The Cable Conundrum

Posted on February 6, 2008 | 1 comment

Ah, Super Tuesday. The polisci geek’s Super Bowl.

But part of my decision to buy my house meant a very conscious and strict budget. And kicking out the slacker boyfriend shortly after moving in meant that money got even tighter. By my calculations, I have a disposable income of about $11 a month.

I’ve never paid for cable – my most recent apartment was possibly the last surviving incidence of native RCN in the city of Chicago – and am somewhat proud of that silly distinction. Sure, I could argue that I have better things to do than watch TV. That’s especially true in the summer, when I spend hours on my bike or puttering in the yard, but this time of year, mindless, easy TV calls me. And sometimes, I miss HGTV or the Colbert Report or the plethora of reruns.

And tonight, as the slush plops down and I follow election returns online, man, I wish I had cable.

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Four Letters, Starts with S…

Posted on February 6, 2008 | Leave a comment

Sheesh, I’m tired of writing about snow. I’m tired of the dirty piles of used up, half-melted snow that turn to concrete when rain is added. I’m anxiously checking my basement every hour to make sure no more water seeps in as the saturated ground tries to absorb more moisture.

But all day today, talk of the Big One has grown to grade-school snow day proportions. They’re currently calling for 10-14 inches by mid-day tomorrow. And it’s the wet stuff that takes Paul Bunyon’s strength and the back of Babe the Blue Ox to shovel.

Though you’d never know it right now. At the moment, and as I walked up the hill from the train, slush was falling from the skies. Not snow, not rain, not sleet – slush. There was just enough ice content to make things potentially dangerous, and my YakTrax were happily drying themselves in my back hallway.

Once it turns to snow, I’m sure it will be pretty. I’m well stocked in cabernet and still have a pot of leftover chili. I’ll be fine, and the prospect of another adult snow day – with the sleeping in and possibility of pilates – is prettier than the grey slush currently plopping from the heavens.

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Slushy Beer

Posted on February 5, 2008 | 1 comment

Thursday night’s snow left me with a solid 10 inches of the wet, heavy stuff. In some places, it was drifted to 16-18 inches. Fun, achy back times.

Being the bright ray of sunshine I am, I found the positive. It was pretty and peaceful. There was enough to justify “working from home” on Friday, along with the extra hour of sleep that entails. And it covered the three empty beer bottles I’d been locked in a staring contest with. All that was left was three subtle, soft, snow-covered lumps.

But Saturday morning, while brushing my teeth, I noticed a travesty on the pristine blanket of snow. A new empty beer bottle.

I grumbled and debated, but while debating, Don took matters into his own hands and tossed all four back over the fence.

Maybe we’ll have a six pack by spring.

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More snow. Sigh.

Posted on February 1, 2008 | Leave a comment

This has been one of the snowiest Chicago winters on record. I trudged up the hill from the train through about three or four new inches of snow, and it is still coming down, with no sign of stopping! I guess that means another snow shoveling hour tomorrow.

All in all, I am pretty lucky – there is no need to dig out my driveway to make it to work. I just have to slide down the hill (which has become even easier, thanks to my fabulous new YakTrax) and to the train. There have been times when I was able to let the snow melt before ever really needing to dig it out.

But for now, I’ll just sip my tea and watch it snow. Again.

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Bottles over the fence

Posted on January 31, 2008 | 1 comment

A new quandary – how to stop the beer bottles from migrating across the fence into my yard? In summer, it was just plain annoying. Every time I’d mow the backyard, I’d scoop up the assorted candy wrappers and flamin’ hot Cheetos bags from my yard. For awhile, when it first got cold, it was like the litterbugs had fled to the inside of their crappy apartment building.

Then, one day about a week ago, while brushing my teeth and looking down into my backyard, I spied a beer bottle smack dab in the middle of my backyard, in the snow. It was almost artistic. While leaving a bit later, I remembered it, and my boyfriend tossed it back over the fence into the yard – heck, not even a yard, but just asphalt parking lot – for the four-unit apartment building next door. I chastised him and said it should be recycled, but I did agree there was a point to be made.

Then, Sunday morning, I noticed another beer bottle (the same one?) in my backyard. I forgot about it every time I left the house, until Monday morning, while in the rush to leave for work.

Yep, there are now three empty beer bottles in my backyard.

I’m torn. If I recycle them in my own cans, yes, it removes the litter. If I toss them back over, does it send a message? What I just don’t understand is why – the parking lot in question has all four garbage cans and four recycle bins within 10 feet of where the bottles enter my property. I always wonder who taught litterers that it’s okay to leave your trash in someone’s yard or, in the case of my walk to the train, along the side of the road.

If I see the friendly landlord again, I’ll mention it to him. Though I guess in the greater scheme of things, the bottles aren’t nearly as bad as the crack dealers he used to rent to.

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Posted in Neighborhood, Yard & Garden

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A Girly License to Kill?

Posted on January 28, 2008 | Leave a comment

Sure, we’ve got the aforementioned pink tools, but at some point, suburban homeowners must consider something that’s illegal in the city. That’s right, I’m talking pink firearms.

