Welcome to My Little Life That I Like to Refer to As “A Bucket Full of Accidents”

Hi, all! Thank you for visiting my shiny-new little space. I’m no stranger to blogging, but am to WordPress, so please excuse the insanity and my blatant non-tech-savvy nerdiness until I get all phazers simultaneously set to stun. (Excuse the Sci-Fi reference. I’ve never even seen Star-Trek.) I am in the process of packing up all my thoughts neatly into boxes that are probably too heavy for me to carry, completely ensuring at least one bad accident, and bringing them on over to a new beginning. My previous blog, Truly Ruby, is my pride and joy, but unfortunately Google bought Blogger out and Miss Tech-Confusion Inside of a Mild Case of OCD over here can’t seem to become friendly with the new dashboard. I’m completely embarrassed by this, as I should be. So this shall be my new blogging home…just as soon as I unpack everything and put it out all nice and tidy like.

If you’ve found this post, it’s probably important to warn you all that I’m a tad unconventional. I do things a little differently. Heck, I fully believe I was supposed to be a Southern girl, since I am one at heart, and my life just got confused, hence the name of the blog. (I also realize that unsouthern isn’t a world. But if it’s good enough for Blanche Devereaux, it’s good enough for me.) I mean, it has to be a mistake. If that’s not enough for you, I have two names. For legal purposes, my birth name is Amy. For all other purposes, I go by Cassadee, or just plain Cass. I’m a writer, aspiring author, animal lover and rescuer, friend, daughter, and psychic medium. If the last part isn’t your cup of tea, that’s alright, too. I would never ask anyone to believe me; everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I’ve been called crazy too many times to care. Besides, I have plenty of stories to tell, paranormal or not, so there’s a little something for everyone on this site, be it a lover, fighter, comedian, animal person, or paranormal enthusiast, and everything in between, too.

I’ve been looking for a new place to unpack my little knick-knacks and chotskies for a little while, but what a better time to do it than on the first day of Nanowrimo? I’m going to attempt to write a new post each and every day, but you will soon learn that my life often has other plans. I am currently full of time to do things, but I am currently full of medical issues, too. (I’m not complaining. Life is going to go how it’s going to go. It’s what you do with it that matters.) My doctors aren’t allowing me to work, which you think would allow me plenty of time to write, but often days I’m too sick to think straight, and then Mono came right on along and somehow visited me while I was being all cool and never leaving my house like a shut in, because I was already sick. I’m also perpetually single. (Don’t worry, my doctor and I got a good laugh out of how I was the least likely person to catch mono, too.) So if you don’t hear from me for awhile, feel free to assume I’m still alive and poke me with virtual sticks. It usually gets my attention.

In honor of Nanowrimo, I’m going to post my first story about the insanity that is my life, which will be what this blog encompasses in the future. This post was originally written for my old blog and people who knew me. It was kind of like Cheers over there, y’all. Therefore, there’s a few things you’ll all need to know in order for this post to make sense. One: I am the clumsiest, most ill fated, accident prone people you will ever meet. I’m fully convinced, and it has been proven, that I can get hurt in a room with nothing else in it. Two: My mom is a real estate agent. It doesn’t sound important, but it is to this post. Three: The events in this post happened about three weeks ago. I’m just a little slow getting around to posting it. Four: I’m slow. I could sit here and tell you that I’m usually busy jet setting around the world and hugging homeless puppies, and although I’d prefer that to be the truth, it’s a total lie. I’m just sick. Five: Welcome to my life. Try not to get let my ridiculousness rub off of you. I don’t want anyone getting hurt over here.

Anyway, welcome to my first post. I hope you all enjoy it.

I’ve said it once, twice, a thousand times, but I’m going to say it again, I am a walking disaster. There could be movies written about the nearly unrealistic conundrums I find myself entangled it. What I’m saying is, y’all, it’s been a week. I almost broke my thumb, ankle and ribs in a span of five days, because I’m super talented like that. I’ve also been completely hammered with paranormal cases to the point where I find I have to turn off my phone if I want to attempt to get any sleep or anything else done. Plus, I’m the only psychic-medium our historical society will work with, so I’m busy resolving issues there. It’s been fun, folks.

