The Little House That Could

Some people are addicted to booze. Others habitually tie off their arms with JCrew tie tourniquets and inject themselves with what the kids call "horse." Still others gamble. Bad Joo has a problem with old houses.

Bad Joo has dreamed since Bad Joo was a little Bad Joo of an adorable, historic bungalow. Since attaining adulthood, this dream has fleshed out, and Bad Joo compulsively shops her city streets for said bungalow. Until now.

Wait. Back up. Bad Joo has a few favorites, namely, a Japanese inspired bungalow on a certain park, a cottagey bungalow in a certain preppy city-lette; and Bad Joo's new bungalow. That's right. The one pictured in the previous post.

You see, sixteen years ago, when Bad Joo moved to Grand Bibleville, Bad Joo spotted this little number, and Bad Joo said, "I will have that house." And now she will.

Call it fate. Call it kismet. Claim that Jesus arranged it all 'twixt deciding who'd get into heaven (there are only 144,000 spots). Call it what you will, but a short time ago, Bad Joo and Mr. Bad Joo were driving aboot, and Bad Joo asked him to drive by this little number to see how she was doing.

And there was a motherfucking for sale sign in the window. Not a realtor sign. Not a fancy, shiny sign with a tube for flyers and bells and whistles. No. A little 8x10 Ace Hardware For Sale By Owner sign.

So Joo called. And found it was for sale for $ridiculouslylow,lowprice.00 . Because all of these sixteen years, the house was inhabited by a little ol' lady, who recently went to be with her Jesus. And the house is in a shambles. In ruins. And now it is Bad Joo's sworn duty to fix her back up.

Because, you see, she is the little house that could.



TO BE CORN-TINUED.