Saturday night was Ben Folds at the House of Blues courtesy of my fantastique (yes, I intended to use French spelling and, no, I’m not a communist) girlfriend, Cathy, who, I am required to say by law, is right 99.9 percent of the time. I am not required to say that she is amazing to the power of awesome, but omitting that fact would be like putting Baby in a corner and NOBODY puts Baby in a corner (more on that in a sec).

Bottom line: the whole weekend rocked. But, what exactly do you do on Sunday night after a long, relaxing weekend when you are still awake and dreading having to go back to work the next day? Naturally, you go to dinner, wait until pretty much every video place in town is closing and then rifle through movies and tv shows at said stores as quickly as possible until you find something worth watching before checking out as they lock the doors behind you, natch! It was SO worth the effort.

First, I want to mention my phone conversation with Movies: The Store, the really cool video place on Richmond at about 5 minutes until 10pm. C and I were at Borders and thought that it would be silly to spend $30 on a movie we’d never seen, so I called Movies to see if they were open or would even be willing to remain open an extra 5 minutes or so to rent us something. This is what I got:

Me: How late are you guys open?
MTS: We are closing in 5 minutes at 10.
Me: Five minutes? Damn!
MTS: Dude, we’d stay but we are going to catch a movie right after we close.
Me: No worries. Thanks so much!

Seriously, how awesome is a store that probably would hold the door for you if they weren’t going out to see the very thing they sell? It’s symmetry and logic and stars colliding to create black holes and all that science shit that means perfection in the universe without even trying.

Anyway, as we made our way to checkout with some probably crappy $30 movie, we saw the $8 bin and, lo and behold, to what did our wondering eyes appear but the 20th anniversary edition of Dirty Dancing. I might have expected Havana Nights, but not the original. This, I am told, is a favorite of C’s youth, which made it an automatic buy. Out the door we went armed with Baby, Johnny, that guy from Law & Order and Newman from Seinfeld – all in one movie together!

It should be noted – oh, and I noted it – that it is curious the two seminal dance flicks of a generation (meaning Gen X, not you Gen Y kids who have to live with Honey, Step Up and Step Up 2 the Streets – hell, you didn’t even get Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo!) – Dirty Dancing and Saturday Night Fever – both had male leads named Johnny. Also, Jennifer Gray and Patrick Swayze were in Red Dawn together as well, which doesn’t matter except that it is one of the dumbest movies I’ve ever watched and…WOLVERINES!!!

We unwrapped the packaging and found inside a booklet containing Dirty Dancing merchandise. Items included posters, CD’s, talking pens, projector keychains, a 2008 calendar (year of the DVD release) and apparel, which is the point of this whole blog post.

Oh, you thought you were going to get a detailed review of the DVD or some insight into youthful rebellion and the modern class system or a discussion on the pains of growing up in the turbulent 60′s as portrayed in the film? HA HA HA!! Have you ever READ this blog before? Oh, you haven’t? Ok, well…uh…what I write about on here are things like ninjas and light rock songs from the 70′s and the genius of Dear Abby, so you might want to reconsider why you are here. Seriously. If you hate vikings and vaginas and vikings with vaginas, this is NOT the place for you. Ok, glad we got that sorted out. Anyhoo…

Before I get to the apparel, let me just point out the honorable mention of this merchandise package, Dirty Dancing: The Video Game. I wish I could make this crap up, but check out the description:

I’m nearly speechless, but if you know me (and you do you sassy little mynx!), you know that will never happen even if my vocal chords were severed and my throat ripped out by that guy in American werewolf in London, you know, when he was a werewolf.

So, back to the apparel. There were message tees and classic logo tank tops. I was halfway surprised they didn’t have leotards given the proclivity of those in the film. During the “teaching Baby to dance” montage (shockingly similar to the “teaching Rocky to be black” montage in Rocky III, which both utilized songs with “eyes” in the title – coincidence? I think not!), C noticed a startling amount of leotard usage which prompted me to wonder (out loud because I’m annoying like that) why they would be wearing leotards and fish net stockings for rehearsal and why Baby would bring those items to a summer retreat in 1963, long before the Olivia Newton-John aerobics craze of the early 1980′s. Moving on.