I’ve been relatively lucky when it comes to pests. (Insert knock on wood.) Other than a couple cockroaches – oh, and the bat – my cat has happily tended to my pest control needs. She’s particularly fond of ladybugs.

But plenty of suburbanites face far greater problems. Growing up, our cedar-sided house was attacked by woodpeckers. Squirrels built a nest in the attic above my parents’ room. Chipmunks ran amok, digging hole after hole after hole in the yard. My boss spent last summer chasing rabbits away from his plants.

Eventually, many suburban homeowners stop playing nice and pull out the big guns. More precisely, they rely on air rifles, bb guns and related light firearms to rid themselves of the suburban menace.

Which brings me back to the pink rifle available through Pyramid Air.

Who is the target market? Target shooting girls? Homeowner girls? The description exudes energy and pep:

Think pink! Pink guns are the hottest trend. They’re the surest way to get girls interested in the shooting sports. Get one for the girl in your family, and you’ll be surprised how much she loves shooting! If you’re a gun collector, you need to get this one! It’s sure to become a collectible!

But would the pink air rifle take out a squirrel if need be?

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Ms. Fix-It? Why not?

Posted on January 21, 2008 | Leave a comment

Is it really so hard to comprehend women who can do their own repairs? I can wield a caulk gun like one of the boys with no real trouble, and so can many of my female friends. Most of them are very involved in the care of their homes, beyond the traditional kitchen and cleaning roles. Among my friends, at least, this still holds true even when they’re married or otherwise paired off: women can fix things and do many of the repairs themselves.

The Wall Street Journal’s Kay Hymowitz noticed this trend in the guise of new products touting themselves as more female-friendly, from pink tool belts to pink hack-saws. As she explains:

It’s not hard to see what’s driving the fad: Women are increasingly home alone and emboldened. Perhaps the largest group eager to seize the pink hammer is single young women. Many of today’s young women are marrying well into their 20s; an increasing number are waiting until their 30s. But they often aren’t waiting for that gold band before they commit to a house or condo. The National Association of Realtors reports that in 2006 single women made up 22% of the U.S. real-estate market; the median age for first-time single female buyers was 32. It helps that having grown up with computers, cellphones and iPods, this you-go-girl! generation doesn’t look at small machinery the way Barbie looked at math. These women are not only gung-ho about buying a home on their own dime; they’re ready to lay the tile and patch the drywall too.

Well, yes, that’s true. But we don’t need special pink tools to do it. When I moved into my first apartment, my mom gave me a small toolbox filled with the basics – a couple screwdrivers, a hammer to hang pictures, basic pliers. Around each one, she had tied a pink ribbon, and the bottom of my little red toolbox was lined in pink satin. It was very cute.

Since then, most of those original tools have been replaced by sturdier versions to meet their big-girl roles. The ribbons fell off pretty quickly, and the little red box has been replaced by Big Red as new needs have merited things I would have never thought of back in that dark little studio, like an outlet tester.

But I must say, I do still use that little hammer, since its lighter weight is easier to heft, especially when up on a ladder. So perhaps there’s a market for these girly tools after all.

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Posted in House maintenance

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What’s that noise?

Posted on January 13, 2008 | Leave a comment

My last apartment was in the attic of an 1890s Victorian house. When the wind blew, the house shook and rocked back and forth. It creaked and groaned as it settled or when big trucks drove by. But it never really bothered me.

Now my cat makes the dining room floor creak. New hairline cracks appear occasionally – or were they always there and I just never noticed? Has that door always been slightly crooked?

Yes, yes, of course I had a home inspector give the place a good once-over before I bought. The house got a clean bill of health with only a couple very minor problems that are well par for the course for a home built in the 1920s. But now that it’s my house and I’m responsible for anything that might go wrong – and its resale value – the little things worry me. Is that little crack indicative of a much bigger problem? Is it warning of structural failure? Will it cost thousands to fix?

Or is it truly nothing?

I think growing up in a relatively new house – built in the 70s – is partially responsible for this neurosis. The house hadn’t had decades to settle and show its age. With routine maintenance, nothing ever really broke. Sure, we had a new roof put on when I was in high school and I remember having the electrical upgraded, but everything else was merely cosmetic and entailed replacing the ugly harvest gold appliances and fixtures.

Even though I worry about the age and health of my old house, I do love it. I looked at dozens of houses online and in person during my hunt, and the search reaffirmed my love for the older house, with charming woodwork and built-in cabinetry. Plus, I’m not in a neighborhood filled with identical beige cookie cutter houses. On one side, there’s an 1860s yellow house with purple and green trim. My wonderful neighbors on the other side live in a mint green house built around 1900.

But still, when it’s late and the house is quiet, save for the ticking of the clock, I wonder if that crack on the living room ceiling has always been there.

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Plans for 2008

Posted on December 31, 2007 | Leave a comment

I was over at a friend’s house today. She and her fiance are new homeowners, so we’ve been sharing lots of advice. On her fridge, they had posted a list of things they wanted to do or buy for their home in the next year, along with estimated costs. Such a simple, smart idea!

I’ve made similar lists – on the back of napkin, on the back of a receipt – but tended to view them as more daydreamy.

