The other day I was driving around our neighborhood with my wife and we began our normal taunting of our local community. We started mocking the condition of the streets, sagging exposed power lines, and general crumbling infrastructure, when we came upon a family favorite. The Meth house. This house is a complete shit-hole and if you looked up meth house in the dictionary there would be a picture of it with my wife and I out in front pointing and laughing. We turn to each other and make our meth lab joke of the day and we smile and chuckle. But on this day something different happened. After the few minutes of laughter an awkward silence fell over the car. The kind that says “You know, I wonder if there really is a meth lab in there?” We looked at each other and at that moment our minds were completely in sync. Why the fuck do we live in an area where there is a house that is so bad we both believe it might actually be a meth lab and neither of us would be shocked if it exploded one day? And with that realization, the nightmare inducing journey of home selling/home buying was underway.
As a home owner, all home buying now also involves the home selling component. Considering how fun and exciting the buying your first house experience was, the selling your first house should lead to a much deserved state of nirvana, if nirvana feels being dragged behind a horse for several miles over rough terrain or watching the latest Adam Sandler movie. Seriously, “The Cobbler”…what the fuck Sony?!
Selling your house requires taking inventory of your dwelling, and since I was the king of my castle, it fell upon me to perform this important task.
I awoke one morning and stretched out my stiff back and sore knees and decided I will do quick walk around while everyone is sleeping. I needed to get a lay of the land and take a full inventory of my urban castle. As I looked down at my bed I noticed something that gave me pause. The sleeping configuration didn’t seem all that kingly to me when looking at it from above.
As you can see, much of the bed belongs to my wife. My dog Ozzy, though small and just a corgi, takes up massive amounts of room when stretched out. Corgi’s are like giant, hairy wiener dogs for those who are not familiar with the breed. The configuration gets even worse when nighttime events don’t go my way.
At this point I might as well just move to the floor. It was a tough pill to swallow but that is just the bed so I continued to look around the room. We have an 8 drawer dresser. I have two that I can call mine, my wife has 6. Ugh, not so powerful thus far. A quick look over to the closet and things get a bit more depressing.
As you can see, the wife is in complete control of the closet, although i have managed to get my slippers there own little place in the corner. Look at them all sad over there in the corner, like New Mexico. Seriously, who the fuck ever goes there? When was the last time you heard someone say “we are going to New Mexico this weekend.” and someone answered “Sweet, I have always wanted to go there!”. So a bit uneasy about the status of my crown I moved down the hall to the office/workout/rumpus room. I don’t even know why we call it anything other than what it is, a nice quiet place for my dog to go lick his balls and vomit.
Walking in I realized that most of my clothes were not actually in the closet, but piled up on a chair. I have been coming in here for close to a year and all I do is just pickup up a bad golf shirt and pair of pants off this chair and wear them to work. I live off a chair, like my house is some kind of awful Motel 6 and I am on a endless lame business trip minus the drinking and strip club visits. I checked the closet and found much of it was my wife’s dresses, random house items, and jackets. There was a small area of shirts and pants that used to fit me when I wasn’t so fat but nothing else of mine. So to break down the room
Random Family Crap – 80 %
My Stuff – 11%
Previously undiscovered dog vomit – 9%
I am dangerously close to falling below undiscovered dog vomit. Yikes. A quick word on old dog vomit. That shit is super tough. It takes cutting tools and a blowtorch to get it off of the carpet. The Department of Defense should seriously consider harvesting it and adding it to military body armor. After walking through the rest of the house and finishing the inventory, I came up with my king level, which I display in graphical format below.
So the red line represents my perceived level of Kingness prior to the walkthrough, while the blue line represents the crushing post walk-through reality. At first I was in good shape. Our house needed lots of yard work when I moved in and that is my wheel house. Things quickly deteriorated once my son was born and now they have basically flat-lined to a point where I live off a chair and drink from the dog bowl. Oh well, the good news is we are looking for a new house, with a fresh start to assert my rule over the Kingdom once again. I can see it now, parading around the house while periodically looking out the window to make sure all the surfs are performing their proper level of toiling in my fields. I ran this by Ozzy, my best friend and trusted companion. He paused and then gave me his response.
Well, I guess there is always an opening for court jester.
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