This weekend was a three day weekend so that means about ¾ more fabulosity (I’m not good at math) that I had planned to happen at the ModernSauce ranch. Unfortunately it didn’t start out too good. I opened my front door on Friday to check the mail and saw this little guy:
I'm guessing he fell out of my storm door but I don’t know where the hell he came from or how to put him back where he belongs. Where is your home dammit? I was laying on my porch trying to jam this thing back somewhere when I realized that the ice cream truck that tortures my neighborhood every summer was driving by really really slow. Driving slower than normal around my corner because he was, in fact, staring at me sprawled face-down ass-up on my porch. At least we know he’s not a pedophile. But now I feel
turned on violated every time I hear that damn circus music. [MS sidebar: he was probably going really really slow because he was high but at least in my version it makes me look like an accidental sexy person.]
gave up couldn’t figure out where the pin was supposed to go I put it the special aMazing ModernSauce Jar of all Manner of Metal Materials. (I like alliteration.) It’s where old hardware goes to die around here that I can’t seem to throw it away because I might need that rusty screw or Bicentennial-inspired eagle light switch plate one day. That’s a piece of American history.
See ya in three years metal thing!
Back to work. I wanted to do a lot of small easy things this weekend, you know, to honor the troops. Project #1 – new handle for my nightstand. No reason. Just found a little gem (read: crappy piece of shit) at the elegant wonderland known as World Market which I knew would fit exactly my nightstand which also happened to come from the same classy warehouse a few years ago.
I used some forethought this time and actually measured the distance between the screw holes and the screws of the new handle. Score! Gawd I'm good. However what I didn't measure was the distance between the ends of the new handle screws vs. the distance between the BASE of the screws. About 1/8 inch off. Fuckin A. But I will not be defeated!!! (also I scratched the "wood" already so I had to follow thru...) So I pushed and pounded and cussed and scraped until this:
Fuck. Me. Apparently my new superhuman strength in my one arm from working out with the drill so much has made me a beast and I broke the new handle. Let's pretend that it's not some piece of shit I bought for $3 and instead it's my lone raging bicep that's the problem. Now a normal person probably would have pulled the handle out and exchanged it at the store for a new one but that's for pussies without imagination. Also I couldn't pull the handle back out because I had jammed it in so hard to the drawer. Enter the super glue.
No I don't know why it's so yellow. Let's just call it ambiance.
The end result. It's different. I wouldn't call it better... But it looks like my handle is SUPPOSED to bring out the tiny golden details in my headboard. Exactly my plan all along.
So two hours later I could begin my main focus for the weekend which was to start patching some holes in my bathroom wall. After the removal of some super chic vom-inducing 80's wallpaper (including the asbestos kind) these holes were uncovered:
Keep smiling fucker.
What the fuck kind of shower curtain rod needs holes like this? Gawd I do not understand these people! But then I remembered – the previous owners were total sex freaks (I made that up) so I think this was actually an ‘omigod’ bar for all their steamy shower sessions. Adding extra support was just smart thinking. Now, I don’t have a normal tub – it’s an old 4’ square Cinderella tub and can probably fit two people (maybe three if you angle correctly) so I’m sure there was some definite soapy group rubdowns that needed a handle for support.
Like this but white. From retro renovation.
The previous inhabitants (not the raccoons) owned the MS ranch for probably 35 years so they had plenty of time to customize the house to their own, uh… predilections. My first clue that they were freaks was the back patio covered in Astroturf where the outline of an old hot tub was faintly visible. Not that big of a deal – it was probably installed in the 70’s and who DIDN’T have Astroturf and a hot tub back then?! But THESE people installed the only privacy fence on my block, had locking gates and ran electricity and CABLE lines to the hot tub vicinity. Mmmhhh hhhmmmmm.
At one point they enclosed the carport as some sort of rec room which is labeled as the “train room” on the electric panel.
See #2. Mmmhhhh hhhmmmmm.
I don’t think they were talkin toy trains y'all!!! (they were) The “train room” has some windows placed really high so you can’t see in or out and the floor is vinyl. For easy clean-up I’m sure. There was also a plastic fireplace that you plug into the wall with a cardboard "brick" surround. It brings that sophisticated and romantic atmosphere when you’re having the bi-weekly neighborhood orgy. Sessy. There’s a window that overlooks the “train room” from a secret cedar closet in one of the bedrooms. For the neighbors who liked to watch. During the floor-to-ceiling sterilization that happened when I moved in one of my friends was cleaning the closet in the “train room” and found this:
The bottom corner says 1975. It's an antique!
Mmmmhhh hhhhmmmm. I won't show you the inside because this is a family blog but let's just say there are a lot of beaver references. I just leave this on the coffee table when people come over. It’s a good conversation starter.
Here’s a picture of the previous owner that we also found in that closet:
Yep. That's what part of my kitchen looked like in the 80's I think.
Look at this totally
nice grandpa skeezy perv. I believe he died in the house at some time and totally haunted the place for about a year after I moved in – I would see him walking up and down the hall sometimes. I think he liked to watch me sleep. Mmmhhhh hhhmmmm. Even his ghost was horny.
Another sex freak clue – I received this old lady catalog for months after I moved in that had the usual circulation socks, rain caps and ‘world’s best grandma’ mugs. But the last three pages of this catalog always had tons of personal "massager" devices. Vom. But still mmmmhhh hhhmmmm. I think I've proven my point.
Uh oh – I totally forgot what I was supposed to be doing this weekend…
Oh yeah, Gawd bless the troops.