My favorite item of apparel in the mini catalog was, as you might imagine, a thong. Yes, a thong. No, it’s not because I like women’s underwear. I swear, if I had a nickel for every time you came on here and perverted what I was trying to say, I’d be rich and famous and full of win. In fact, you should just pay me for that rude remark. Yes, I heard it because I’m spying on…I mean…you know what, nevermind. Let’s forget we ever talked about this. Look, a squirrel!

You know, nothing says “classy” like Dirty Dancing written across the front of your panties. Now, I can’t read the tiny writing all over the rest of the undies, but I assume they are clever quotes from the film or clever takes on them like:

You’re about to have the time of your life.
Welcome to my playpen…baby.
This is my dance space.
Put your pickle on my plate, college boy.
I’m known as the catch of the county.
I carry a watermelon!

See how perfectly those work out! They should hire me to write things on women’s underwear. It would have to be before someone put them on though, because I have a girlfriend and I’m not a total perv despite your heinous assertions to the contrary. If I did get such a job, I wouldn’t want to be limited to simply writing catchy one-liners or hilarious witticisms. Maybe poetry or algebra equations or even random verses from the Bible though “He wept” is all I can remember at the moment and I’m not sure that would be the hottest phrase to see on your girl’s drawers. But, I must press on in this new career and seek out all avenues of opportunity because, NOBODY PUTS BABY IN A CORNER.

See how I did that? I wrote this completely nonsensical paragraph that was really a total waste of pixels just so I could tie up the whole blog with a quote from the movie. Damn, I’m good. It was so completely worth it. It’s like that time I wrote a blog post about Dirty Dancing and how they sold thongs in their catalog insert and…wait. What just happened? Either I’m in the Matrix and they just changed something or I’m caught in a temporal causality loop like that episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Those are the only two things it could possibly be. Or I just forgot what I was doing and that’s crazy talk. My money is on the causality loop because it’s like a black hole and those things are the BALLS!

With bachelorette parties, on the other hand, there can be a myriad number of possibilities that range from the innocent (tea and polite jokes about “your wedding night”) to the downright bawdy (strange mostly gay men flinging their junk in the faces of ladies loaded up on peppermint Schnapps and a sense of righteous indignation).

Whatever the case may be, accessories are not just important, they are apparently necessary and, even more importantly, nearly always in the shape of a penis, with one sparkly exception: the tiara.

About a month ago, my lovely girlfriend and I went to a local purveyor of party items to look for things she could bring to her best friend’s bachelorette party. Being the maid of honor and the best friend, it was left to her to send out the invites, organize the plans, buy lingerie as part of the “lingerie shower” they would have (no, dudes, it is NOT what you think!), order the penis pinata (natch) and, of course, get the tiara pictured above.

First, let me say there are a shocking number of penis shaped objects at Arne’s. Straws, cake tins, balloons…it’s a little creepy. None of it was quite as humorous to me as the “Sparkle Tiara,” which you can tell is sparkly by all the sad little snowflakes floating around on the packaging. I’d like to list for you the reasons I found this amusing and you WILL read it because you are totally bored if you’ve read this far already.

LAST NIGHT OUT!

This is mentioned twice on the package and both times with an exclamation point. I am left to assume that either the bride becomes a werewolf and is, wisely, not allowed outside at night, turns into a reverse vampire destroyed by moonlight or is simply locked in the basement. Is this some new marriage law?

The Model

Um, no offense, but could George’s Fun Factory (that is actually the name of the manufacturer if you look closely) come up with someone LESS homely to grace their tiara package. This poor woman looks like she was given a day pass from Amish country and got suckered by some city slicker to “try on a tiara” in a dark faux wood paneled room. I can hear them now:

City Slicker: Just try it on, just for a second.
Girl: I dunno, kind sir. I’m just an innocent youngster from farm country.
City Slicker: I promise you I won’t hurt you and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
Girl: Well, since I’ve already taken off my clothes, I guess it’s ok.

“Quotation Marks”

I can only “assume” that someone at the “factory” got a “memo” from someone in “legal” that suggested putting on said tiara didn’t automatically “transform” the “bachelorette” into a “fairytale princess” or that this may not actually be her “last night out.” Good job, “legal guy” and I use quotes because I don’t want to use incorrect “nomenclature.”

