Dream big. If you miss, you can always end up in mouse poop.

About three weeks ago, I decided my boyfriend and I needed to find a new place to live. 

You see, I was living in a sort of extremely small studio apartment when I started dating my first assistant at work (long story kind of). We had to keep it secret at work, obviously, so he came to my house a lot so that we could actually act like a couple in the privacy of my house. Eventually it became obvious that it was silly for him not to just move in with me. That was about eight months ago. 

Now let me just explain how it works to live in a small studio apartment with your boyfriend. It's awesome when you are getting along and flirting and tickling each other. But when the tickling gets taken too far and I get angry, let's just say it's not so fun. To where are you supposed to walk out of the room? What doors are you supposed to slam other than the bathroom? It seems silly to slam the bathroom door and then have to pout on the toilet. How pathetic, right?

So, when I decided to look for a new place, I had big dreams. Literally big. I was fantasizing about a wall between the couch and the bed. Imagining slamming multiple doors to different rooms. Scanning the classifieds for maybe even a house with TWO bedrooms. So that maybe, just maybe, I could slam two doors, instead of just one. Or slam one, and when ignored, walk out pouting with my arms crossed and slam the next one. 

And then someone pinched me. 

In this valley you can't find a place with a wall between the bed and the couch for less than $1200. Twelve hundred dollars??? And by twelve hundred dollars, they really mean thirty six hundred because in this world, they need first, last and deposit. I really was living in a fantasy world. 

So, we decided to move into a little miniscule bunkhouse on my grandparents ranch. I'm talking small. We were going from a 30 gallon play swimming pool to a five gallon bucket. No walls between the couch and bed, only one door, etc...  Only advantage over the other place: for some reason, my grandpa put a lock on the outside of the bathroom door.  For a city slicker like my boyfriend, this five gallon bucket was quite a shock. It's thirty minutes from town, cell service, and a grocery store. But the idea behind it is that we can save money for a good six months (notice the word "idea" here). Oh, the price we will pay to pay off credit card debt at twenty two years old. 

After some serious conning cajoling, I got Adam to agree. We moved in on Saturday and presumed to clean up all the mouse poop, bleach everything, and run the water for three hours so the rotten egg smell would go away (and by away I mean soak into the whole house instead of just the water, sounds fun right?). Then, at about ten pm that night we found a nice surprise left in the toilet that looked and smelled like it was from eons ago. YUCK. How was I supposed to pout on a dirty toilet?? I, once again spontaneously combusted into a pile of tears and went to sleep at my parents house like a scared ten year old little girl. 

Who knew I lived in the mountains up there my entire life. 

And I thought Adam was going to be shell shocked!