Fiddle-Dee-Dee, Said Scarlett

We found a stash of old, dirty diapers in the cieling of the shed.

Old. Dirty. Diapers.

Who does that? Aside from the Damn Dirty Hippies, of course.

Biohazard suits are now required for shed cleaning. ;)

Going to be getting painting done today! And we'll see what else. But first, a small story.

Animals love our yard. We've had a variety of neighborhood animals come in and hang out on our porch, and a history of animals just trying to get into our house as though they live there. Last night - I kind of crashed early, and without warning, apologies about that! - I woke up in need of the bathroom and found myself trapped in my room.

Due to a broken doorknob, this is very common, and usually I can jiggle the knob until it's aligned right. Last night I couldn't, and Nija had to come save me. Afterwards, I was a bit 'mrrr' so I stepped out on my little 'porch' to have a cigarette. (My 'porch' is a slice of tree that sits outside my door.) As I was smoking, I look up passed the Devil Shed and see a shaggy neighbor dog trotting through the yard.

I just sort of mentally go 'argh, neighbor dog, please don't poop in our yard' and watch Big Shaggy as he trots around. As I'm halfway done with my cigarette, he seems to notice either me or the open door behind me, because he trots right over, tail a'wagging, like he owns the place and wants to come inside. And he finally enters the light from my porch, and I get a good look at him as he sits down just a few feet away from me, looking happy as a clam.

It wasn't a neighbor dog.

It was a coyote.

Coyotes at my folks' place isn't uncommon, what with living out in the middle of the wilderness area. We live in town. And yes, we do get coyotes down in here, but generally they're skittish, rather scrawny looking things. Not big, shaggy, handsome boys who act like they're Rover coming in for the night.

I just finished my cigarette, not taking my eyes off him, and he just sat there watching me, completely relaxed and at ease. I snuffed my cigarette in my ash tray, and he stood up and once I closed the screen door between us, he just trotted back off towards the shed.

I went back to bed and told myself not to forget about that, as it wasn't a dream, it actually happened. Sometimes I have trouble telling the difference.

Today we braved the Shed of Doom (or Devil Shed, as I've begun calling it thanks to rosehiptea) and thought it would be a relatively simple matter to do laundry.

We were wrong.

Problems arose when I attempted to start the washer. Everything seemed perfectly fine. The buttons clicked. The dials turned. The inside - save for some hippy leavings - were relatively clean. In went clothes and detergent! On went the washing machine!

Er....

On went the washing machine?

What we got was essentially 'click click gurgle gurgle click psshhhhhhh'. And then nothing. Turning to one another, Nija and I wondered if perhaps the water needed turned on. But the water had been turned on, as far as we knew. And besides, we could find nothing in the shed that resembled a water pump handle. So our washer is...broken, or something.

Since we were out there, we decided to get down our old screens since we need them by Wednesday. And the DDH had been using them as planks, or something. We don't know.

This required taking down the crap they'd piled in the rafters. The first thing that we went for was a blue canvas duffel bag - whose heft and girth hinted at mysterious spoils inside. Whether they be fair or foul, we could not tell.

After a small fight with the shed, we got the bag down. It was dusty, but filled to the bursting with unknown contests. Treasure, or terror?

Intrepid boy adventurers that we are, we wasted no time in unzipping the mystery bag to reveal its contents. Would it be body parts? Drugs? More raw bloody meat? Exotic spoils from the Far East?

The parting folds of the blue bag revealed to us....

A tent. A giant, very nice and relatively expensive tent. Completely in tact. With all the accessories and the manual.

It's now out in the yard, shaken out of dust and whatnot, airing out.

Now we just need to figure out what to do about our laundry, because this boy adventurer is out of bras and panties.

I am slowly turning into a morning person. I was awake at 7:30 this morning, had a fiber bar and a cigarette, got showered and dressed and cleared my room for furniture delivery. Then, garbed in my pink and blue JSK, I went to pluck grapes. Why was I plucking grapes? Because here in the Old West, the trade system is alive and well! The little bath and body shop in the square - who's owner I am friendly with - is happy to trade her homemade wares for the bounty of our garden. :D

But now, further adventures in cleaning the house!

( Bizarre Bathroom, The Door That Preaches, and the Shed of Doom )

I am sure there are other things, but it's difficult to remember it all. It's been a long week, to say the least. But there is the gist of it, and more will be added as we remember what other little surprises we found lurking about Silent Hill.

For once, my subject line isn't a random lyric, it's actually relevant to this entry.

I am referring to the previous tenants who had the house before us. We somewhat questioned their sanitary habits before, but gave them the benefit of the doubt that they were in the middle of moving. And believed them when the claimed the stained linoleum was from before they moved in.

I call them hippies because they are the extremist tree-hugging sort. The holier-than-thou, sacrifice personal hygiene and common sense in the name of...whatever, and generally give the impression of being the sort to show up at PETA rallies with no idea why they're even there.

Our first clue as to their general shadiness - because all the above was generally excused, as we only met them once - was the fact that the lied to us about certain small details regarding the house. But we figured maybe they were confused, hey, it happens. They also lied about the landlady. That was not so excusable.

Then there was there staunch insistence that they couldn't actually be out of the house on time. There was 'too much to do'. That, in particular, makes me twitch. I had too much to do, too, but I still got it done, and so did Nija. But some pressure from the landlady, and they were out just a few days after they were supposed to be.

But oh, did they leave their mark. And I mean that literally, in some cases. Gouges and dents in the walls and doors. Stains on the floor. Crayon or marker on doors. A giant, freaking credenza in my bedroom. The credenza, which has proved too heavy for even the quite strong to move properly, was moved into the bedroom to cover a hole in a door. Now a normal person would either a) fess up (not likely with these people) or b) hang a poster over it. Not use a massive, unwieldy piece of furniture.* They didn't bother to clean the stove, which had years worth of gunk and mess in it, and just generally left trash and mess about.

And then there was....the fridge.

Not the fridge in the kitchen. Oh no, that was cleaned out. No, it was the hidden fridge they failed to mention in the shed. Not only did they fail to mention it, they failed to clean it out, and left crap in there to spoil once the power was turned off. Which it was. The shed reeks. The fridge is defrosting so that the waste can be removed, but for the love of all that is holy....

And on top of that, they stole the microwave.

The damn dirty hippies stole our microwave.

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*The plus side here being it's a beautiful piece that will serve as a bureau.