Urgh.

and now, Ladies and Gents, for the stupid. One thing that all new homeowners experience, I'm convinced, is the urge to call the previous owners and demand a tour. A tour through the house explaining themselves and why there is so much stupidity in the house.

Now, in their defense I will openly admit that I had only spent a collective of 30 minutes in my house before purchasing it. But even still, there are so many non-obvious decisions only evident after you move in, buy out the home depot, and attempt to change some things. You discover that there are outlets lining the ceiling of your great room, moulding where it doesn't belong, and a fuse box in your office.

Know what happens? 75 minutes of buyers remorse. Your temples get hot, your palms sticky, and you suspect your throat might close up from anaphylactic shock. Yes, anaphylactic, due to an extreme allergy to overwhelmedness. You fight every urge to call your realtor and employ every excuse you can think of to back out of this deal, because you're sure there has to be some way out of this.

But then you get over it when you remember that, as therapy, you can take pictures of the stupid and post them on your blog. Then all of cyberspace can empathize with you. or laugh.

There are two of these in every bedroom. They are ugly. If you open the door, you will not find the other chamber to the magical land of Narnia. All that you'll find is a vent to the outside, allegedly with the purpose of circulating air through the bedroom. Who cares?! In my find, they are another thing to paint around. LAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMME.

Now who doesn't love a fire pit? Such an attractant to bring your friends over to roast smellows and find silly songs. Nothing like fire and fellowship to bring people together. Oh wait, the pig pen is so close, you cant even sit all the way around it. Oh yeah, and there's a pig pen in my yard.

I can't see in the mirror in my bathroom. Ah, no one wants to look at themselves while brushing their teeth, anyway right? WRONG. That's when I notice the stray eyebrow hairs and toothpaste on my shirt. Upon first discovery, I thought I would just rehang the vanity. No can do, Harriet Homeowner, it's built into the wall.

Obviously I got over all of these things. Because I still spent so much time working for four days straight that I came out looking like a battered woman. Gives the term domestic abuse a whole new interpretation, right? Shiest.