey fun. Look on the far right for the gangway styled bridge over the drainage ditch. Permission to come aboard, sir? Aye, aye, matey!

"What is this on the back corner? Is this the only hurricane damage?"
"Uh, no, there wasn't any hurricane damage, they meant to do that."
It's a room. With partially glassed walls. And no roof. And a door that locks.

The back yard is very narrow, the big yards being on the sides of the house. Watch your step! Here is the unconnected sewer pipe, left lying next to the open trenches which are barely visible through the tall, uncut grass, when the owner was busted for performing unpermitted plumbing work. They did manage to complete the back and side fencing, also constructed of PVC sewer pipe. And see those tall trees? Not the palm, the other ones. Let me tell you a little story about those...

[Picture wavers and strumming harp is heard as flashback begins]

First day of high school. I am wearing a long blue cotton skirt, and a blue plaid, long-sleeved flannel shirt with a matching blue vest over it. It is 90 degrees out. The Melaleuca trees (or tea trees if you're from Down Under) are in bloom, giving off a noxious boiled potato smell. My already insecure, introverted, barely teenaged self believes that this horribly offensive odor is emanating from my own newly pubescent body. It is years before I realize it is the trees that stink.

We made an offer. We'll see what happens. Basically the interior needs to be gutted, including the eight different types of floor tile throughout, the front porch and weird roofless back corner room bulldozed, the roof is shot, there are illegal additions, plumbing, and wiring, it probably needs a new AC system, and definitely new windows. Can you say "fenestration"? I knew you could! We've done it before, we can do it again. Plus, I can't wait to give those porch columns a karate kick and take the roof down. Don't worry, years of Road Runner cartoons and America's Funniest Videos have taught me to stand outside the structure when I do this.

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