But now that I think about it, here’s my to-do for 2008:

Replace the back door. I dawdled on this all damn summer, and now that it’s cold, I’m reminded WHY this was so high on my list. Plus, then I might actually be able to have a screen door that fits, enabling fresh air in the back half of the house without aiding the cat’s escape.

Install a utility sink in the basement. Once I shut off the water to the hose for the winter, I have to clean the cat’s litter box in the bathtub, since it’s the only sink big enough.

Fix the two broken panes of glass on the porch.

Remove the wall AC unit in the living room – a remnant of the days before central air – and replace it with a window. I cannot wait to have a lighter, brighter living room.

Replace some windows. The priorities are the upstairs bathroom and living room. Depending on funding, I’d love to do the guest room and upstairs hall, too, since then the entire upstairs would be done. Bonus: They’re all the same size.

The big, ultimate project for next year would be remodeling my bathroom. To do what I want to it, I’d have to remove a wall, the tub and toilet – and might as well do the sink while I’m at it. My current tub is miniature – only 4 feet long – so I want to replace it with a corner unit and remove the pesky wall so I can actually have a functioning tub. However, since it’s my only full bath, time is of the essence. This is all pending the money to do so, though.

There are another dozen little projects I could throw on here, but these are the priorities. If I keep it short and sweet, I’ll crank through them, right? There are also bigger projects looming – like rebuilding the garage – that will have to wait until more funding becomes available.

This only reiterates my belief that I should never have a reason to complain of boredom.

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Setting the Stage

Posted on December 30, 2007 | Leave a comment

Once upon a time, a single gal graduated from college and set off into the world. After landing the first appropriately sucky job and tiny, overpriced apartment, she set her sights on bigger and better things. But the nebulous “bigger and better” wasn’t enough to drive her to the better job and better life. She needed to qualify and quantify her ambitions.

“I know!” she thought to herself, daydreaming while answering phones for an association of specialty nurses. “I will own my own home by the time I turn 25.”

It was a tall order, given her debt and paltry income. However, she had set high bars before and hurdled them with the right mix of planning, strategy, sacrifice and a bit of luck.

With time, the gal got promoted, which lined her up for an even better job with slightly more money. She moved to a slightly less overpriced urban apartment and brought her lunch to work. She clipped coupons and logged her grocery savings, transferring the savings into her house fund every month.

After a false start at age 23, when her potential mortgage lender fought back a chortle when presented with her financial situation, the magic age began to loom larger. The dream had evolved, though, from a condo in the city to a suburban house with a yard. Pouring over hundreds of listings online, the dream evolved further as far as size and scope.

Finally, ten weeks before my 25th birthday, I closed on my slice of the American dream: a three bedroom house on a quarter acre of crabgrass, built in the 1920s, loaded with charm, character and a new kitchen. To make the financials work, trade-offs were made. I’m forty miles from my job in downtown Chicago, but within easy walking distance of the train that can whisk me there in an hour.

In the twenty months since I closed on my house, I’ve had my fair share of joys, triumphs, mini-disasters and frustrations. I’ve known the satisfaction of figuring out how to properly wield a caulk gun – and proudly noticed the ensuing disappearance of a draft. I’ve bawled at the fourteen inches of icy snow that took two days to shovel. I’ve almost killed myself, slipping on ice while hauling my very first Christmas tree from the car to the house. I’ve climbed up a ladder to clean my gutters, only to realize that maybe doing so while alone wasn’t such a good idea. I’ve shooed various species of insects from most rooms of the house, chased a bat out of my enclosed porch, and am in the midst of an on-going staring contest with the raccoon that poops on my garage.

At the same time, I’ve reflected about buying a house in general. It’s a big process and a big step. Several of my friends have taken the same plunge, some as married couples, some as singletons, and some in between. But in the course of our conversations, the singletons have all observed that this would not have been possible decades ago.

Back in the old days, girls typically went directly from their parents’ house to a household with their husbands. There was no in between. That gap has evolved from dorms to apartments to full-fledged home ownership. No longer do women feel the need to wait for Prince Charming to start building their own home equity. Indeed, with women marrying later and making enough to afford a home, especially in the recent buyers’ market, it’s more common than ever for single women to buy.

Home ownership is one of the largest declarations of independence a single woman can make. In my case, it affirmed that I wasn’t going to wait around for a boy to make up his mind about me and a future; rather, I was taking matters into my own hands. Though I had a lot of support, I did hear rumblings that making such a bold move might dampen my prospects for a future marriage, since a man might be intimidated. I haven’t found that to be the case, but it’s an interesting theory worth considering. How does a modern, working woman balance her need for independence with other, more traditional needs? Deep down, do women want and need to be protected and taken care of?

In 1982, Colette Dowling published The Cinderella Complex: Women’s Hidden Fear of Independence, theorizing that women inherently want men to take care of them, sometimes sabotage their own success to achieve a more traditional gender role balance.

So how does Cinderella having a mortgage affect this dynamic?

This blog will serve as my forum to further flesh out and explore these ideas, as well as recount the growing pains of home ownership. Comments and feedback are very, very welcome.

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