I’ve gone slightly batshit insane.
What’s new, you say?
What?! I’m passionate! It’s not a crime. If I care, I’m going head first and I’ll ask questions later. It is what it is, in all aspects of my life. The newest aspect and point of this post, as I’m sure you’re waiting for me to get to, is home improvement.
That’s right, I’m turning into Bob fucking Villa.
The first great exploit in my strange descent into constructive madness was my upstairs bathroom. I’d lived with it (and its peeling linoleum, moldy wallpaper, spotty ceiling, and screech owl impersonating ceiling fan) for eight years. It was just a part of the day. Every once in a while there’d be a Mebhy caused flood in the downstairs den given the gaping holes under the tub, but other than that, it just sorta was. Gross, but easily ignored.
Then one day I saw a shower curtain on Groupon. I liked it. I bought it. Fourteen bucks, with matching bath mats. “Wow,” I thought. “Wouldn’t that look nice in the bathroon.”
I walked into my bathroom, looked at the peeling wallpaper and mold spots and said, “No. No it fucking wouldn’t.”
Did you know that in Feng Shui, there is a trifecta of Chi that you should focus on when you’re getting under way with a home overhaul? Yes sir. That trifecta is the Bedroom, Bathroom, and Kitchen – the three places you spend the most time while starting your day. You wake in a bedroom, where you recharge your chi at night, you then shower and get ready in a bathroom where you fine tune yourself and chi to start your day, then you prepare and eat food or coffee/tea in the kitchen where you refuel your chi. If any or all of these pieces are fucked… well ladies and gentlemen, so is your chi. Plain and simple.
That’s when I tore the first piece of wallpaper down.
Four days later, it looked like this. I’d never torn up linoleum, laid tile, peeled wallpaper, or painted a ceiling before, but at that moment I decided I would figure it the fuck out. I couldn’t stand in a room that felt that dingy and unfortunate for another minute. I had faith, not in my skills, but in my ability to learn, to try my hardest, and to accept only the best I had to offer.
My bathroom is now one of my favorite rooms in the house. The realization that I was able to learn and execute such a project in a matter of days lit such a fire in me that I’ve gone on a full frontal assault of my home. That assault looks merely to be in mid swing. Amongst my psychotic onslaught of projects, I have:
– replaced the lighting fixture in my downstairs bathroom
– patched a massive hole in the horse hair plaster wall of my bedroom
– climbed into the long forgotten attic to repair the exhaust line for the bathroom fan
– replaced and fixed all the shutters
– patched the kitchen door jam and drafty side boards
– retiled my downstairs bathroom floor
– learned what grout haze is and how homicidal it makes me
– mastered back buttering, all while singing “Whoa, Back butter, Bam a Lam” to the tune of Black Betty by fucking Ram Jam.
– patched the foundation and sealed the leaks that were causing the basement to flood
– Cleared out years of junk from the basement
– started peeling the wallpaper to refinish my kitchen
Why in pink, you ask? Why the fuck not? I might be hauling ass around the house with a hammer and philip’s head, but I’m also a fucking lady!
I was mocked openly by a friend when she walked in to find me painting the hallway floor in a dress. I didn’t have time to change, shit needed to get done!
Now, having discovered that I am capable of rewiring an old light fixture and fix drafty doors that have been in need of repair for eight years, I feel more than a little motivated. It’s like a strange case of nesting, but instead of just buy new curtains, I install the windows first.
On my list of things to do, I am clearing out my basement and finishing it, rebuilding the basement stairs, refinishing the kitchen cabinets and potentially doing a tile backsplash, laying some hardwood floor in the attic after I replace the old insulation, adding a chair rail to the living room and den, building radiator covers with my bare hands, and in the spring, I’m relandscaping my entire yard to add some character, including planting boxes and a tomato greenhouse built of salvage storm windows. How you fucking like me now?
As a result of these suddenly realized capacities, I’ve actually started to take seriously my desire to build a cabin with my bare hands. I’ve always wanted to have such a place, but the idea of building it myself makes it all the more alluring. In fact, I’d venture to say that would be a pretty amazing second honeymoon – go out onto the land where we intend to build with truck, tents, pillows, raging libidos, and tools, then go Cordwood style crazy on a cottage with central chimney – god damn every surface will get christened, that’s for sure.
See, now when I am finally married, my “Honey-Do” list will get done much faster because he’ll love doing the projects far more with my hilarious ass helping him the whole way. Unless he doesn’t want me to help, then I’ll let him be all manly and knight and shining armory while I put on fishnets and cook. Sounds like heaven on earth… in a house with a finished fucking basement. Booyah!