My Dream House - a completely true story, although oddly very few people believe that ...

When I was in my early 20s, my father agreed it was time to start looking for a potential home/investment opportunity for me. We discussed budgets and what I would need, and started looking through listings and at homes for sale.

My logic was (and still is…) I am an amazing fixer upper and any slum home can be transformed into a dream home with my magical know how. I assume that I can do carpentry, cosmetic upgrades, and basic plumbing (which as of yet has not been disproven so could be entirely possible!). So this:

Would definitely become this:

After much searching and many duds, I found it - my beautiful, marvellous future palace!

Of course, my dad - well aware of my “I can fix it up real nice!”attitude - requested that one of my trusted friends take a look at this home prior to any attempts at a purchase.

ENTER DEE:

She understood me and knew I had magical non-trained carpentry-plumbing-home reno power. She would COMPLETELY agree with me and I would be one step closer to having my dream slum!

After an excited build up to how amazing my new house was going to be, I took Dee there, so she could see the marvellousness of Karin’s new home.

As we drew closer to the house, Dee started getting fidgety, which I of course assumed meant she was just SO EXCITED to see my new future house (and not concerned at all with the neighbourhood of boarded-up windows and high crime rates).

We pulled up, and sat in the car for a moment so she could really take in the “yard” area of the home:

The pile of garbage (easily disposed of!) was 20 ft or so high, and several feet wide, and blocked the view of the house from the street.

“Karin….”

“No no! It’s ok! That’ll clean right up!”

“…”

So after much convincing, we got out of the car to go around the obstacle course of garbage and high grass with unknown things in it. The lot the house was on had several other small run-down miner houses on it, and no signs of life.

As we were nearing the house, a growl came from the garbage. Dee was only slightly reassured when I determined the growling was not coming from the garbage itself (which was sad, actually, because how cool would that have been! I could have funded my entire home reno by charging the public admission to experience a pile of mutant garbage!) … However, the growling was coming from behind the garbage. And it was MOVING. This was explained when a Rottweiler came stalking from around the side of the trash pile.

“uh… Karin…”

“Just don’t make eye contact, it’ll be fine!!!!!”

So we finally neared the house enough that Dee could see it in all it’s fixer upper glory. A lovely tiny red two floor home, missing front steps, windows boarded up and newspapered, with potential holes in the roof. As I was about to explain the miracle of hammers +duct tape + Karin, another growl rumbled from the other side of the garbage pile.

  

Low and behold, another Rottweiler. At this point, even I was getting nervous. I could shove Dee in the path of one Rottweiler and while it was distracted I would be able to make a break for it… but two? I was beginning to doubt the odds of a safe getaway.

*lest I offend: Inspired by http://www.snorgtees.com/if-zombies-chase-us

“Ok Dee… maybe it is best to get back to the car….”

We turned to make a break for the car, but froze as from behind us a new noise erupted. If it were to be described, it would be as though there were an angry toothless hillbilly stomping across rotten floorboards to kick open a door while wielding an axe. A glance over our shoulders showed us the sound was caused by:

AN ANGRY TOOTHLESS HILLBILLY WHO HAD STOMPED ACROSS ROTTEN FLOOR BOARDS AND KICKED HIS DOOR OPEN WHILE WIELDING AN AXE TO CHASE US FROM HIS GARBAGE PILE!

We ran. At least I ran. I got to the car, got in, got my seat belt on, got the car started, and was still waiting for Dee. For someone who hadn’t wanted to get out of the car in the first place, it sure took her forever to get back to it.  Of course, this is one of the great things about Dee.  If there’s ever a zombie (or axe-wielding hillbilly) apocalypse, I can count on her to be slower than me! But finally Dee managed to join me in the safety of the vehicle, and I floored it out of there, review mirror showing:

As we calmly sped off, I looked over at Dee to inform her, “If this were a zombie movie you’d be completely dead right now…”

Her response was “yeah those are some nice neighbours you have there!”

Needless to say, she did not see the potential of my new home, and my father was not sold on the idea. I should have made a pie chart.

This could have been in my front yard… Thanks, Dee. Thanks a lot.