To have y’all understand what kind of fun, I’m going to tell you about the very I Love Lucy worthy moment that happened last week. It all started in a very innocent, non suspecting way. My mom’s coworker needed a vacant home cleaned and asked us if we wanted to do it. It was an easy enough job, and it was a way to make money on my own schedule, since it didn’t have to be done at that moment. It was also something that I could sit when I needed to, only work on it for a few hours, and not stress out my health. We snatched that job right on up.

The job should have only taken a few hours. Should have are the key words here. They make guest appearances throughout this post, but I digress. We arrive on what should have been day one of one, put all our stuff in the house, and then yelled “HOLY SHIZBALLS” really loudly, only without that last part. I only did that in my head…I think. The owner had just moved out of this house, so it was very recently vacant, and literally looked like no one had lived in there or touched it in years. There were cobwebs all over the walls and ceiling, and full fledged dust rabbits on growth hormones all over the floor. If I put all those dust rabbits together, I could have made myself a horse. A small, cute horse, like this, but a horse nonetheless.

Everything was still especially wonderful, because we didn’t have furniture to clean around. Then I reached the dining room. Unfortunately, in being under the understanding that the house was vacant, we didn’t expect to open up a cupboard and find enough beer pong supplies, alcohol included, for an entire frat house. Did I mention the owner was single guy in his 30s? And this was the best thing we found in the house. The next part is not suitable for anyone. Anyone.

I found used condom wrappers, folks. USED CONDOM WRAPPERS. I mean, let’s just start with the fact that this dude moved out and left them there, and end with the fact of WHY IN THE HECK DID HE NOT THROW THEM AWAY AFTER HE OPENED THEM? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM? Okay, sorry for that little glitch in my hardware. I’m calming down. I was never so happy for rubber gloves in my life. Ever.

And that; it also ended up being another one of the best parts of the day, because directly after this, I heard my mom yelling. She had gone downstairs to start cleaning up down there while I finished the upstairs. Now, it’s important to know before I go any further that we had come in the downstairs, because the only way we had to get in was by using a garage door opener, and the garage was on the lower level. My mom had showed me the house, which she had been in once before, and we had been all over that downstairs before we had gone upstairs to clean. So really, I was wondering where the fire was, because that downstairs was kosher the last time we had been down there.

I leave my post with the empty condom wrappers and head downstairs where I find that it’s, well, flooded. We had just been down there less than two hours before and had heard nothing. At this point my mom was unable to find out how to shut the water off, which is why she called me down. In fact, between the two of us, we couldn’t even figure out where the water was coming from or what was going on.

This is where things quickly turned into an episode of I Love Lucy. We were running around in the water and trying to find out not only where the leak was coming from, but try and turn it off, only the knobs were missing for anything connected to the pipes. All of them. And us, in a vacant house with no wrench. In fear and panic, we started running around the downstairs like morons and hitting every switch we could, including the main power line, to see if we could just make it stop. We couldn’t. And on top of this, we’re trying to get a hold of the realtor of the house who is an hour away and in the middle of a conference. Just picture this for me, if you will. Water flooding a basement, all the knobs broken, two people running around like idiots trying to figure out what’s going on. It isn’t just hysterical now; it was actually hysterical when it was happening. Luckily, we were able to see the humor in how ridiculous it was and how stupid we looked.

Eventually, we did get a hold of the realtor, and she sent out a plumber. Turns out the water meter, which, for whatever was on the inside of the home, had burst. It took the plumber a minute to find which one of the knobs with no handle was the right one, and him and his wrench went to work. It took him about two seconds to turn it off after forty-five minutes of us looking like morons. It was awesome. Really.

Then, just in case we weren’t having enough fun, we then had to wait for the realtors’ husband to get there to get the keys, because, by this time, the realtor had walked out of her conference, gotten a hold of the insurance, they had called the restoration folks, and the restoration folks were set to come out later that night. We had to pass the one garage door opener over to her husband so he could meet with the restoration folks in a few hours, and then keep one for ourselves so that we could come back the next day and finish cleaning the house once the downstairs was dry.