Tiara Spells Out Bachelorette

It’s important to tell you this on the packaging as it is nearly impossible to see the actual tiara through the clear plastic wrap.

Improper Staple Placement

After all this poor Amish girl went though in her first and only modeling job, you’d think they could move the staple down to her neck or chin and not cover her mouth. Or maybe it’s some sort of agreement they reached with her. She doesn’t press charges and they cover her filthy little whore mouth with a dirty staple just like she likes it…uh, what?

—

Bottom line: if you are having a bachelorette party or throwing one for someone, it isn’t complete without the sparkly tiara…and the penis pinata. If there is anything else that every bachelorette party needs, I don’t want to know. We guys will just continue to assume it’s a lot like the way slumber parties go…in porn films.

Ah, de-flowering virgins. It’s a pastime I think we can all agree is worthy of an Olympic event. What? If they can have ice dancing and water ballet and chess, I’m pretty sure indoctrinating nubile young things into the ways of adulthood should be worthy of a medal.

But, for so many wasted years, we have all suffered with the problem of how to know FOR SURE that the girl whose special gift you are stealing is an actual virgin. Who hasn’t wondered this, right? RIGHT? Work with me, people.

Well, now you can plunder her village secure in the knowledge that she truly is new to Planet Sex with this Virgin Certificate. After all, if you have a certificate you purchased on the internet for a buck, you KNOW it has to be true.

But, wait, you say. What if you aren’t a virgin, but you really, REALLY want to be one again. Even though some seeds can’t be un-sewn (even with vaginal reconstructive surgery or penis shortening – it happens!), you can be a certified virgin too! Hooray for the magic of the internet that can turn you from wanton hussy (HUSSY with an H – don’t be a weirdo) to chaste virgin with just a few clicks of ye’ olde mouse including the “MAKE ME A VIRGIN” button. It’s almost TOO simple.

I considered it for a moment because returning to virginitude is something that is sort of appealing in a twisted, perverted way. But then someone told me that, other than in that Steve Carrell movie, being a older, male virgin isn’t the most prized of commodities among women.

OH RLY?

I mean, what woman doesn’t want a man who needs instruction on what a clitoris is nevermind how to find it? It’s like a sweet gift he is giving you by letting you explain it and waiting on him to learn how to pleasure you. You’re WELCOME!

I guess some of you brazen harlots seem to want guys with “experience” and “skill” and “a basic understanding of female anatomy.” God, you’re so demanding! I hate you. I swore I wouldn’t cry.

I’m sorry, what? No, I’m not a virgin. Yes, I’m sure. Stop looking at me like that!

(via Geekologie)

Well, in the same spirit as other great inventions like the light bulb, the cure for polio and the bumpit comes the Rear Gear, essentially a colored piece of cardboard with a string to cover up your dog’s pooper.

Is your pet feeling left in the dirt because of his/her unsightly rear? I’ve got them covered… Rear Gear is handmade in Portland, OR and offers a cheerful solution to be-rid your favorite pet’s un-manicured back side.

Rear Gear comes in many designs including a disco ball, air freshener, heart, flower, biohazard, smiley face, number one ribbon, cupcake, sheriff’s badge, dice, and you can even make yours custom, so there’s a Rear Gear for everyone.

Leave it to the artists at Etsy, purveyors of anything that can be crocheted, knitted or needlepointed, to come up with something this brilliant. It’s like a robot except it’s really just an asshole-shaped piece of cardboard, so it’s really not at all like a robot, unless you have a robot made of cardboard and shaped like an asshole, which, when you think about it, is pretty awesome.

I’m going to guess the Rear Gear doesn’t come equipped with a microchip, so it won’t do anything cool like take over the world or mimic fart sounds or warn you when your pup actually cuts one. Speaking of which, I can immediately think of a modification to this work of genius – scent! Besides covering up the actual anus, it could turn your dogs poots into rose-smelling poop and who doesn’t love that?

If I were you, and I’m not THANK GOD (no offense, but you’re totally weird, yo), I would get about 30 of these for the holidays and give them as gifts to your friends and family members. If they have dogs, great. If not, include a stapler or thumbtack and suggest they might need them for “personal use.” Everyone will laugh, except the person getting the gift. They’ll be scarred for life and probably stab you in your sleep. It’s the gift that keeps on giving!

