I'm thinking of starting a new blog, it's called, "How Not to Buy a Home" It's probably already been done. It would be a comical cautionary tale. Anyway, maybe a rich, retired couple from Atlanta will buy the home for the land, tear down this death trap, and build themselves a nice new, efficient McMansion. You never know. It's our only hope at this point. Then we'll move north, at least to Kentucky. So I can have some snow. This is just to far south for me. Sorry, my family can shun me, I really don't give a shit any more. Maybe it's fair. After all my mom shunned my grandma for 10 years and I missed out on seeing my grand parents from the age of 9 until I was 19. Talk about some fucked up shit. So don't tell me where I can or can't live.
Yikes, I just noticed chunks of vermiculite stuck to the bedroom door and just painted over. I tell you, if the seller knew about this stuff, tried to hide it, and then sold this home to a family with kids. Well, there's just got to be an extra special place in hell for him. Plus, I'm starting to understand why his wife left him and fled 1300 miles away to California. Run Margaret! Run!