Wednesday, May 12, 2010

I attempted fabulosity this weekend. Mediocrity ensued.

In a rush to get some shit done this weekend before the gawdforsaken heat of a Southern summer forces me to sit in a plastic kiddie pool all day drinking mojitos while overdramatizing the temperature I decided to do a little home reprovement.  Yippeee!  Somehow I think it's more fun for you than me so I do this to keep you entertained.  I'm a giver really.


Foreshadowing!  Let's nail some shit good!  Raaawwwwrrrr!
In non-related information I bought a new camera a few weeks ago.  Not like a pocket camera with a jazzy name like "Snappit" or "Powerpixel Deuce" but a real name that's a single letter followed by a really giant number like the Omega Z9000000 Camera of Amazing Awesomeness and Espresso Machine.  It takes two hands to hold.  I can't figure out how to use it because I'm a functionally retarded when it comes to things with buttons but I refuse to watch the two DVDs it comes with because instructional videos are for quitters and I know that if I keep staring at the dial long enough I'll magically figure out aperture, F-stop and ISO/WTF.  My plan is totally working because so far I've figured how to take pictures of fireworks (thank you lax TN laws regarding explosions) and things really close up.  Hence the box of nails.  And more nails:


I tried to bedazzle my face mask but that wasn't as successful as you would assume it to be.
Because I'm the best and most talented daughter of all time I spent Mother's Day patching sheetrock at my mom's house.  It's the gift that keeps on giving because no one can ever look at a wall and say "dividing up spaces into functional areas and privacy is so dumb!"  Mom totally agrees with me because she doesn't even know this blog exists and Madame Sunday is absolutely keeping it that way until I fuck up and mention it, like, two years down the road and then there's a really big awkward moment and lots of hurt feelings.  Happy Mother's Day 2012!  

MS Helpful Hint #1:  This one's for the laaaaadies!  Let's say you want to patch some sheetrock one day for your mom or to repair the wall after a Lady Gaga/Beyonce dance off went horribly awry - the Madame recommends slathering your hands in shea butter first and then you can sand til your heart's content!  Your hands can still be free of gloves to fondle your wall but your cuticles are totally protected from the drying effects of sheetrock dust.  I would wait a few minutes for the lotion to soak in because otherwise it'll make a paste with the dust and then you'll have cottage cheese hands.  Don't ask me how I know this.  If you figure out a way to protect your face without coating it in shea butter that will probably break you out or have you look like a DIYer's bukakke dream whore please let me know.  I guess you could use a ski mask but the sheetrock dust acts like a dry shampoo so you lose that morning after benefit for your hair...  It's a conundrum!

They're dead.  Don't worry I didn't make tiny sculptures with them using skulls and rib cages.
More Xtreme close-ups from the Omega Q2000000!!!!   Also, Photoshop mediocrity.



Headin back to the ModernSauce ranch...
Worst "composition" ever.  BEst SiGn evEr.


Oh look!  Now I can take pictures of things at middle distances!  I TOLD you I could figure out the Omega M798000!  With that winning accomplishment under my belt I decided to tackle some things at the ModernSauce Ranch that I have been avoiding I've been too busy to get to.

Remember when Madame Sunday “polished” some door hinges a few weeks ago?  Well I finally decided to return them to their home and hang doors this weekend.  Par-tay right?!  I figured that I would probably check that off my to-do list some time around September so I’m actually AHEAD of schedule.  Procrastination Productivity FTW!  It wasn’t all high-fives and home reprovement magic though because SOMEBODY (I’m blaming Charlemagne that little bitch) forgot to keep the hinges labeled in the correct order and for which door they belong to.  MOTHERFUCKER!  So that’s 3 doors x 3 hinges each = 983948394839843 options for failure.  I did indeed find them all.  I’m not sure how it’s possible that the exact same hinge suddenly morphs into a secret key of trickery when you go to screw it back into the frame but indeed they did.  They are made of goblin brass I tell you!! 


MS Helpful Hint #2:  If a demon cat comes in and messes with your ordering system leaving you to guess which hinge goes where and you are forced to test out the fit of each hinge before screwing it in, I recommend you work from the bottom up.  Do not - I repeat DO NOT - start from the top where you had to hammer the ill-fitting goblin hinge to fit into the notch only to have it skillfully launch itself from said notch directly onto your hand 6 ft below.  Goblin brass has the density of iron wrapped in a black hole and the aim of Tiger Woods.  (I don't really know what that even means so insert your own sports reference here.)  I might be crippled.  I have a feeling that the makers of goblin brass have a team of lawyers akin to BP so I would probably lose that lawsuit.  Assholes.  

