Dude, I'm not Richard Karn

Five years ago or so, Kirsten told me that she was sick of staring at the same off-white (eccru? bone?) walls of our apartment, and wanted to paint. I called the landlord of our apartment complex, who told us that was a very nice, but very bad, idea. So we started the process of looking for a house in the fall of 2005. We got ourselves a lender, got a realtor, started getting bi-weekly emails of all of the houses for sale in our price range in our neighborhoods.

And then, in May of 2006, we closed on what we thought was our dream home. A cute little brick bungalow in Dutchtown, a former German-inhabited neighborhood on the south side of St. Louis.

We.

Are.

Idiots.

We knew that the house had its problems when we moved in - like, say, the threat to all inhabitants that was the roof. But as issues are piling up, I'm beginning to wonder about the quality of rehabilated homes throughout St. Louis.

Our house, for example, is 100 years old - well, 102. So it's not young. And it was rehabbed in 2003 and 2004 (I have the work permits to prove it). New tiling in the bathroom and kitchen, nice tile on the backsplash in the kitchen, new cabinetry, new carpet, new ceiling fans. On the surface of things, it should be perfect, right?

When we bought the house, I didn't realize that there were 13 outlets on one 20-amp breaker. We've never tripped the breaker, thank God, but there are also limits in the modern electrical code for the number of outlets on any given breaker. Here's a hint: it's less than 13. Why install a brand-new 200-amp electrical box in the house if you're not going to wire the rooms correctly? Because you're a cheap-ass, that's why.

The mortar around the bricks is also really piss-poor - it's powdery and is flaking off all around the house. Given that it's dyed, it's obviously younger than the rest of the house, and there are four or five spots that need tuckpointing badly (I'm going to teach myself to do it). But there are other spots that obviously got worked on not long before the house was sold to the previous owner. So why only do parts of the house, when other parts needed it more? Because you're lazy, that's why.

Then there's the tub - it's a classic high-density plastic tub with plastic paneling custom-fit to the tub and wall behind it. But the caulking around the tub? AWFUL. Last night I finally got around to stripping out the old caulk with a DAP Pro-Caulk (it's been seen on TV!). It was nasty, flaky, and dry - and there obviously wasn't enough of it. There were huge gaps where it had been mislaid, and it hadn't sealed correctly. When I was scraping it out, I got as much dust, mildew, and drywall scrapings as I got old caulk.

There is a lot about turning over a house that gives you a reason to be quick and cheap when it's better to be good. But laying down a finger-bead around a tub isn't difficult, and it's a sign of pride in your work. And if I can do it (and I can!), then you can.

My advice to my reader(s) is this: don't buy a house until you've checked out the little things. A granite countertop is nice, a new water heater is great. But those are big, and obvious. Start throwing breakers and see what turns off - THAT will tell you how much the place is really worth.