I live in an 78 year-old house, albeit, thanks to Katrina, one with a spanking new roof. We have hardwood floors (that are a mess), and 12 foot ceilings (with walls that are--eeek!--covered with dark brown panelling circa the '70's). Lotsa potential (but very little money).

Recently, we have sprung a leak in the bathroom. No problem. It must be the hot water tap that we just turned back due to the family coming to visit. It's normally turned off at the floor due to a stream of water that pours from it and a $400.00 gas bill. Folks are gone, so the tap is turned back off. And still the floor is soaked. Ok. Perhaps it is coming from the toilet, which is sorta like a rocking chair (which is not as much fun as it sounds). But no, that is apparently not the source. Well, damn, it must be the claw-foot tub. Sounds fairly simple, huh? It would be, except that the last owner (who happens to be my ex-boyfriend--Hi, again, D.!) enclosed the tub because, though in good shape on the inside, the outside is unsightly. Simpler to get a little plywood and box in the sucker than get 4 strong men to haul it outside, rent a sandblaster and repaint it.

For two weeks the fiance' and I have ignored the problem as much as we are able whilst still bailing out the tub after each bath. Tonight, however, I have charged Scott with dismantling the box and seeing what's what. So that's what he's doing with the help of the cats, who are very interested in the whole process. As I told him, I am helping by writing this post (hey, it keeps me out of the way).

The problem with dismantling the box is that the carpet now covers only part of the floor. The linoleum under the carpet simply must go. Which would only serve to remind us how half the floor is rotten. This has caused a sag in the wall, which has knocked that side of the house off kilter. Scott swears we now have to level the whole thing, which I forsee will cause cracking of the walls, and perhaps the earth to open up and swallow this little plot of land.

Anybody out there have room for one tall, skinny man, one shortish, not so skinny woman, and three ornery cats?

Well, I've done it again. Gotten engaged, I mean. And this time, I actually have a date decided, so it shouldn't go on for the 10 or so years as it did last time (with a perfectly wonderful man, I may add. Hi, D.!).

So, the first time I was engaged, women came from far and near to congratulate me and remind me how this is my chance to finally have that wedding that I had imagined for years and practiced endlessly with my barbie dolls and remember how cute she looked with that little toilet paper train and . . . .Wait, WHAT? No, ma'am, I don't remember, having never even had a Barbie doll to my recollection. (Though I did have a 3-feet-tall purple stuffed dog and a ridable big banana which I remember quite fondly. As I may have mentioned elsewhere, I was an odd child.)

Apparently, I was singulary unromantic as a child, and I suppose I remain so today. Not wearing white, my dears. The current plan is a Justice of the Peace, a nice family reception, and then a kick-ass party, to which you are all invited.

More details to follow (I promise) and a discussion of the man who dares jump the broom with me.