This is what it has come to:
Roomin' in the Rumpus Room, we are. It's about 197 degrees upstairs and, down here, it's nice and chilly, although the humidity is at about 425 percent. It's great because now, after working down here all day, I get to just stay down here and sleep. Soon, after months without experiencing natural light, my eyes will seal shut, my snout will elongate and my transformation into "Mole Man" will be complete. And I shall rule the Underworld!
So, I forked what was left of our savings, after putting the downpayment today on the new kitchen, over to "Chuck the Air-Conditioner Guy" to replace our broken A/C with a new one. Can someone please remind me why we decided to buy a fucking house?! Seriously, I no longer get it. We've got home loans that we'll be paying off for 30 years, we're dumping a ass-load of cash into a fixed-up kitchen that really won't add any value to our house because according to the real estate lady who used to live next door, prices never really change in this neighborhood, our roof is starting to leak, half of our windows need to be replaced, our furnace is probably going to explode this winter, we need a new water heater, we have no furniture... do I really need to continue?
I swear to shit, I am two steps away from moving the family into a yurt.
I'm losing my fucking bananas -- the heat is melting my will to live. Getting the kids to sleep down here tonight resulted in about 18 mini-aneurysms and I almost had "the biggie, Elizabeth." I accept that Mr. Z and Miss O might be a little wound up at the prospect of all of us sleeping together on the floor of the basement, but holy carp, they just would not stop. At one point, I was extremely close to saying, "Fine, I'm going upstairs. You guys can jump around and yell all you want -- the Sump Pump Monster loves active kids. He says they taste better that way. Goodnight!" And then I'd turn out the light and run upstairs. But I decided against it because... well, basically because I was too tired to run up the stairs. Those lucky bastards. They finally fell asleep, about an hour after their regular bedtime, from a mixture of sheer exhaustion and the various gas leaks that we have down here. Bless you, sweet, sweet radon.
I'm really not looking forward to sleeping on that goddamn inflatable mattress. It's so fucking uncomfortable. It's really only meant for good friends who stay with us, not for me. And I sure hope I sleep with my mouth closed, because this basement is swarming with those heinous earwigs. Those things are worse than cockroaches, what with their ass-pinchers and all. Bleh.
Yep... good times.