It's also quite difficult to prop a door an inch off the ground with a bandaged nub hand while your other hand is full of an 85 lb drill trying to gently coo magic words of love to goblin brass to unlock the secret of eternal door opening and closing.  Because guess what people?  Drills get heavy after awhile.  


Probably no Ryobi endorsements any time soon...
I can't believe we live in a world where that little gadget on the left holds thousands of pieces of vital life saving information and yet this is the best thing we could come up with for a drill?!  There is only one possible explanation for it - a sexist conspiracy.  It's just another way to keep me chained to a life of luxury and cushy office jobs!!  I'm biologically programmed to have less upper body strength than men and I can't change that.  I was born this way, it's not a choice, and I should have the same rights to drill holes and haphazardly rehang doors as more bicep-endowed individuals!  And NO I refuse to lift weights to conform to your ideal of what a drill operator should be!  FUCK YOU SEXIST PRODUCT DESIGNERS!!

So after three hours (there may have been some napping in there too) I finally figured everything out and the bits of goblin brass that were being obnoxious just got hammered into the closest available door frame.  I made those hinges my bitch. Who's the master now goblins?
See that hinge that looks only slightly shinier than it did two months ago but no one except me will ever be able to tell?  Yeah – I did that.  Does my bling make you jealous?  Does it also make you jealous that my trim is so freshly white while my door is the disgusting color of 40 years of nicotine and neglect?  Mmmh hhhmm.  Thought so. 

Now some people might say that it is easier to paint a door off of the hinges rather than on but those people are fucktards and have obviously never painted a door.  Calculate the drying time of 3 (sometimes 4 coats) of paint and primer multiplied by each side of the door plus the extra space necessary to accomplish such a task and you're looking at 8939384 hours of time and a  full basement.  I have neither.  What I do have is a natural gift for applying painter's tape and some thighs that could use a few squats taught delicious thighs I like to keep toned.

Foul door color aside I did good.  I was feeling all proud and flushed from victory until I realized that I forgot to plane the doors.
GAWDAMMIT!  That's as close as it comes to shutting.  FML.

I may not have nice doors, a modicum of forethought or two working hands but I do have the nicest Azalea on the block.  
That's twelve feet of absolute bloom vulgarity right there.  See - Azaleas ARE the sluts of the Spring.

Think it's time to have a drink and light some fireworks.

8 comments:

  1. Every 500 years or so a truly great blog piece is written, this is such a pieces. Sadly you have set the bar so high that all your subsequent posts will seem woefully inadequate. This may lead to drinking, the neglecting of your Azaleas, depression and ultimately a case of grouchy pants.

    I still say it was worth it. Well done.

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  2. What high praise coming from a wordsmith such as yourself! But since I have a permanent case of grouchy pants and am currently drinking I don't have to much farther to sink. That poor Azalea...

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  3. I'm choking on my lukewarm beer whilst reading this and thanking my lucky stars I am the unwitting benefactor of sexist tool designers. I have had my share of door-hanging woes, even though I'm an enlightened professional carpenter (who realized that it was time to switch trades before someone caught on to my game; your trials deliver perspective to my petty tales and I realize that fallibility is a gift. Or at least the chutzpah required to dish it up as a highly entertaining epic battle of femme vs. cordless personal device.
    Damn, now I gotta scrounge up another bottle of swill, because the last one flipped over in my lap while I was high-fiving myself for superior door wrangling.

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  4. Have I ever told you you're my hero?

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  5. @Rich Yeah be grateful for manhands and biceps - you don't know how lucky you are. And possibly hairy. But my cuticles are probably nicer so there's that.

    @Paul You HAVEN'T! But I think a more correct term is anti-hero because with great power comes great responsibility and my time management skills are only meh. Maybe I could be the hero of 'meh'. That way I'll always win!

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  6. Enjoy your Nikon D5000

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  7. Chris either you are psychic spambot or sell cameras to idiots like me all day. Possibly both. If that is the case teach me how to take pictures and hunt for ghosts.

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