Tag Archives: bathrooms

Day 15… Small bathrooms and antique store Hell, where River reexamines how much she really loves her husband.

 

I woke up on our last full day of vacation in Williamsburg, Virginia  (Yes, we’re finally there!)  cursing our second resort’s small bathrooms.

 

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I mean… come on.

For a girl with big hair this is a very small space to make the magic happen.

And the shower?

 

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One teeny tiny shelf!

I had to put the rest of my things on the floor.

 

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We started the day at the husband’s favorite breakfast spot where he was now greeted with ”The guy who wants two plates of chipped beef on toast is here”.

 

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And seeing that we’d had 2 full weeks of doing everything I wanted to do, I thought it prudent to throw the husband a bone and let him pick our last day’s activities.

 

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As expected, that bit me in the ass.

 

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He chose the Williamsburg Antique Mall… and let me tell you, that’s a whole lotta mall.

I have never in my life seen so much  useless crap  stuff  in one place. It went on forever, aisle after aisle after aisle. The husband was in heaven.

 

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Oh, there were some interesting things.

 

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And some seriously hideous things.

 

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It was hard, but I managed to pass on this quartz rooster head.

 

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And the Christmas tree in a shoe.

 

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But damn, at the one hour mark we’d only managed to cover a little corner of the place.

 

 

The building was so huge it had push button call stations for help because it was too damned long a walk back to the front to find a sales clerk.

 

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Two hours in there was a drunken Santa….

 

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And some of the money the husband used during the Vietnam War.

 

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Three hours in there was a pair of wolves on skis…

 

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The ice cube trays I cursed with every breath as a child….

 

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And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.

 

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Four hours in there were Civil War era hats and a saleslady who gave me a piece of paper to write down the aisle number, the booth number, the case number and a description of each article we had questions about because no one ever remembers what was where. If you look in the upper left hand corner of the picture you’ll see my hand clutching it.

And no, I wasn’t going to give it to the husband …. I’m not stupid.

The husband?

Happier than the proverbial pig in shit.

 

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Rusty tools….

Rusty tools everywhere!

 

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I passed on more vintage chickens.

 

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And wondered who this wide eyed Santa was going to poke with that…. that….

Whatever the heck that was.

At the four and a half hour mark I had to use the rest room.

 

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Where I did indeed flush my hopes and dreams of ever leaving this place down the toilet.

 

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There was definitely something for everyone.

 

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Even if some of the price tags made you gasp.

Five hours in I told the husband I was too hungry to continue and we needed to go get some lunch.

 

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Yeah.

My worst nightmare came true….

They had a cafe.

 

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Where we had tiny overpriced sandwiches and frozen solid fruit to fortify us for more hours of antique shopping.

 

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It was at this point I knew we’d never leave.

I was doomed.

 

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Too late for that warning…. the husband has had it for years.

 

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He was bound and determined to see every last item in this store or die trying.

And by this time I was happily planning his demise.

 

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Yikes.

Paging Morticia Addams….

 

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And holy crap.

Who in their right mind wants that hanging on their wall?

 

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Six hours in I found a bug collection….

 

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Some chicken humor…

 

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And part of the line to check out.

These people took a number…. and have probably been waiting since June 13, 1976.

 

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But the husband was still going strong.

 

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And if I told you how many rusty old pesticide sprayers we have in the barn already? You’d fear for my safety.

 

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Here’s proof positive there’s a magazine for everything.

 

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And a painting that contains fish bones.

You’re welcome.

 

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SEVEN HOURS  in and we weren’t even 2/3’s of the way through.

 

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I knew he wasn’t going to leave without buying something, but by then I’d reached my limit of  utterly useless crap  antique shopping.

I was on board with the old phone. It could have been fun in the barn…. when he builds that bar he keeps talking about.

You know, the bar he can’t build because he has too much utterly useless crap  stuff in the way.

 

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Eight hours in?

I was silently screaming FFS….just pick something and let’s go!

Or maybe I said it out loud, I can’t remember.

