Part 4: The Catch. And Splash.

If you are ever in need of a plumber, you need to email me first. I will do something muy importante for you: I will call the bank who owned our house and find out if they would use that plumber. If they would? RUN AWAY. Everybody has a super power and that bank's super power is the ability to find really, really bad plumbers.

Plumber #1 was the one who was sent out to turn on the water to the house a week after we went under contract. It was a minor little thing that we requested be done for our inspection. Cause, you know, it's kind of hard for an inspector to thoroughly scope out a place if the utilities aren't on. So, Plumber #1 showed up, knowing full well that it was a foreclosure, and yet walked straight to the water valve and straight back out the door.

Um, I wasn't kidding when I said the kitchen faucets were hacked. Literally, somebody cut them out and didn't cap the pipes.

Once some genius figured out why there was a geyser in the kitchen, the geysers were tamed, the water was left on, and everybody figured all was well.

It wasn't.

When the selling agent stopped by four days later, she walked straight into a swimming pool in the kitchen. We later learned that there were four leaks total, and they had managed to slowly destroy a whole bunch of hardwood flooring.

Awesome.

So, those leaks got fixed and we finally made arrangements for the inspection. When our inspector made his way to the master bathroom, he discovered a minor little detail had been missed--there was a separate valve for that part of the house. He found that valve and turned on the water to that portion of the upstairs for the first time in probably two years.

It wasn't pretty.

The whirlpool tub was making like a certain Havanese and started peeing all over the floor. The master shower was leakier than Britney Spears off her meds. The hall bathroom started bawling because it felt left out. Before long, there was water POURING from the ceiling in the family room, one story below. Seam tape bubbled and drywall bulged as our inspector feverishly tried to identify each and every leak source.

At the exact moment that the family room reached maximum pond impersonation, the appraiser walked in. I have greatly enjoyed telling our new neighbors what our house was appraised at, but have thus far left out the part where the appraiser was standing in the middle of Western PA's version of the Niagra Falls when she came up with that number. It's fun to watch people sweat, and hearing that a house may not be worth as much as imagined is a definite cause of stinky armpits.

After that round of leaking, the bank got smart and fired their plumber. Enter, Plumber #2. While Plumber #2 never did something as gooberish as to not notice entire faucets were missing, he too committed more than a few errors.

At last count, we still have three leaks. I have named them Larry, Curly, and Moe. Say, "Hi," to them because they will not live to see the weekend. I hope.

Part 3: A Looooove Story

Once upon a time there lived a man and a woman. They were in loooooove. In fact, they were so in loooooove that they didn't need a silly piece of paper or legal designation to declare their loooooove, they just knew they were going to be in loooooove forever and ever and ever. Amen.

One day, the loooooovers decided they needed a house to contain their loooooove. They searched high and low for one big enough and perfect enough for their loooooove, but no such place seemed to exist in all of Pittsburgh. So, they decided to find someone to build them a house for their loooooove. The searched and searched, until at least a company Whose Name Might Sound Like Farfanda said they could definitely build a perfect loooooove house. The happy couple asked for the biggest house The Company Whose Name Might Sound Like Farfanda could build.

"Well, we can build you a 6000 square foot house," The Company Whose Name Might Sound Like Farfanda said.

"Um, we are really, truly, deeply in love, but maybe you could build us something just a little bit smaller?" the loooooovers asked.

"Of course!" The Company Whose Name Might Sound Like Farfanda said. "How about 3400 square feet? We could even finish the basement for you, so really you would have over 4500 square feet of livable space."

The happy couple quickly agreed.

As the process moved on, the man said to the woman, "Sweety Schmuffins, I know this house will be the house of your dreams. It should be the house of your dreams. In fact, it should be your house. Why don't we put everything in your name so that it will be Your Dream House?"

"That's a great idea!" she replied. "I think I'll get every possible upgrade for my Dream House. Wood floors, here I come!"

And so it came to be that the woman secured a Dream House loan in the amount of $278,000. She knew it would be her Dream House, and she knew that her loooooover would be there with her every step of the way.

The time finally came to move into Her Dream House, so the happy couple and their kids gathered up all of their worldly belongings and carefully placed them in their new home.

A few months went by, and the woman began to want to do some fancy things to Her Dream House. She wanted to build a deck, pour a concrete sidewalk, maybe plant a tree or two, upgrade the crappy bathroom fixtures, and all the things that The Company Whose Name Might Sound Like Farfanda doesn't do when they sell a happy couple a home. She talked to her loooooover about all of her big ideas, and he suggested that they wait a little bit.

The woman was not happy. She glared at the man for a moment, and then stormed out to go to work.

The man stood staring at the closed door, trying to think of ways he could make his loooooover happy again. He knew he didn't have enough money for a deck or sidewalk, but he did have enough money for a little paint. So, he rushed out and bought a couple of gallons of paint, with the brilliant idea to paint the room where loooooove gets busy.