At this point, we couldn’t go back upstairs and finish cleaning, because we were all over water and were going to drag that upstairs and through the rooms we had just cleaned, so we were stuck outside waiting. When he did arrive, we gave him the garage door opener and went to shut the garage door. Nothing. Niche. Nadda. The big old, huh uh girlfriend. It took two of them to figure out that one of the switches we hit inside was actually the switch that the garage door ran off of. Once they got that figured out, the garage door went down beautifully, and we could go home. I also supervised this situation like a boss.

So one day of work suddenly turns into two and, if you can believe it, day one was the better of the two days. We pulled up to the house on day two, got out the garage door opener, the one we tried the night before to make sure they both worked, and nothing. It took us about two seconds to realize that the restoration company had somehow managed to get out of the home AND hit the switch to disable the garage door. It sounds like fancy magic to me, too, guys, but that’s what happened.

Enter our conundrum. Most people would call the realtor, listen to her say she was staying where the conference was since it was a few days long, wouldn’t be back for a few days, and would get us a key then and be okay with that. Only we had all our cleaning supplies in the house and company coming to our own home, that also needed cleaned, before she could get us that key. We needed in that house. And we would have taken everything with us the night before, except that we couldn’t go upstairs without messing up the floors we had just cleaned by dripping water all over the lovely wooden floors. You guessed it. That’s, of course, where all the cleaning supplies, except the mop, were. The mop wasn’t even ours. It was left in the house. This just wasn’t working out for us.

Seeing as we needed our cleaning supplies, and I was not about to give up, I devised a plan. The day before when we were there, I had spent next to five minutes fiddling with the door that goes out on the balcony from the kitchen, only to realize the lock was broken. In order to get into that door, I had to climb over a four-foot fence with a locked gate, up onto the balcony, and break in. There was a slight concern about the neighbors seeing this and calling the police, but I welcomed the police to show up and see that we had broken into a vacant house and were cleaning it. Not only that, but the sale sign was still in the yard with the real estate agency’s name on it, and my mom’s SUV has the name of the real estate company on it, too, so I did the responsible thing and broke in. It seemed reasonable at the time. And the police didn’t show up. I was a little disappointed. I’m not going to lie, I would have liked to have seen how that was going to go down.

As soon as I was safely inside, I went downstairs to flick on the switch for the garage door, which they did indeed turn off and let my in. As soon as she got in, went to see how well they did in their restoration and found they didn’t do diddly squat. They moved the few pieces of furniture the new owners had bought off the old one and put fans down. They didn’t even suck up the water. The place was still sopping wet, which we had to walk through to get upstairs. Having no choice, we made it work. I won’t get into details.

When I had to break in, I should have taken it as a warning sign that I wasn’t to be in that house that day. When the floor was still soaked, I should have gotten my stuff and ran like bananas, you know, if bananas could run. I was minding my own business upstairs and cleaning the last bedroom all on my lonesome. I happened to be cleaning the two very large, connected windows when the very heavy metal blind came right down on my thumb. I didn’t even touch the gosh darn thing, it just brutally attacked. I was highly offended.

At first I thought everything was peachy keen. Then my thumb swelled so badly that I had to take the glove off of the hand because it was strangling it. I continued to work, but eventually couldn’t use my thumb. I didn’t think it was broken, just badly bruised and swollen. The last time I thought this, however, I injured my foot so badly that it took me a year and a lot of treatments for me to be able to walk on it again. I decided not to take a chance with my thumb. The lady at Med Express thought it was broken, but luckily I just beat the crap out of it. It still hurts and is cramping my blogging.

And since I’ve already warned everyone that I wrote this three weeks ago, if you’re wondering, my thumb did finally heal…about two days ago. So, in all fairness and the little bit of defense I have, that is my reason for staying oh so incognito when it came to blogging. It wasn’t just my natural pace of tortoise.

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