But the weird wallpaper backing layer was giving me pause for thought - it wasn't paper it was a pressed fiber-y layer of weirdness. And then it hit me. Fucking asbestos!! Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!! I mean you run into all kinds of dangerous things while renovating a house: old toys and walls with lead paint, disgusting STD-ridden vintage porn in the back of closets, tetanus causing rusty nails, the rat's nest of hantavirus in the attic, pervert plumbers who make you do shameful things when you're short on payment. Just normal things that a hot shower, a loofah and some bleach can totally take care of. But no asbestos thus far. I think that shit is like Kryptonite to my superglam powers.
The agent of my death.So of course Dr. Google completely confirmed my suspicion that I was going to get cancer and, that's right, MESOTHELIOMA and die!! I thought I was safe if I didn't paint a wall with chalkboard paint but my resistance was futile. The fervor in which I de-wallpapered the bathroom completely coated my young tender lungs in deadly fibers. The internet said to spray water in the air to help with stray floating particles so Charlemagne watched in amusement (it could have been boredom, it's hard to tell with cats) as I frantically spritzed my bathroom and self in water while begging jeebus for my life all while holding my breath. After the bathroom was completely saturated and Madame Sunday in near dizzy hysterics from lack of oxygen I bagged up all the wallpaper residue with chemical gloves and a hazmat suit (it was just two pairs of yoga pants, a sweatshirt, tennis shoes with socks over them and a makeshift hijab made out of a towel) and threw it all away. Once you put something in the big trash can outside it just magically disappears just like all my old car batteries, paint cans and dead bodies.
Proud of my deft handling of the situation I decided that I should flush out all the fibers that were probably trapped in my lungs with a few drinks. Naturally my wine glass was the closest liquid I could find so I chugged some merlot for a good ten minutes before I realized that your esophagus doesn't lead to your lungs. Under normal circumstances I probably would have figured that out after the first glass but I hadn't taken a deep breath in about twenty minutes to save myself further damage from floating fibers so I may have been hallucinating. Helloooo I'm not stupid!
But after I chugged the wine to "clean" myself I realized that I didn't really care one way or another about the asbestos because I was hungry and had to go to Krystal for dinner and drunk dial a few friends.
Moral of the story: HGTV house-flipping bullshit that inspired people across the nation to buy tons of old houses they couldn't afford to renovate them STILL caused autism, cancer and the 2009 recession.