But, don’t put the Rear Gear on my Christmas list. I have cats and they would claw me to death at the mere sight of something like this. Oh, and my farts smell like fresh laundry and love. Instead, I’ll take 1 million dollars, ninja training and world peace. Thanks in advance!

[via Geekologie]

So, I figured I should put together this little rundown of the four Krogers that have been given monikers and why they are so named.

Disco Kroger
Montrose at Hawthorne (near Westheimer)

The original. I don’t know when people started calling it Disco Kroger. I first started going there when I worked across the street. I also had my truck towed from there when I stupidly parked in its parking lot during a show at Tower Theater (you know it now as Hollywood Video – sigh). But, if you’ve ever been in there later at night, particularly on the weekends, you understand just how it got its name.

Ghetto Kroger
Shepherd at 11th

As far as I know, I’m the one that handed this Signature store with the name dating back to this post about how crappy that store can be. I first started going to Ghetto Kroger when it was decidedly less ghetto many MANY years ago. It was also significantly smaller. I’m told this will be the largest Kroger store in the US when re-modeling is complete. To understand its ghetto nature, all you have to do is go in there, see the construction and note ZERO signs saying “Please excuse our mess” or anything like that. I guess in a few months, we’ll have more ghetto to love.

Zombie Kroger
Shepherd at 20th

As outlined here, Zombie Kroger is so named because it is marked both by really sweet, exceedingly slow elderly people and a dearth of checkers most of the time. Plus, it seems to be in some sort of vortex that swallows normal time and has soda that looks like Windex.

Posh Kroger
West Gray at Dunlavy

Only recently this River Oaks store (pictured) got its name for both its clientele and the fact that you feel as if you are walking on diamond-encrusted floors and breathing caviar-infused air as you mill about in this hoity toity market. I see a blog post in my future.

So far, those are the Krogers with nicknames. I’m sure others could be determined if necessary. Hell, add your own if you like!

Photo via Wikipedia

Today, I purchased my tickets for Wilco at $30 each (a very reasonable amount) and paid $84. Did I get a discount on three tickets? Uh, no. I paid $24 in fees you can see below:

Tax I get. Order processing fee – printing and mailing the tickets – I also get. I could see paying an additional $5 or even $10 for this service even though it actually costs MORE for me to print my tickets myself and LESS to have them shipped to me in 7 business days (WTF?). But, $8.60 PER TICKET for “convenience charges???” What the hell is convenient about that?

I know Live Nation is doing fee-free Wednesdays. Great. But, these are probably going to sell out fairly quickly, so I don’t have much choice.

It sucks for the band too because they don’t get a nickel of this and they probably even have to give Ticketmaster a cut of ticket sales. What a scam.

Why do I call it Zombie Kroger, you ask (I know you asked, so don’t pull that “I didn’t ask” bullshit. We both know that you did!)? I call it that because the clientele appears to mostly be older than the average corpse and moves even slower.

I don’t like to shop there, but I stop by since it is close on occasion. Here are the five reasons I should NOT routinely stop by Zombie Kroger – and why you should avoid it altogether.

What the hell kind of food is that and why is it there?

See that bottle of weird blue liquid? When I reached in to grab a couple bottles of Deja Blue water, apparently, I got one bottle of that blue shit too. First, what the hell is that? Is it like the blood of an Oompa Loompa? Did someone bottle unicorn pee?

Second, why in the name of sweet blue unicorn pee do you put that on the same shelf in the refrigerated case with water that has a blue bottle? If I wanted the nectar of some made up fruit from Narnia, I’d call Aslan and tell him to ship me a crate.

And, while I’m at it, why would you put all the cat food EXCEPT THE IAMS at one end of the aisle with the two sections of cat food separated by hundreds of bags of dog food? What genius thought that good food for cats should sit on two shelves 15 feet from the Kibbles and Shit?

Check it out…or not.

