Adam Carolla - Daddy, Stop Talking! - And Other Things My Kids Want but Won't Be Getting

Disaster Kit: If you do decide to settle somewhere along the San Andreas Fault, you have to be prepared. I’m always surprised at how cavalier people are about disaster prep. I think it’s our fear of death. We don’t want to consider what we would do in case of an emergency. It’s like picking out a gravestone. I would say that your average American has less than a day’s worth of water set aside for a disaster. This is especially important here in California earthquake country, but every part of our nation is prone to some sort of disaster: hurricanes, tornados, blizzards, flash floods, race riots. You’ve got to get that disaster kit together. Tons of water, flashlights and batteries, crank-powered rechargeable radio so you can tune in for emergency messages, canned food and cash. Everyone forgets about cash. If the grid goes down, so do the ATMs.

You’ll also need a generator. My agent James “Babydoll” Dixon was talking to me once about various home improvements he was making, and I suggested getting a generator. Not the cheap one with the ripcord to start it, I’m talking about a real one that’s the size of a jukebox, that you pipe natural gas into and costs a couple of grand. You get an electrician to hook it up to the necessary circuits in your house: fridge, television, upstairs bedroom. You could even do one for the whole house, but that would be crazy expensive. I got into detail and told him exactly which one to get. A day or two after Hurricane Sandy hit New York in 2012, Babydoll managed to get to a computer and sent me an e-mail saying he wished he had listened to me when I told him to buy that generator. So be smart and listen to me now.

House Alarm System: I have mixed feelings on this whole issue. I think they are a good thing to have, and, of course, I want you guys to be safe, but I have not had great luck with these.

If I had to do it over again, I would do without a house alarm, even if it meant being bludgeoned in my sleep every four to six years. Alarm systems are so much hassle. There are always technical issues and almost daily dog-set-it-off situations. Life’s too short, in my opinion.

At our prior abode, I had a bad sensor on a window that once made the alarm go off at three in the morning. The LAPD showed up at my house, shortly followed by TMZ. Enough said.

Also, let it be said that some of the diciest people you can let into your house are the guys who install home-security systems. These guys are losers who fell into that job. They didn’t dream of this as kids and then go to Home-Security Installation College. These are guys who barely graduated high school and took the first gig they could to support their Oxycontin addiction. Ironically, the guy who installs alarms in your house generally has a longer rap sheet than the guy who might try breaking in.

The only ones who are worse are handymen and contractors. Trust me, I know.

Long before I was on the show Catch a Contractor, I knew that these guys were unethical dirtbags. Remember, I spent years working with, and for, them. No one gets into construction because they love drywall, it’s because they hated school. If these guys could do anything else they would. Contractors live job-to-job, cutting as many corners as sheets of CDX ply, looking to stiff you at every turn. Every piece of lumber they rescue from a dumpster at another job site and then use at your house is one less that they then have to purchase and can thus convert into beer money.

Typically, contractors are three-time losers. A lot of them have sex offenses. They’re not always full-on rapists but a lot of “I was twenty-seven and she was seventeen but she looked twenty” kind of stuff. And every one of them has at least one DUI. The second you leave these guys alone in your house, they can’t decide whether to raid your pantry or sniff your panties.

So be cautious, get plenty of references, check their licenses online and check out their work in person when you are hiring a contractor. Never pay more than a 10 percent deposit to get started. Put together a payment schedule based on phases of the job: when rough plumbing and electrical are complete and the wall can be closed up, that’s a draw. When the walls are closed and the nailing inspection on drywall is signed off by the inspector, that’s another payment. And remember: change orders, change orders, change orders. This is documentation of an approved change to the original estimate. When you want something altered from the original bid, get it on paper. That’s where shit always goes south.

And get multiple bids then take the one in the middle. The one that’s too high means the guy is overcharging you; the one that’s too low means he’s cutting corners, is a hack who’s in over his head and is going to screw you. The easy rule is to throw out the bid from the guy who pulls up in a tricked-out Humvee. If the next guy pulls up in a converted ice-cream truck with a lumber rack, you can toss that one, too. You’re looking for a Ford F-150, three to seven years old, with a crew cab and cloth interior. Practical and durable, just like the job you expect him to do.

And do as much work as you can by yourself. (This goes for both of you. Don’t underestimate yourself, Natalia. You might not do any framing or toilet installation, but you can certainly swap fixtures and pick up a paintbrush.) Not only will this help you avoid the scumbags that I used to work with, and am currently busting on Catch a Contractor, but it will instill in you the pride in ownership that’s supposed to come with purchasing a house. It’s yours, you worked hard to buy it, so take care of it yourself.

When you have your own place I’d recommend that once a year you throw a party. It forces you to get your shit straight. Hoarders don’t entertain. Your house is no different than your crotch. Let me explain. You show me someone’s genitalia and I will tell you if they’re single or have been in a loveless relationship for twenty-five years. They only clean up if they’re getting laid. It’s the same thing with a home. In both cases, if no one’s coming over you’re not trimming the bushes.

Having a party means that you give yourself a deadline to clean up, too. When we had your second birthday party we had it at a house I had bought as an investment property in Malibu. Now, since this wasn’t where I was living day to day, the maintenance and home improvement would sometimes get away from me. I used your party as an excuse to kick my own ass into gear and finish it up. I still had people laying down sod during the party, literally. Guests were bumping into guys laying down turf and the paint was still drying. But we got the shit done.

You’re probably going to be tempted, especially when you spend all your money on the down payment and moving expenses, to skimp on the décor and just make a run to IKEA. Please don’t. IKEA is a human roach motel/ant farm. Once you’re in, you can never get out. It’s a giant maze that forces you to look at every single item. That’s where they should have the L.A. marathon, because I’ve easily covered 26.2 miles walking around that place looking for a lampshade. You think you’re going there for one thing and then you find yourself walking around for a full day holding a golf pencil.

I don’t understand how that place operates. The profit margin eludes me. You can get fifteen hand-blown wine goblets for under two dollars. I understand when cheap crap comes from China but IKEA is based in Sweden. Isn’t there some international law against using white people to make cheap shit?

And if you go there with your future husband or wife, be prepared to be going at each other with some forty-nine-cent steak knives before it’s all over. One of you will stop to look at something and the other will keep walking, someone will get lost or forget to write down the number so you can find the dresser that you furiously negotiated over in the warehouse section later. Then you push the weird low-boy shopping cart to the register, send the other person to aisle 162 to get the particleboard coffee table and by the time they drag it back to you, you’ve already checked out or are holding up the line because getting to aisle 162 required crossing two time zones.