You know that old saying, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”? Well, that could be said in just about any circumstance, but in particular with houses.

We recently moved into someone’s “second home.” How people can afford a “second home” these days is beyond me, but apparently they weren’t so keen on keeping it after the pricing bubble burst. It’s had its share of renters before we came along, and with this house being at the ripe old age of 20, I’ve been anticipating our fair share of problems that come when you buy an older property that someone else has owned. Or lived in.

It’s clear that the carpet at one time was called “Dusty Rose.” Or for those of you not familiar with the color wheel, we’ll simplify that for you and call it what it is: Pink. Dark Pink, but it’s pink.

The areas that saw a lot of traffic have become the “dusty” part, which is also now something akin to “steel gray.”  It’s in good shape for the most part, just not a color I want to have around for very long.

Oh, also! When you move into a “settled” place, you can expect to find your share of critters and creepers that have come to call it “home” over the years as well.

We went through two gallons of bug spray just spraying around the house both inside and out, and all around the yard.

Our first night in the house, we flipped on the back porch light and the yard seemed to have its own lifeforce. Hubs started cussing and dashed out there with the remnants of one of the gallons of bug juice and started spraying like mad.

Those little cucarachas were dancing and scattering like water on a hot skillet! Every crack in the concrete got hosed down with the stuff. All the rocks that were used for landscaping were soaked thoroughly. Rocks are just the worst. They hide all kinds of things.

I make sure the most recent purchase of the bugkiller is right where I can reach it when and if need be. I happened to go out to the garage and stepped through the side door to the outside, when something sorta nudged me to look around the corner.

Clinging to the stucco, there was the biggest freakin’ spider I’ve ever seen in my life! I caught my breath and dashed back inside for the juice, and got to sprayin’ that thing like my momma used to do when she sprayed her head with AquaNet. KSSHHHH! KSSHHHH! KSSHHHH!

Ew! It just gave me the willies!

Hubs decided he wanted to bake a potato one of the first nights we were in, so he cranked up the oven like he usually does to “incinerate” and walked off. Within minutes we were all gasping for air and running around opening doors and windows. I have no idea what was burning in there, but it was certainly not a potato! Once the oven was cooled off enough, he jerked it out of the space it was in, only to look behind it and see remnants of an old mice nest.

Double ew.

“Come and look at this!”

“Now why on earth would I want to see that? It is not of the least bit of interest to me! Just get rid of it!”

Why do men do that?

We shortly discovered we had a worse mess than that to contend with. The previous tenant had owned a few pets, and a couple of them had gotten loose or were let loose, and ended up in some very unsavory spots.

That hideous smell that seemed to emanate from somewhere in the garage? Oh yeah. There was a critter out there, for sure, festering somewhere. Hubs found it. In the empty water softener. Once he lifted that lid, it was like some smell you would expect to come from a horror movie. Putrid would be an understatement.

“Come and look at this!”

Again? No thank you, the smell is bad enough!

That was something I won’t even divulge the details about, let’s just say a “rat” and a “nest” were involved. And none of it was alive.

That whole system had to be unhinged from where it was clamped to the wall. Hubs did the miraculous duty of taking it out and cleaning it out, but he forgot the most important thing. He forgot to put all that swill into garbage bags. Layers of garbage bags. Instead, he was just scooping stuff out and slappin’ it on top of what was already in the garbage bin. I couldn’t stress enough how nasty that truly was.

Fortunately, that smell is mostly gone. Not entirely, but it’s not quite as heinous as it was.

Another hitch was the garage door. It worked OK for a couple of days and then it suddenly stopped.

Hubs had gone out of town by that time so I had to try via cellphone to get him to tell me how to fix it.

He suggested a few of the tried and true remedies, and although we didn’t get it to work, the boys did manage to lift it long enough for me to get my ride out, and then we lowered it back into place.

The garage door man came at his appointed hour and said, “Yep. Ya got a busted spring.” He and his minion got right to work and had that sucker fixed in under an hour. The price was very reasonable, and I’m happy that the door no longer sounds like puppies trapped in a clothes basket.

I haven’t had the opportunity to look under the kitchen sink yet. It’s always been my experience that once you open that portal to hell, you never come back.

I’ll just save that little gruesome adventure for Hubs.

It’ll be his Christmas present.