 

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So there it is, the result of 8 hours of antique mall shopping.

A giant glass water bottle to add to the other 20 or so giant glass water bottles he currently has collecting cobwebs.

 

 

I love him.

I do.

And as long as I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Resort hopping Part 2. The Mountain View Grand.

 

Hidden away in tiny Whitefield, New Hampshire is a gem.

 

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A sprawling hotel…

 

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Packed with old world charm.

Sadly they were renovating the front entrance when we visited so we had to sneak in the side.

 

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Look at those doors!

 

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Chess anyone?

 

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I’m a sucker for a good porch.

 

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And this one did not disappoint.

 

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I could happily plop here with a good book….

 

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A pitcher of margaritas…

 

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And never leave.

 

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Back inside, I checked out the wall of history…

 

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And some great old photographs…

 

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While the husband continued his “I shall pee everywhere I can in Western Maine and New Hampshire” challenge with an upscale rest room this time.

And speaking of rest rooms…

 

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Even I had to check out the pink marble in theirs.

But ooh la la…

 

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There were private sinks inside the ladies room stalls.

Is that some chic shit or what?

 

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Moving on through the lounge…

 

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We found a dining room… and the place where we would spend the next two hours.

 

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The bar.

 

 

Don’t look surprised, you knew it was coming.

 

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One Lemonflower Martini…

 

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One Cranberry Orange Margarita…

 

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And one Melon Margarita later…

 

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(Don’t judge me.

They had a 6 page cocktail list and tequila soaked cranberries…. I had to.)

 

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There were some crab cakes.

Some smiley face crab cakes… and yes, that was on purpose.

 

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Crab cakes weren’t supposed to be served that time of day, or at all in the tavern for that matter….. but when you make friends with the bartender?

Anything is possible.

 

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An afternoon well spent, we poured ourselves out the door.

 

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And lamented the fact we wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

 

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Even mid facelift..

She’s an elegant old broad.

Too good not to share… the finale.

 

Crazy real estate agent’s photos part 3, and let’s start it off with a bang.

Or a boom as the case may be..

 

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There’s so much wrong with this I don’t even know where to start. Aside from the obvious WTF factor…. this guy looks like he’s getting ready to goose you. Why are his hands open wide? Why do you have to reach into his chest to flush? And considering what he must see everyday… why  the hell is he smiling?

 

 

Wow.

 

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Someone clearly had too much time… and acrylic paint… on their hands.

 

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Just your normal bathroom/dining room combo…

 

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And bathroom/kitchen combo….

 

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And bathroom/bedroom combo.

 

 

Porches.

 

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Not just for outside anymore.

 

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When you live in the city… but your wife really wants a cow.

 

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Because sun shade awnings are stylish anywhere.

 

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Proof positive there is such a thing as too much togetherness.

Truly.

 

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I’m not sure what’s more disturbing about this bizarre bathtub… the fact that it’s covered in carpet?

That it has 4 decorative poles?

Or that it appears to have an electric heater installed on the side?

 

 

 

I don’t know.

I really don’t.

Too good not to share… Part 2.

 

Before we found our current house, I went on what I lovingly refer to as the “Homes From Hell Tour” with my real estate agent. It was a seller’s market back in 2002 and they were selling some crazy sh*t.

We found a bedroom floor with a large hole in the center. It was a crater, you could see 2 stories down…. we found a trampoline in a living room with bumper pads on the walls and ceiling…. and we found a room entrance completely covered with blue tarps and duct tape. Apparently you only got to see what was in there if you purchased the place.

So yes, these crazy realtor photos make me laugh.

 

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Curtains.

You’re doing it wrong.

 

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When you’re bound and determined to make use of every last inch of space.

 

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Good luck finding a bath mat to fit there.

 

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I’m speechless.

And that doesn’t happen very often…

 

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Good to know.

 

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If you really, really, really want to live by the ocean… but can’t afford it.

 

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And finally..

When you can’t afford wallpaper, but grandma has some spare rugs in her attic.