It's a sweet wine but it still irritates my mouth but I need the alcohol.

My brother is a shit. He hasn't called me in weeks, was really snippy when I called him for xmas (and when I emailed him to let him know about a dog food recall which might affect his dogs) but he called this afternoon all fake cheery. Then he gives me this lecture how no one is going to be able to buy my house unless I spend a lot of money on repairs because the banks won't approve financing. He considers himself the Ultimate Authority on Everything.

The house doesn't so much need repairs as upgrades. The HVAC systems work, but are getting old. The carpet in the living room does need to be replaced. The roof may need to be replaced soon, but it doesn't leak. It has the original windows from the 19th century, which are drafty as hell, but they work. My brother has only lived in one major city and has never lived in a historic house or a historic district. Just because you've sold houses before doesn't mean you know how it works for this kind of house in this kind of city. Asshole. Dickbreath. As if I don't have enough anxiety, ya prick.