During the day, you would be lucky to find more than two lanes open at any given time. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but when you have a store full of octogenarians who often buy food together and pay by check, you end up with issues. I was in line last week behind two women who had one cart of stuff divided into five separate batches of food that all had to be checked out separately and paid for with different payment types. Fortunately for them, every batch was fewer than 15 items so, naturally, they were in the express lane.

While I’m on the topic of express lanes and strange customers, when I was there tonight, a manager opened an extra express lane, but blocked it off with a sign and shut off the numbered lamp as the store got less busy so he could go back to whatever it is managers do. No one seemed to care. Several people – one woman pushing 90 wearing a full girl scout uniform (scout’s fucking honor!) – just walked around the sign and got in line.

Finally, since there are at least a few normals that shop here, how about a self checkout stand. I realize this could be an unmitigated disaster since many of the folks in the store probably don’t even know how to use a remote control for a television, but maybe try an experiment for those of us who do.

How about you widen the aisles or something?

I feel for the older folks who come in there on a regular basis and the many disabled as well. The aisles are so narrow, they barely fit one person at a time let alone a person, his zip scooter, an oxygen tank and the oversized nurse helping him shop.

It also doesn’t help that the store is often populated with some really odd characters who seem to stand and stare for what seems like hours at toothpaste or milk or tampons. One guy tonight was in an aisle when I walked into the store and still in the same spot when I left. I assume he was comparing the price of canned peaches to determine if Dole had enough nutritional value to justify losing the ten cents off coupon he had for Libby’s, but what the hell do I know?

Departments are more like compartments.

Speaking of small, what made them think that a customer service desk the size of a toll booth was big enough for the dozens who want to cash their social security checks twice a month? And I really hope you don’t want a birthday cake (you don’t!) from the bakery since the counter space is smaller than the jewelry display case my ex-wife and I used to haul to shows all over Texas (yeah, I sold jewelry…you wanna make something of it?).

I’m just saying that if your meat department offers only two cuts of beef and one of them is “ground,” that isn’t exactly what I’d call a wide selection. Just something to consider.

Which way do I park?

Finally, what kind of crazy bastard designed this parking lot? Angled parking is fine. It’s not the smartest way to go for traffic, but with all the giant ass cars people drive around, it’s probably a necessity.

However, don’t have the parking angled BOTH WAYS IN THE SAME LANE!!! I don’t have to do a million dollar traffic flow study to tell you that a lane that is really only big enough for one-and-a-half cars and has angled parking going in both directions is going to be a freaking disaster.

Now, add that parking to a lot where a LOT of very old and disabled people park. It’s like putting all compact car spaces at Whole Foods for all the Hummers – oh, right, they do that too.

Ingress and egress needs to be ultra easy when you have a bunch of people with cataracts driving giant Oldsmobuicks. It’s science.

—

I’m not a grocery store expert even though my four years of work at Kroger in high school does qualify me for upper management at Food City, but I can tell you that Zombie Kroger is terrifying, even more so than Ghetto Kroger and that is saying something.

But, of FAR greater importance than any of these – and much more important than my discovery that I am telepathic (I know what you are thinking and, no, it is NOT ok to do that with hamsters!) – is the two new additions to my family. Not pets. Not children (God help me). Not even more women for my harem.

No, it’s an iPhone and a MacBook Pro.

I’m an Apple guy (especially the granny smiths, nyuk nyuk) and, despite that, I had long resisted the move to the iPhone. Let’s just say I had a negative experience with a Blackberry. I would not recommend trying to eat one of those, fyi.

To complicate matters, my business partner and I were seemingly locked into a contract with T-Mobile even though he had no cell service at his house and I had virtually none in my new place. After much discussion and work by my business partner – thanks go to the folks in T-Mobile customer service as well – we wrangled our way out of the contract and I immediately went to an iPhone.

I have to tell you that it really has altered how I do things. Getting mail on my phone, using Twitter, sending messages are all significantly easier with this phone. Maybe even more importantly, the iPhone is the best cell phone I have ever owned by a very wide margin. It’s really not even close. It’s got a super loud earpiece, a completely intuitive interface and voicemail recorded directly on the phone.

The apps are a whole other ballgame. I can’t really even begin to describe just how many cool apps are available on this thing, but it’s mind boggling and completely awesome.

