Death-Wish Wish Fulfillment

There are wasps in our attic. At first I thought they were living in the trim where the master bathroom joins to the rest of the house. That was wishful thinking. They are in fact in the attic. I deduced this by watching them slowly piling bits of blown insulation from the attic on the porch roof to make room for their horrific love nest.

The freak snow storm we had earlier this week was probably one of the last appearance of winter for the year. Soon, spring will be here. When it arrives, the wasps will come with it. Now is the time for me to strike.

I've done a bit of research and preparation. Bug-bombs are out and Spectracide aerosol wasp spray are in. Now, all I have to do is make my way into the attic on a cold night, find the nest without drawing too much attention to myself, hose it down with poison, make my way back to the attic hatch (50-60 feet back to the rear of the house) without getting stung or falling through the ceiling. I anticipate this being as much fun as swimming around the Great Barrier Reef with a five gallon bucket of chum tied around my neck.

Later, just for kicks, I can climb onto the roof and plug the hole into the attic.

Gonzo, That's What We Do

Apparently, our 2006 Halloween Sabbath was quite a success; we've been informed that we will be having another one this year. Scarlet and I weren't satisfied with the level of fear we were able to achieve last year, so we are trying to think of things we might do to terrorize our friends and acquaintances. Suggestions?

Costumes are concern as well. To further my goal of becoming the Hunter S. Thompson of home improvement, I think I ought to devote some serious time to the full immersion approach to touch my inner Gonzo. Specifically, with Halloween just a few short weeks away, I think that I will become the man himself for the duration of that one hallowed eve.

Really though, houseblogs almost have to be Gonzo, don't they? From the ever dubious source of factual information, Wikipedia:


"The word gonzo was first used to describe a 1970 story written by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied in kind to other highly subjective artistic endeavors.
Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over accuracy and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the 'polished' edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for the gritty factor. Use of quotes, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and even profanity is common. The use of Gonzo journalism portends that journalism can be truthful without striving for objectivity and is loosely equivalent to an editorial."

Categorically Unfit For Human Society, Reason 332

Here is a little secret for you. My neurosis, paranoia, and general misanthropy are pretty well known at this point, but I have a nagging, secret fear. I don’t know why it has been on my mind so much recently. Maybe it was everyone wanting to sell me life insurance when we refinanced the house and bought a new car?

Lately, I’m worried if I meet an untimely end in the near future that my soul will be trapped in the Devil Queen. Forever. Putting your blood, sweat, and tears into a house renovation is one thing, but wandering its halls until Doomsday is way too much. So, if I fall and snap my stupid head off, stop the clocks, cover the mirrors, and throw all the windows open. If that doesn’t work (believe me, you’ll know), do it like the Navaho and tear some holes in the walls and abandon the house. And, if that doesn’t do it, burn it down. Really. This house has been hell enough already.

The Die Is Cast

The loan application is complete. The appraisal is scheduled. All the pieces are in motion.

So, will Rome be won?

The Monolith That Towers Over Me

How is this for stupid? I've been putting this scraping project off because of fear, fear of falling off the scaffold and breaking something. Something not as in an arm or my face, but a window or the water-feeds to the clawfoot tub because that equals extra expense and delay. Anything else can heal if you don't die, right?

Anyhow, once I finish the painting the the idiot hallway, I'll be tearing into this project.

Sorry the posts died last week. I got knocked down over the weekend by misfortune, moderate illness, sick cars, and lots of . . . well, I don't know what. About half of it sucked and the rest was pretty good, I think.

Anyhow, more later in the week if I can take some pictures. A few things will only make sense if you can SEE what they are and what happened.

Demonology

In case you’re looking for some motivation to tackle your next big project, here is a little something for you. According to something I recently read (sorry, forgot where), demons like to haunt dirty, rundown and preferably abandoned homes. Tearing out that shag carpet and repainting the bedroom might be more than aesthetically pleasing, it might be a form of exorcism as well. There is nothing more satisfying that killing two birds with one stone, right?

