Wisdom Comes Suddenly

Those Are My Marigolds, Asshole.

August 25th, 2014 · 5 Comments



Happier Times On The Back Porch From Hell


Reader Lydia is worried if I leave the haunted apartment, we will lose so much material. True, true. BUT, in the long run, it’s a net-positive, because I get to LIVE. If there were ANY doubt that the apartment was haunted by a spirit who wanted me the move out, please…read on…

With the temperatures above 90, along with the humidity, I received the key to the new apartment less than 24 hours after the neighbors’ bed bug notification. I already had the minivan packed. The key slid into the lock with ease, so I knew right then this apartment was better. Not fighting the lock? That saves me a ton of time each day! I walked into an IDENTICAL apartment, and knew immediately, it was completely DIFFERENT.


Hey, I know! Let’s build a PIAZZA back here!

First, I was overwhelmed by the smell of my Grandmother. Not a dead guy stuffed behind the furnace. Lavender old lady powder beats dead guy any day. Look it up.

Second, the door on the downstairs bathroom shuts.

Third, when I put things on the pantry shelves, not a single shelf fell to the floor.

Fourth, the drawer underneath the stove doesn’t fly off it’s hinges whenever anyone breathes near it.

Fifth, the TV and microwave can be on at the same time.

Sixth, the washer holds a full load, and the dryer actually dries things. Every.single.time.

Seventh, the fence is a brand new bright white, not black, molded wood.

Eighth, the A/C cools the entire apartment.

Ninth, the shower recovering isn’t cracked, and the backstops on the handles are all attached to the tile.

Tenth, the shower can be run at the same time as the washer. Or a sink. AND a toilet can be flushed with someone IN the shower. MIRACLES!

Eleventh, this apartment does NOT back up to massive industrial building project. I wonder if the 50 guys who hang out at my back door every day are going to miss me? I thought it was only fitting to swap gifts, so I left the ghost behind, and in trade, I took a hovercraft.

Twelfth, and I think we can all agree the most important feature of this new apartment: NO GHOST.

The night before the move, I may have gone overboard with the sage smudging. And by “overboard” I mean Greg walked into the apartment and choked from the stench and smoke. What can I say? Big ghosts require A LOT of burning sage. Needless to say, I’ve been banned from all sage burning in his presence, and I’m pretty sure he and Sara have hidden my stash from me. NON-BELIEVERS!



Wood stain + Flowers + Potting Soil + Mulch + Elbow Grease – Ghost – Industrial Construction Project = Piazza

The move went smoothly (as I anticipated because Spirit John clearly wanted us to move out). But Sunday, when I went back to clean the apartment and clean up the porch, he was there to greet me. A third day of moving adventures and 90+ temperatures and humidity meant the girls were not in the mood to be helpful, and I sent them away with Greg. It was time I face Spirit John alone, one more time. I tried to assure him I was leaving, and merely wanted to leave the place as I found it, but the heat had him equally ill-tempered. After reaching my spotless goal, I locked up and moved to the dreaded porch. Yuck. The stain work I did on the fence looked beautiful, but I had a few boards left to finish. The way the summer had panned out, I just never found the motivation to finish it. As I took my first swipe of stain, I found myself eye to eye with nothing other than a….


Not scary enough? It was EATING ANOTHER SPIDER.

Back away. Slowly…back…AWAY.

Enough of a sign to drop my work and run? Nope. After a spider-covered-summer, I had grown numb to their presence. I put the stain away, and decided to take my marigolds with me. The countless other flowers the girls and I planted never took off, but the marigolds were stunning. No way was I leaving them for John. He can move bugs, but I doubt he can lift a watering can. I FOUND YOUR ACHILLES HEEL, JOHN!

At the first marigold plant, my trowel broke in half. Sign? No. Just a cheap trowel. HA! I have a second! This idiot trudged forward.


You’re building WHAT back here? Wait! Where are my trees?! WAIT! This is supposed to be the PIAZZA SUMMER! LOOK IT UP!

I dug and I dug, keeping a careful eye on the black widow, who seemed quite content with her prey. I carefully stacked the flowers across a drop cloth in the minivan, and returned one, last time for my pots. As I dumped the dirt, the last pot was absolutely FILLED with ants. So, so many ants. I had no hose to wash it out, so it was destined for the dumpster. When I walked with stacks of pots in both hands, those ants turned into angry, wildly tenacious creatures. They crawled up my arms, biting and stinging as they went. I threw the ant pot inside the other pots and decided they must all be tossed. Screw it.

Did the large stock of pots protect me from the ant pot? NO. I lifted the stack again, and the entire set was swarming with ants. More stinging. More yelling. I dropped the stack and RAN. It finally hit me: I wasn’t having YET ANOTHER day of back luck. I was facing down Spirit John, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.


Oh gosh guys. I’m going to miss you too. A bulldozer? For me? You shouldn’t have!

In memory of my haunted summer sans my piazza, I now know, Spirit John likes marigolds and the smell of burning sage, and this makes sense, because marigolds smell horrible, and he smells like a dead guy himself. Stinks loves stink. He also loves his apartment, and hates guests, especially on his back porch. Not much of an entertainer. He dislikes the Today Show, the smell of cooking bacon (weirdo), and is quite the entomologist. I, for one, will never be returning to the haunted apartment. I’ve informed the girls they aren’t even to look in its general direction. We’re now 5 buildings away, and we can’t see it from here…thank God. I assume the gates of hell will open up and swallow it whole any day now. Swallow it, its busted appliances, the insectarium it has become, and last, but not least…Spirit John. Adios nightmare.

P.S. to S.J.: The marigolds are MINE, asshole.


Tags: The Girls

5 responses so far ↓

  • 1 Lydia // Aug 25, 2014 at 2:37 pm

    No Spirit John. No unicorns, since your hot water works now. No bugs. No construction guys. No hovercraft. No burning sage. No dead guy behind the furnace. Did I mention no unicorns anymore? Your life is so average now. Huh. I estimate 4 days before the next post, which will be titled, “My life is so boring that I have decided to take up cliff diving.” 😀

  • 2 The Momma // Aug 25, 2014 at 3:41 pm

    Lydia! I live in Indiana! NO CLIFFS. Or unicorns. Crud.

  • 3 Grammie Pat // Aug 25, 2014 at 3:48 pm

    I had to laugh out loud when I scrolled back to the top of the page and the current ad banner was for Bud Light #UPFORWHATEVER. . . did you plan it that way?

  • 4 The Momma // Aug 25, 2014 at 4:30 pm

    Grammie Pat,

    Equally funny, when I pulled it up after reading your comment, my ad banner was Chevy, “Finding new roads with your family”. Ha!

  • 5 Grammie Pat // Aug 25, 2014 at 4:32 pm

    maybe SJ has a sense of humor after all. . .