We just bought a beach trailer.

Okay, I’m not really sure what to call this thing, because it’s not actually a trailer and it’s also not technically on the beach. And I really want it to have a fitting name, because I’m the kind of person who thinks that words matter.

Like the room we built onto our house some years ago that became known as the Florida room. We built a room onto our house that has vaulted ceilings and four really cool skylights. I really wanted it to be called the Fizzy-Lifting Drink Room, not only because I’ve loved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory since birth, but also because that’s mostly what I planned to use that room for.

But Wanye (rhymes with Kanye) started calling it the stupid Florida room, and for some reason everyone ignored my whimsy and followed his lead. For a couple of months I went around saying, “I’m here, in the Fizzy-Lifting Drink Room,” but no one could find me so I lost that battle.

Not that it matters anymore, because a few years ago I turned that room over to Wanye and the boys so I could get some goddamn peace and quiet in the house, so all it really is now is a room stuffed with old appliances and that’s used for watching football and playing cards and smelling like farts.

So anyway, this beach-thing we just bought apparently used to be a trailer, like one of those single-wide trailers from maybe the 70’s or something. At some point, someone knocked down all of the trailer, ripped out the guts, built some new walls–and abandoned it halfway through renovation. It’s right across from the most amazing little beach on the Potomac River, and I just want to stand in the yard of my beach trailer and look out at the river for the rest of my life.

But it would really be better if this place had a better name than “beach trailer.”

And also, I really need it to have a working bathroom. I can’t get into all of my pooping issues right now, but hey—maybe you’ll get lucky and one day I’ll tell you all about Crohn’s disease and how important flushing toilets are to people like me.

Anyway, the fact that we bought this thing is probably ridiculous. But it’s so exciting. It’s not technically riverfront property, even though there’s nothing between the house and the beach, so we didn’t pay what are known as “river prices,” because we could have never afforded that.

Truth be told, we can’t really afford a not-on-the-beach trailer, either. It accidentally happened when we were actually trying to make money, not spend it, and the only way I can explain that is to just live my life for a while and I don’t understand how this keeps happening either.

It may have had something to do with the fact that the real estate agent was a squatty 72-year-old woman named Patsy that has knee problems and wore white crabbing boots to show us the property and that says things like, “I’m not mad at my ex-husband anymore, but I don’t put him in my prayers at night, neither.” I kinda want her to be my new best friend.

Besides, after a recent cancer scare, I realized that life is short and if you can’t build some excitement with a little crippling debt, it’s not really worth living. Will I someday die with a beautiful beach house? Or drunk, broke, and alone in the Southside Motel? We won’t know until it happens! This life is so exciting!

So with all of this excitement, I really want this place to have a fabulous name. A name worthy of the fact that Wanye (rhymes with Kanye) and I will be spending thousands of hours there attempting to turn it into something livable—or at least sleepable, if that’s a word—over the next two hundred years.

Which could be painful, based on our past experience of renovations. But at least it might be entertaining. That’s really the best I can hope for at this stage, aside from a flushing toilet.