On Belay? Belay on.

Prior to acquiring the house, I took the wife rock climbing last week at a big indoor facility here in town. My logic behind rock climbing was two-fold: 1. I’m naturally good at it; my ancestors were monkeys. 2. Going into my 3^rd month of unemployment, I found myself responding to a simple question every day – what should I do tonight? - with the same answer – I don’t know, Bud, but let’s have a beer until we think of something.

My logic for taking the wife was also two-fold: 1. I legitimately thought it would be something that we could both enjoy together unlike reading, soccer, scoping, or drinking. 2. I went for the first time by myself a few weeks ago. As a prerequisite everyone is required to get belay certified, which consists of a 15 minute training session with one of the staff members so you can learn to prevent your climbing buddy from plummeting to the ground and crushing all the bones in their body like a coffee grinder. My staff instructor was an entirely humorless stoner that hadn’t showered since the last time he peaked Mt. Kilimanjaro, which I’m guessing was never. After I was certified he was like, “ok, now you can go climb with your friends.”

Me: “Oh, well, I actually don’t know anyone here.”

Dimebag Darrel: “You didn’t come with someone else?” he asked incredulously.

Me: “Well, no. I’m new to town and I don’t know anyone.”

Dimebag Darrel: Completely beside himself with disbelief like I’d just told him I accidentally flushed 6 ounces of the purest hashish this side of Mt Rushmore down the toilet, “you’re here by yourself?”

Me: What is this, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? “Yes.” Final answer.

Dimebag Darrel: Even more surprised than the first two times I told him I was a friendless loser, “well, it’s just that most people come with a friend.”

Me: I’m gathering that, but what was it about me walking in the front door by myself, filling out the release form in front of you by myself, and just going through this one-on-one belay lesson with you by myself, and you by yourself, that suggested I was here with my fucking friends???

Dimebag Darrel: “I don’t know what to tell you…”

Me: I just starred back at him. I don’t know what the fuck to tell you either!

Dimebag Darrel: To one of the other stoned out staffers, “Dude, this guy is here by himself, what should we do?”

Snoop Dogg: “You’re here by yourself???”

Me: YES! FUCK!

So I brought the wife for my second visit and we had a ton of fun doing it, though it was very humbling. First of all, most of the dudes don’t wear shirts. My wife was keen on that observation but it left me feeling a bit modest, even with my own shirtless home remodeling tendencies. Not wearing a shirt while tearing a wall down is purely utilitarian. Not wearing your shirt while climbing a wall is just fucking vain. Secondly, there was a pair of 12 year-olds scampering up and down the climbing walls like they were mountain goats or some shit. Meanwhile I was clinging to the face of the rock for dear life like Tom Cruise in that scene from Mission Impossible. At one point, dangling 20’ off he ground, I actually shouted down to the wife, “I feel like Tom Cruise in that scene from Mission Impossible!”

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Day 2 at the new house and still no neighbors stopping by. I have seen our neighbor from two doors down on several occasions now, and apparently he’s new to the neighborhood as well. He’s a white dude with cornrows and he talks on his cell phone in the front yard like the person on the other end of the call is traveling through a tunnel and having trouble hearing him. He has a very definitive blaccent with a southern drawl so every word seems to have extra syllables, “Yo, may-yan, I’m telling you, I gots a how-ouse, I gots a may-ell box, I gots gray-ass; it’s da she-it!” I give it another 48 hours before we’re getting high together.

Demo went very well today and I was able to get a lot done:

-I removed the wall between the kitchen and dining room, which came with an unbelievable sense of accomplishment. I’m badass.

Photo 1: The "before" picture from inside the kitchen facing the dining room.

Photo 2: The after, from inside the dining room facing the kitchen.

-I sustained my first injury, albeit minor, due to some flying debris. It came with a lesson as well: when the thought occurs to you that you might need band aids at some point, go ahead and act on it rather than waiting until your bleeding. 

Photo 4: Painter's tape and a paper towel. I'm resourceful like a boy scout. 

-I put my hand through a pane of glass. I didn’t sustain an injury to my person thanks to my Task Force work gloves, however my wallet will need a tourniquet as replacing a window wasn’t in the initial budget.