I had big plans today. Big plans. As you know, we own a rental property here, just a few blocks from our house, which needs a bit of work before it’s available again. (Code for “before someone is willing to PAY US to live there.”) Inspired by such shows as “Flip this House” and “Pimp my Shack”, and inspired also by the state of our wallet, we’ve decided to do as much of the work as possible ourselves. And of course, since Blaine just started his new job and can’t hardly take off to play handyman, that means *I* am doing as much of the work as possible. And since we all know I can barely open a can of green beans without slicing off a finger, let alone install cabinetry or refinish hardwood floors, that basically means I’ve been calling lots and lots of service people on the phone. Whew! The work is exhausting!
But the few things I think I *am* capable of doing, I’m trying to do myself. Blaine and I ripped out the carpets last week by ourselves (achoo!) and I went to Home Depot (hereafter referred to as “That Man Place That Steals My Money”) on Friday and bought all the paint I need to repaint the entire interior of the house. Walls, trim, cabinets, you name it, I’m going to paint it.
I bought drop clothes (although dude, they’re refinishing the floors and putting in new carpet, does it really matter?) and paint brushes and trays and rollers. I even remembered towels so that I could kneel on the floor without hurting my dainty little kneecaps. I got up this morning and put on some old clothes, eager to strap on a tool belt and get to work. Because by golly, painting is something I can DO and I can’t wait to dig in to a little manual labor. Nothing puts you in touch with your own body like a hard work and aching muscles. Let’s go!!
I walked the kids to school, returned home, and discovered I had locked myself out of the house. So I sat in the garage, slowly turning into a Popsicle for two hours, waiting on the locksmith to show up. (note to self: perhaps consider hiding a key somewhere, you MORON.) Finally the locksmith came, worked for forty-two seconds, got me in my house, and requested his $55.00 service fee. Seriously, Blaine is in the wrong damn profession!
I got in the house, gathered my purse, got a death grip on my keys, and headed over to the yellow house to get to work painting. I might be delayed by two hours, but I still had time to make LOTS of progress!
Only to discover thanks to last week’s ice storm, there is no power in the house whatsoever. No lights, no heat. And as I was walking around the house, muttering under my frosty breath about where’s the damn power box, my cell phone rang. Last week when my new living room furniture was delivered, one of the legs on my chair was broken. The repair men were sitting in the driveway of my other house, wondering why I wasn’t there so they could fix the chair.
Oh, geez, I don’t know --- because nobody called me to tell me they were coming!? Only apparently they did call the home phone this morning, which I couldn’t answer because I was locked in the garage freezing my ass off.
It’s not even noon and I’ve accomplished NOTHING today.
Wonder how the afternoon will go? At the rate I’m going, I’ll either have a car wreck or burn my house down.
Wish me luck! (she said sarcastically)