And now I have a new roof and another reason to never eat a hot dog again.

This week, thrilling events happened at the Ranch.  Contain yourselves.  

I finally got my new roof.  CONTAAAAAIN.

Not my roof but oh sweet jeezus...

You might remember the tornadoes and storms that came through this area and Alabama in the late Spring.  Fortunately, I had no damage other than what the golf ball-sized hail did to my tender rooftop.  A roof that was already leaking and was only still on because it was too old to actually care enough to fall off.  Fortunately, insurance money will force its departure.

I worked at home for the two days the process would take to maximize my boredom and to savor in the tap-dancing giant on my roof.  I couldn't even leave for a few minutes because the roofers needed an outlet and my outside outlets don't work because of course they don't.  I live in shithole.    


I sure as hell ain't leaving my house open to strangers with face tattoos.  Call me judgmental but no latte is worth losing my collection of vintage Sinbad VHS tapes.  I'm guessing that's what roofers would be drawn to first, I don't know...

Not my roof

Somehow working from home is like the Holy Grail of working 9-5.  You think it's going to be like a snow day when you were younger - pajamas under snow coats and hot chocolate at 10 AM and the day is full of possibility and freeze-dried marshmallows.  But instead it was like a snow day at 4 pm when you're so fucking bored because omigawd it's too cold outside and daytime tv sucks even when it's on in the background and I'm so lonely for human interaction and why will no one tweet me?!  


Email?  


SOMETHING!

Not my roof

I was so bored I actually ended up working.  Once I found a rhythm I was a machine of creativity and efficiency on my couch.  I barely ate lunch.  I'll save you for later, Torchwood marathon.    

Based on my daytime tv rant you can see getting a new roof is pretty uneventful.  The installation part, that is...  


The process leading up to the actual roof replacement was long and arduous.  There was plenty of contractor homework and quotes and I thought I could afford a shingle and then I couldn't and then I wanted color samples and THEN addresses of properties where those colors were installed because this is a big fucking deal y'all and you know how weird I am about color.  I don't even know why since I always choke right at the end and fuck it up but whatever.  It's just part of my PROCESS.

Not my roof

But after my part of the process was over some random dudes came by in a van and tore off my old roof and put a new one on.  That's about it.  I think they tried to avoid me at all costs.  Our only real interaction happened as they were packing up and one of them knocked on my door to ask to use the bathroom.   *cringe*


Assuming they were peeing in the bushes this whole time the only reason he was needing the bathroom was for his more substantial elimination needs.  Or he was going to jack off.  Both thoughts went through my mind and I wasn't sure which one I would have preferred.  


During his endless time in the bathroom, I was able to clean the kitchen, unload the dishwasher and reload it just in time to hear another knock on the door.  Face tattoo guy came to inform me that the supervisor couldn't speak with me because he just had to take one of the guys to the hospital for cutting off his finger.  


MOTHERFUCKING FUCK.  Not again!


I assumed the accident during the kitchen remodel where my plumber sliced his face open was a fluke that I was only too happy to blame on the hellgate.  Unfortunately I forgot about the possibility of other hellgates in the house.  The most obvious one being the chimney of doom which is near where the roofer was standing when he caught his finger in some kind of blade.  

Not my roof but is that a mutilated finger up there?!

Tattoo face guy didn't seem overly concerned since he was laughing about all the accidents this dude had gotten himself into over his 21 years as a roofer - or possibly due to the look of horror on my face.  I told them I would have gladly offered up a cup of ice for the finger (it's the least I could have done and what happens in the movies I think.  Also, I kinda wanted to see it...) but was told the finger was in pieces.  *more cringing*


His exact quote was "You know what a happens to the end of a hot dog when you leave it in the microwave too long?"  I do indeed know.  Thanks for that mental image.  


About that time bathroom dude finally decided to rejoin the world and by the stench of boiled ass poured over rotting corpses that followed him into the living room, I figured out which of my two previous options was correct.  Unless he was doing both at the same time which I would like to think is somehow medically impossible for the sake of my future nightmares but I put on my hazmat suit and spent the next two hours sanitizing the entire bathroom just in case.  


And now I have a new roof.


The end.