We're Not in Manhattan Anymore... Part Two

This entry is a two-parter, so if you haven't read Part One yet, please do so. 

Walking into the house, my eyes were immediately assaulted by an overwhelming amount of tchotchkes. I was surrounded by an extensive collection of frilly things that only a certain kind of old lady could love, as well as enough plants and pillows to fill a jungle-themed housewares store. I felt as if I had walked into Dolores Umbridge's office in Harry Potter.

No joke, this would have been an improvement

TDee showed me around the house, indicating which rooms he wanted tested. In many, it was actually impossible to move more than a few feet (or inches!!) without knocking into something. Afterward I was left alone to do my thing. Let me describe the house room by room...

Mother's Room: A decrepit, blind dalmatian was lying on the bed. Normally I am a huge dog person, I love dogs and dogs love me. Even the dogs that "normally don't like anybody!" like me. No, not this time. This dog was satanic. It barked nonstop while I was in the mother's room. It was the only time in my life I was scared of a dog, thinking it might actually bite me. I was shocked that nobody came into the room to see what was going on. 

Maybe the dog was bitter it had to hang out in this creepy house all day?

Sun Room: Not only was the sun room jam packed with plants and pillows, it was home to three parrots. One of the parrots was so, SO scary. It kept yelling "helllllooo!" and "umbrella!" at me, in the most robotic, steely, frightening voice. I'm pretty sure a robot giant squid from outer space with a tentacle wrapped around my body, dragging me down to the pits of Hell would have a similar, but slightly less horrifying voice. I am still haunted. 

TDee told me that the parrots had originally been his. Apparently his first ex-wife couldn't stand the birds either and gave TDee an ultimatum--either the birds had to go or she would. TDee laughed during the retelling, "I should have kept the birds!". Me: "...uhhh...heh, heh...wow". 

I would take ten Gilbert Godfrieds before I'd be willing to go near those parrots again

The garage, the basement, & the upstairs bedroom: words cannot do justice to the these rooms. These, as well as several others, were brimming with "art". Here's a general idea of what was going on:

Garage

Upstairs Bedroom

Basement with an alien hanging by a noose as a fun accent piece

I'm sure all legitimate "art dealers" treat their "art" in such a manner. *SMH*

These pictures only represent the tip of the iceberg. I have a lot more on my computer, and could easily have taken even more during the inspection. I'm guessing the house held at least ~5,000 pieces of "art". It was just everywhere. 

Oh, and one added bonus picture! The basement bathroom:

Not sure why the toilet was removed, but they left a lovely hole in its place!

The worst part about this inspection? Hopefully you agree that normal people do NOT live like this, but the people who were home (which included mom, TDee, TDum, TDum's wifey and spawn, and then one or two other random people)? NOBODY SEEMED TO ACT LIKE THERE WAS ANYTHING STRANGE ABOUT THE HOUSE!!!!!!! HOW COULD YOU THINK THAT THIS SITUATION WAS OKAY?!?!

Despite the strong strain of lunacy that runs through my family, sometimes I am super thankful that my family is insane, in a good way!

Photo credits: Aladdin, Harry Potter

We're Not in Manhattan Anymore... Part One

Hi Friends, this is a long one so I'm splitting it up into two parts! For part two, click here!

Make fun of me all you want but let's get one thing clear. I do not drive. Yes, I have a driver's license. But no, to my boss's dismay, I refuse to drive for work. Here's why:

1. I have not driven since I moved to New York City which is over five years ago.

2. I never was a super confident driver to begin with. I have what you'd call an "anxious" personality and I get nervous when I'm not familiar with my surroundings.

3. Give me a break, driving in the tri-state area is a whole other animal than driving almost anywhere else in the US. It'd be scary enough to drive here with a companion for moral/emotional/directional support, but attempting it alone? No. Just no. As my dad likes to say, "There's only one rule to driving in NYC: point and go".

4. As any of my friends from high school can attest to, driving with me is always an...adventure. I guess there's always the adrenaline thrill of not knowing if you'll ever reach your destination, or even if you'll be alive by the end of the night. Any and all attempts at highway driving result in me getting lost, pulling off at some random ramp and parking somewhere, crying hysterically to my dad on the phone, and him directing me how to get home while he remains on the phone the entire time.*

5. Trust me, you do not want me sharing the road with you.

*Give me SOME credit, this was in the days before everybody had GPS. OKAY?!?

Dionne and Cher understand my struggle:
"Hey! You try driving in platforms!"

Because of this, I HATE going on the odd job that takes me outside of Manhattan/Brooklyn/Queens/The Bronx because it usually involves twelve transfers between various subways, trains, and buses and then I still have to make the client pick me up at the bus station. Never a good day.

On one particular occasion I was forced to go inspect the home of a 85+ year old woman in Long Island. This was at the start of my career as a mold inspector and I was nervous about traveling to the job. I didn't have any spare thoughts for the job itself...Who would have known that the traveling would be the most fun part of my day?

Back story: the large six-bedroom home was built by the lady's late husband. The pair had  two sons, now in their 40s, that are no longer living there (thank God!). As these things go,  the house had fallen into disrepair over the years and had experienced several leaks. I was hired by the older son, we'll call him Tweedledee, to inspect the ENTIRE home for mold because his mother was sick. The second son, Tweedledum, refers to himself as an African art dealer. 

Imagine these two, but up the creep factor and minimize the happiness level

Allegedly TDum's storage space for his "art" was being repaired, and he was temporarily storing his wooden African statues in his mother's home. I'm not trying to offend anyone here, I love the African section of the Metropolitan Museum of Art as much as the next person, but if you treat any sort of art like shit, it ceases being art and turns into shit. Period.

Fast forward three years and the "art" was still at the mother's house. It was easy to realize that the point of this investigation was to settle a dispute between TDee and TDum on whether or not the art needed to go...

Photo Credits: Alice in Wonderland, Clueless