Many people told me it would change my life and, frankly, I didn’t believe them. But, after only a couple weeks with the phone, I’m a convert…to Buddhism and the iPhone. Namaste.

My new MacBook Pro is really a business expense. My wonderful MacBook I bought in 2006 has been struggling of late and it was time for an upgrade. With the sale of the house, one of my planned purchases was a new laptop and a large monitor to use when I’m working in my office.

By going with the 13″ MacBook Pro, I saved money and got a more portable machine and, in this case, size doesn’t matter when you’ve got a big, thick, hard, 23″ monitor on your desk. Wait, you weren’t thinking about penises were you? Good LORD, you are nasty.

Anyway, the combo of the laptop, the monitor and a new Airport Express (mine was almost 6 years old), it’s like having a completely different experience, particularly on the web where everything is faster and easier to use.

In a way, it’s like Steve Jobs is living with me giving me mini keynote addresses every day, which is really stupid and I wish he would quit. I mean, come on, Steve! Do you really have to talk THAT much? I stopped listening like three days ago.

My point is that Apple rules and you drool and you know it’s totally the truth!

I know a lot of you ladies love you some Twilight what with the teenage angst, the heavy makeup and the eternal death motif, but do you really want a silicon vampire schlong this close to your “love-cave-between-my-legs?”

Probably not, but the description alone is worth checking it out.

JUST IN TIME FOR HALLOWEEN! Who doesn’t love those dark and mysterious vamps on the screen and in the books we all thumb through lustfully? That’s what we thought. For those of us who fantasize about being spellbound and tantalized by the forbidden comes The Vamp. We promise this vamp won’t be the only thing coming for you in the night.

Yes, just in time for Halloween because it’s not enough to get dressed up like a smelly pirate hooker, you also need to go home and screw yourself silly with a pink vampire wee wee. It’s the most white trashiest time of the year, apparently.

The Vamp is a realistic form dildo based appropriately on our Sire’s design but with a deathly pale flesh tone reminiscent of the new moon’s glow.

Oh sure, that’s “flesh tone” if you just disconnected it from My Little Pony. Just in case it’s been a while since you’ve seen one, the average male member is not hot pink and almost never shimmers with glitter. Maybe that one time in San Francisco, but that’s for another time.

And did anyone else find it funny how they capitalized “Sire” as if he’s a real person hovering over the computer of this PR person while she writes about a fake plastic wang? I guess she could be British and talking about Prince Charles, but that would be even creepier, so I’m going to forget I even considered that. You should too, unless you like that sort of thing. God, you’re so weird!

Don’t be surprised if this toy seduces you, its long sleek shaft and deliciously ridged head calling to you in the twilight. But don’t save this for just nocturnal escapades, try taking our Vamp out in the sunlight and watch him sparkle.

Nice reference to twilight without infringing on copyright. I can do it too!

“Count” your blessings, ladies. This thing will leave you so breathless, you’ll need Vlad the Inhaler (sold separately).

Which, by the way, would make a killer merchandising item for the Twilight crew. They could get some Primatene Mist, spray paint them black and sell them at Hot Topic! You’re welcome, Twilight producers!

But, back to the pink plastic missile of the un-dead. Do you really want a sex toy that sparkles in the sunlight? It’s not like you are taking it to the park to enjoy after a picnic of hot dogs, cucumbers, pickles and carrots…or maybe you are. You FREAK! I’m SO impressed. How YOU doin’?

Via Geekologie

My house is a very very very very fine house. I’ve lived her for 14 years, but it is time for me to move out and let some other lucky soul have a crack at it.  I fully intend to remain in the neighborhood because it rocks the mic like a vandal and waxes the chumps like a candle, bizyotch.

There was a point when I swore the only way you’d get me out of this house was in a box, but then again there was a time I swore I would never cut my hair, never eat meat and never have sex for money. Things change!

Below are the basic details as well as a more detailed description you won’t get from a realtor or from the HAR description. If you know anyone interested, please let me or my realtor know. Thank you!

