We had a great weekend at the house and got loads of work done – and by “we” I mean “me.” Sara painted the equivalent of a closet and complained the whole time about how much work it was while I felt like a fucking mule in 1865.
Everything got off to a great start on Friday as I met another neighbor. This time Chip from across the street came over to introduce himself and say hello. Chip is a talker, and a very charming one at that. He’ new to the neighborhood as well so he gave me the rundown on all there is to know before he launched into his life’s story. He grew up in Tennessee but has only been in Nashville for about 4 years. He started college at the University of Tennessee but indicated that he didn’t exactly make it through all four years at UT because, “I just loved partying way too much.” I gave him a reassuring nod and chuckle of understanding but I didn’t really understand. I liked partying too, as did most everyone I know, and we all made it through. Apparently whatever decision-making led to him getting his fraternity letters tattooed on his ankle also led him to miss the majority of his classes. So he transferred to Belmont where he just graduated and is currently “looking” for employment. I gave him another reassuring nod and chuckle of understanding, only this time I did in fact understand.
As he was touring me newly-demoed-and-presently-under-construction house he said he was quite the DIY-er himself, with an unnecessary air of bravado. That’s sweet, dude. So while you’re changing light bulbs over at your place, I’m over here putting the badass in DIY… Don’t touch my crowbar.
For all my joking I really liked Chip and have this excited yet somewhat uneasy feeling that he’s going to be my new Scotch-drinking buddy.
On Saturday, Chip brought over his living-in-sin girlfriend, Sarah. I don’t know for a fact that she spells her name with an ‘h’, but the Sara I know always finds it very important to know exactly how one spells one’s version of Sara(h) because the h-less Sara is clearly the best, and even more so because she’s pretty much the only Sara on the planet without an ‘h’. At any rate, living-in-sin Sarah was clearly Chip’s better half and I have an excited yet somewhat uneasy feeling that she’ll be Sara’s new consoler when Chip and I are wasted on Scotch.
At one point over the weekend I was looking for something in the garage (probably my stash of meth – it always seems to get misplaced during a big move) and moved a box to find a massive fucking cockroach hanging out on the wall. I can tell you, a cockroach is just as disgusting and scary in broad daylight as it is running across your floor at night. I grabbed the first thing I could find and in one swift motion lopped its head off with my hatchet. In the process I discovered that the theory that a cockroach can survive without its head is true. So if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, be prepared to and/or don’t be surprised that you’ll need to swing the hatchet several times to complete the job.
With all the work that got done at the house this weekend, it was hard to pick the MVT – the nail gun was a huge contributor; strangely the 24” and 48” levels were seriously vying for the co-MVT; but again it was an unlikely candidate that came through in the end. We went to Depot on Saturday for some odds and ends, which somehow always adds up to like $200. Seriously, my shopping list said, “(2) single-gang junction boxes,” and I still spent $200. Partly because we decided to purchase a cool three-lamp track light for the kitchen while we were there. The overtly polite yet uselessly un-helpful associate informed us that all of the track lights on the display were discontinued but he’d be willing to sell us the display model at a reduced price. Always in the market for a deal, we accepted the offer, which soon resulted in the associate standing precariously on a step ladder trying to remove the light from the display. Clearly unsure about how to do so, I offered him a philips-head screwdriver, which I produced from my pocket. “You have a screw driver in your pocket???” he questioned. Of course I do, shithead. I also have a flat head, a utility knife, a pair of needle-nose pliers, and a voltprobe. Maybe if you were a little more prepared like me, you wouldn’t be the biggest douchebag I’ve met in the last 5 minutes.
He went about his business of removing the light from the display with my screwdriver when it occurred to me that while everything on the display was off, the display itself still had power to it. I knew that because I used to design Home Depots and I had tested that very display like a hundred times in a hundred different stores (thanks TAV!). I should have said something to the guy but it wasn’t my place – he was the electrical expert of the Home Depot for crying out loud. Well, I really should have said something because not more than a few seconds later there was a loud “POP!” a huge spark, and dude was teetering on the step ladder about to plummet to the floor having just shit his pants. Fortunately he didn’t fall because while I was thinking, “man, I hope he didn’t fuck up my screwdriver, because I am not buying a new one,” Sara was thinking, “man, I hope he didn’t fuck up his heart because I am not resuscitating this shithead.” He was fine, he just touched the metal part of the screwdriver to the hot and neutral wires causing the spark and the subsequent emptying of the bowels.
After it was all said and done he handed me my screwdriver and I walked away thinking, “congratulations Mr. philips-head, you just made the blog again.”
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