Dispatches from the home of Angie’s List magazine.
I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m a hero.
A few weeks ago I was walking my dog. It was a nice warm day and my neighbors were all outside doing yard work. Another young man was walking down the street. I waved to him, and kept walking.
All of a sudden, there are fifty cop cars screaming around my neighborhood. One pulls up to me: Continue reading ‘It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s just me.’
The area I live in is what most would call “borderline” — it’s safe, but has a definite element of sketchiness. I would characterize my neighbors in much the same way.
For example, when we bought new furniture, Neighbor Tom knew, even though we didn’t tell him. He asked us if our paver patio was put in, even though supplies for it were well out of view and in our backyard.
His knowledge of the goings-on at our house is a little creepy, but on the other hand, it’s kind of reassuring. Continue reading ‘Nosy neighbor: Friend and foe’
Earlier this summer, I wrote about preparing to move from one great, beautiful home to a house that’s, well, soon to be great. Last week my wife and I took possession of our new house. We have our work cut out for us with the long list of to-do’s (or rather “never-gonna-do’s”) the previous owners left. Continue reading ‘Welcome to the jungle: Cleaning up our new house’
As my apartment-dwelling colleagues Mike and Matthew well know, our house-dwelling co-workers sometimes seem to have the upper hand in many respects. My biggest apartment complaints usually have to do with my neighbors. Continue reading ‘Howdy, neighbor!’
I want to learn to dance — not shake my booty, but really dance, as in fox trot, cha-cha, even tango.
This desire stems from several years ago when I covered the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition. One of the events involved a formal dinner and dance. The social elite in attendance moved with elegant precision to the sounds of Glenn Miller. My fellow journalists and I shrank into a corner and ordered more drinks.
Next time, I want to bust out some serious moves. Continue reading ‘Hot to trot’
With the push of his nose or the slap of his paw, my 8-month-old Rottweiler Moto can open the sliding glass door. He thinks it’s a new trick; I think he’s a bad boy. There are evenings when he lets himself out (very helpful) but lets mosquitoes in. If only he learned to shut the door behind him, I’d be thrilled with his self-sufficiency. Continue reading ‘You’re either in or you’re out!’
I’m not the biggest fan of using service companies. That might sound weird coming from an Angie’s List employee, but I prefer to do things myself.
I’d rather be covered in motor oil or paint or bruises than hire someone to do the work for me. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll do it well. My fixes might be farces, but at least they’re my farces.
My desire to do things myself can be attributed to a few reasons. Continue reading ‘My service company sensitivity’
I had my re-wedding this past Saturday with my husband John, and the weekend’s festivities were almost everything I had hoped for in my wedding. The only thing missing was John’s family. We had amazing photographers, though, so everything was well documented (which is a bit scary, as they were partying well into the evening with us.)
The whole evening went perfectly, though— from our short 10-minute ceremony in my parents’ backyard to the reception. My parents picked the reception’s location: the car gallery in the Stutz building, which gave the evening an interesting feel. Continue reading ‘Wedding Number Two? Success.’
Despite the title, I’m not sick while I write this. I’ve recovered. It seems I have a sensitive immune system, and recently got sick while cleaning my garage. It was a freaking mess. A disaster. Continue reading ‘Cough sneeze sniffle sniffle’
