Saturday, June 19, 2010

The End Is Nigh

There are things that I’m good at. You want a mouthy nerd? I’m your girl. You're looking for someone to help you navigate the perils of the vicious shoe hyenas braying for marked-down Louboutins and the joys of discovering your very own Pucci, marked down 90%, at the Mario’s Super Bowl Sale? Again, I would be a good person to call. Review of the layout of the Roman Forum or highlights of Italian Romanesque architecture? You’re in luck. Someone to tell you where to buy crazily delicious chocolate or pastries? Yum. Can do. Are these useful skillz? Well, it depends how much you like chocolate, old architecture and reduced-price fashion. If you like none of the above, despite the fact that there is clearly something wrong with you, we could still talk hockey and Don Cherry’s jackets.

Anyway. I am, as I've sometimes mentioned, accident prone.
Yep. That very simply frame was hard for me. Handy, I am not. Still, I got that sucker up there without sending myself to the ER.
So I probably wouldn’t be the woman you would call for home improvement projects, or to walk through an active construction site with you. There would be nails to step on, screwdrivers that could slip in stabby ways, saws that could skitter the wrong way, ladders that could be knocked over… there’s just a lot that can go wrong. There’s a reason I play hockey, and that’s because although there’s physical contact, I am covered in pads and be-helmeted. Well, and also because it’s crazy-fun.

But, I digress. Again.

Our anniversary goats will be arriving at the end of the month, which is looming. We now have a shed, but… our salvage-yard windows require caulking, the stupid shed requires priming and painting, fencing has to be put in, and Stumpy felt strongly that the shed required a floor.

So… on Wednesday, I caulked (that stuff is weird. I felt like I was outlining the windows with toothpaste. Really sticky toothpaste). Thursday? I made a frame for a dutch door we'd found marked down, and then primed it and the door (the nine window panes on the top half of the door struck me as a very bad idea by the time I finished priming). Friday? More priming.

You can see the tricksy, nasty way the top of that stupid door wanders away from the bottom half, waiting for unwitting (or dim-witted, take your pick) people installing floors to look at the bottom half of the door before they stand up.

And today? Feeling foolishly intrepid, I went to find floor tile remnants with the kids today – and at the price of about 25 cents a square foot, realized that I could save money that could possibly then be plowed into a trip to Italy, where I could eat chocolate, ogle fashion and tour old churches. Thinking of these things, I bought those stupid floor tiles, some special stinky glue, and a plastering trowel.

And then I attempted to install a floor. By myself.

I’m pretty sure that me going all DIY and trying to install a floor is right up there with “plague of locusts” as a coming sign of the apocalypse.

Although, since I hit my head phenomenally hard on the top half of the dutch door (which I now bear a grudge) when I stood up to get my face away from the floor full of stinky glue, it could just be the aches in my head talking.

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