MLS Listing: http://search.har.com/engine/dispSearch.cfm?mlnum=99021074
My photo set: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jeffbalke/sets/72157618602855486/
Agent: Jeffrey Morrison – 713.516.2730 (Suzanne Anderson Properties)
MLS# 99021074
Listing Price: $239,900
1118 Alexander – 77008
Houston Heights

Please note that the agent also happens to be a friend of mine and a really good guy, so feel free to have folks call him about this listing or even if they are looking to sell themselves.

The House:

It’s bigger than you think – over 1600 feet. The upstairs is cool converted attic perfect for a spare bedroom or ready for someone to remodel into a master suite.  The kitchen is gigantic for a Heights house with tons of counter top and cabinet space.  The laundry room is actually a second BIG bedroom. The back den is massive and was probably originally a sleeping porch.  It has original boxcar siding walls and is built like a tank.  The whole house gets amazing light from all the windows – particularly in the back.

The center raised dining area with the open space between the living room and the den makes the whole thing feel like an open floor plan – especially the french doors that separate the den and the dining area.

The a/c unit cools well in the house and the heater/furnace heats well.  I keep window units in the bedroom and living room just to help save on energy costs, but they definitely are NOT necessary.

The front porch might be my favorite place – typical Heights hang. It even still has hooks from where a porch swing used to hang and can again.

It’s a great house.  A lot of love has gone into it and it deserves an owner who will appreciate it.

The Garage Apartment:

This is 600 square feet and built from the ground up by the previous owner. It has a bathroom with a shower and a small hot water heater.  The rooms are divided into two small rooms originally used for massage rooms when my ex-wife and I did that for a living. I’ve used it since as a rehearsal space and it’s perfect for a workshop or office. It has separate electrical from the house, a central a/c heater unit that needs a new blower motor, but otherwise is great. The floors are steel re-inforced concrete so it’s sturdy.

It also has it’s own alarm system and a massive attic that spans the length and width of the building.

The Yard:

The yard is amazing. It’s all native plants – no grass – which means it needs ZERO watering EVER. Whatever grows in the yard has had to survive so it’s perfect for Houston.  It’s even been certified nationally and in Texas as a backyard wildlife habitat.

There are a half dozen pecan trees, a beautiful oak in the front yard that was only 10 feet high when I moved in and a lovely Chinese Elm right by the street.

The rose bushes in front of the bedroom grow like nuts and the vines on the picket fence (yup, the only white picket fence on the street – classic bungalow living) are purple trumpet vines that bloom twice a year like the huge hibiscus. Other front yard bloomers include the bridal’s wreath bush, the vitex and the firecracker bushes, which attract a LOT of humming birds in the fall.

In the back, it’s lush with a screened in gazebo that probably needs re-screening.  Inside the gazebo are electrical outlets, a celing fan and running water with a sink – perfect for hanging out.  The whole back yard has winding paths and even a small concrete pond with a wooden bridge over it. There is a wood deck that looks over the whole thing.

There’s a small greenhouse on top of a pea gravel poured area behind the garage apartment next to a covered overhang that has a potting bench and an outside closet.  It’s a gardener’s dream.

The Neighborhood:

It’s a prime location in the AWESOME Houston Heights (I intend to remain in the hood, myself) about 2 blocks from Shepherd and 11th Street.  You can walk to Java Java or Dragon Bowl for food or even to Kroger for groceries.  Take a bike and you can get pretty much anywhere in the Heights quickly especially with the new hike and bike trail that just opened 2 blocks away on Nicholson.

It’s a block from Love Elementary (an HISD exemplary school) and Love Park, which has a nice paved jogging track, a swimming pool and a great gym for basketball if you are in a league.

Oh, and if you feel like a longer jog, from the back door down to 12th, over the Heights, up to 20th and back is EXACTLY 3 miles!

Neighbors

This is the part I’ll miss the most.  The Heights can be sketchy from street to street, but my neighbors are the freaking best.  The next door neighbors are the best anyone could ask for.  Mike is an electrician and amazing handy man (he has done a bunch of projects on this house including putting up the white picket fence in the front) and his wife, Donna, makes the best fudge you will ever eat in your life.  Everyone in the immediate vacinity is just fantastic.

Oh, and they all love animals.  You’ll see raccoons, opossums, squirrels, all kinds of birds and, yes, like the rest of the Heights, a few stray kitties that the neighbors all feed and who help to keep the mice population to a minimum.