He worked and he taped and he painted and he worked, slowly making his way across the giant bedroom with his magical paint of loooooove. Just as he stood back to admire his progress, the woman returned home. The man grinned as she walked up the stairs, just waiting for the moment when his loooooover would be overjoyed at the sight of the paint and throw him to the bed in an act of loooooove.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Surprise! I'm painting our room!" he replied.

"Red? You're painting our bedroom red?" she asked.

"Doesn't it look great?" he replied.

His question was met with silence as the woman slowly looked around. Finally, as she looked up at the ceiling, she said, "How are you going to fix that?"

"Oh, that's no problem. I can touch that up, baby," he replied.

"When do you plan to finish all of this?" she continued.

"Well, baby, you know I don't really have a job right now. I'm pretty sure I won't have enough paint, so maybe you could go get a few more gallons? If you do, then I'll be able to finish it in the next couple of weeks. Just as soon as I beat that song on Guitar Hero, I'm all over it," he said.

"What happened to the money I gave you?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah. Me and the guys are having a band rehearsal in the garage tonight, so I had to buy some beer. You know how it is, baby," he replied.

"Oh," the woman said.

And then she saw it.

She gasped, her eyes burst wide open as she stared intently at the red spot. She walked closer then finally drew her finger over the splotch of red paint on the closet door.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she asked. "That looks horrible."

"What do you mean? I think it looks fantastic, baby," the man defensively replied.

It was at that moment that the woman snapped. "GET OUT!" she shouted.

"What?" he said.

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE."

"Sweety Schmuffins, you can't really mean that," the man said.

"Really? I can't?" she replied as she stormed out of the room. She raced to the phone and immediately called a moving company. She told them to bring a truck right that minute.

Overhearing the conversation, the man grew angry. "Oh, yeah?" he said. "You want to play like that? Well, if I'm not living here NOBODY is living here," he shouted as he slammed a fist through the wall.

"I can't believe you just did that," she screamed.

"Oh yeah? Well, how about this?" he said as he cut the pipes to the faucets in the kitchen sink.

The woman glared, disbelieving. Finally, she picked up the phone to call the moving company again. She had decided that she was not paying for a house if it had a hole in the wall and messed up faucets. She needed a bigger truck because not only was she moving out, she was taking all of the man's belongings as well.

A truck pulled up in the middle of the night and a small army of men hauled out every single item from the house, including some light fixtures, faucets, and air return covers.

And that is how the house came to be abandoned for two years.

And kinda, sorta, maybe is how we came to buy a 3-year old, five bedroom, five 1/2 bath house for under $200,000.

Er, we do know the not married and moved out in the middle of the night parts are true. The rest might or might not be true.

Either way, I'd like to kick the person who got red paint on the ceiling. Hard.

Anybody got access to DNA testing? Cause I have plenty of DNA I can use to make sure I'm beating up the right person.

Part 2 of I'm Not Quite Bored of It Yet

Armed with an eclectic shopping list and a very tiny budget, Alexis and I set our sights on the only store that fit the bill--IKEA. There is nowhere else on Earth where you can shop for a fridge, towels, furniture, rugs, lights, storage junk, and cinnamon rolls and somehow manage to leave with a few pennies in your pocket. It's an invitation to a trip to the insane asylum when you try to assemble your cheap crap, but the cinnamon rolls pretty much make up for that. Sort of.

We walked up and down the aisles, me gawking at every organizational wonder known to man. I don't know why little cubbies for dresser drawers that keep your socks from touching your undies is so exciting to me, but there you go. I am an organizational wonder geek-extraordinaire.

We grabbed some whatsits, some whosits, and some thingamajigs, and then headed towards the toys. There are a few things that I would like to add to Alexis' playroom some day, and it never hurts to start price comparing early (Right? RIGHT.). Alexis totally missed the swing that can be hung indoors from the ceiling (only $15!), the easel that would fill her little artist heart with joy (only $25!), and the super-cute table and chair set that would perfectly match her play kitchen (only $50!) and instead focused intently on a stuffed Bulldog. That we already have. I don't even know why we have it, considering we have a real-life smelly version of a Bulldog. Alexis followed me around, pleading for the Bulldog that she already owns, while I expertly ignored every word that came out of her mouth.

We headed towards the bathroom junk, and I started fondling towel racks and funky shelves and trash cans and mirrors and all sorts of stuff that shouldn't be fun but totally is. Alexis finally decided that she was wasting her breath on the Bulldog begging and instead started singing and dancing in the aisle.

As I dug through never-ending shelves filled with oddly-named trinkets, Alexis paused in her jiggity jig to start asking what things were. I opted to answer her by telling her the IKEA name for the thing, and she started giggling over words like "Semvik," "Fryken," and "Gruntdal." That was followed by her starting to create her own names for things. She made up words like, "Fartna," "Boogerka," and "Slogna."

As she continued to giggle at her own jokes, she reached down and grabbed a toilet paper holder. She held it up for me to see, locked eyes with me, and said in a stone-cold serious tone, "Momma, this will change your life."

Seriously.

Either someone has been watching too much High School Musical, or IKEA has the kid on the bankroll. I hope it's the latter because that employee discount sure would come in handy right about now.