Here at the Devil Queen, we have a new addition to our un-holy menagerie. A couple weeks ago it took up permanent residence in our laundry room. The light bulb burned out at roughly the same time and I just haven't worked up enough nerve to venture back there to replace it. In fact, I try not go back there at all. Why? What is so terrifying that even I refuse to tread there? This.

Can you see the little bastard mocking me from just inside the doorway? Don't be fooled, it may look exactly like a brand new, front loading washing machine, but it's not! It is a large, well formed plumbing demon.

Late at night I can hear it whispering to me. "John, you know you want to wash your socks. I could do such a good job if you'd just give me a chance. Just connect me to the waterlines, plug me in, and give me a spin. John? Are you listening John? I'm so lonely back here. John…" It just goes on and on for hours. I can't hardly stand it.

And the worst part is that I really want to hook it up now, but I'm spooked. I'm not sure if my mojo is strong enough to even attempt a simple plumbing job like this. Why the fear, the shame, the torment? Experience has proven to me that plumbing, no matter how simple it may appear, is actually simple. Plumbing is the Devil, and I'm not sure if I'm in good enough with the Good Lord to put my everlasting soul in peril. I doubt.

Ready or not, I have a feeling that this fallen angel will have to be wrestled with sooner rather than later. I guess I better see if I can find some holy water and a few good stakes on the way home tonight.

The Fear

The last couple of days I've had this little bit of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas playing on repeat in my head.

"'I hate to say this,' said my attorney as we sat down at the Merry-Go-Round Bar on the second balcony, 'but this place is getting to me. I think I'm getting the Fear.'"

Yes, the Fear. Now I know what he means.

It really hit a crescendo this morning in the shower. No particular reason, I guess it was just time. Nothing like a jolt of panic before heading into the office, something to keep you sharp and twitchy before that first pot of coffee.

The problem is that despite my best efforts to synchronize the universe with my goals and needs, people keeping demonstrating a disturbing disregard for what I wan them to do. Some have even had the audacity to state that I am not the center of three-dimensional reality as we know it, which is rude to say the least. I've tried to be nice about it (not really), but that whole story of the God of Wrath and the Flood has been rather resonant with me. Consider yourself warned.

So, what's wadded up my delicate, little crack? Well, a these time honored holidays have been a little inconvenient (are chocolate extruding rodents that miraculous?), but scheduling a wedding three weeks before our bank (yet another nasty hot-bed of dissension) deadline? Intolerable and unforgivable! So, of course we're going to Oklahoma for the weekend.

Really, it (hopefully) won't be so bad. I don't think anyone in attendance will be out on parole, so that will be nice. But, I can still feel it coming, the giant crunch at the end of star's life. The time when its energy is nearly spent and it collapses in on its core and then explodes. Who knows what will emerge fiery hot and rough hewed from the wreckage?

In any case, I have a feeling that I will be burning through the last of my vacation time at work before the end is reached. Until I drive a couple projects down to the ground and cut their throat like a sacrificial bull, I'm not going feel good about things. I need some closure.

In the meantime, I toil. Here is my most recent work.

Tonight I have to stop to buy more white paint so I can finish these bloody ceilings. I'm praying that two coats are all they'll need.

Fear. Loathing. Barbecue.

Barbecue, blood, bodies, bonfires, bratwursts, chandeliers, chemical warfare, caulk, cracks, gardening, Lowe's, painting, priming, spray-foam insulation, tequila, wasps, wiring, and what-not. Pictures of the carnage will follow over the next few days. What can I say? We had pretty good weekend even if it was hot enough to make you sweat. It was definitely a lot more like late May and not late March this weekend.

One of the sure signs of a good weekend is the house was a total disaster come Sunday night. I guess we were too busy to bother picking up like we should. Actually, it was a might bit disturbing. We'd just finished watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when I noticed the bowels of the Devil Queen pretty well look like the last hotel room they trash in the movie, not a pretty sight. All I need is a pair of sunglasses, a cigarette holder jammed between my teeth, substitute the polyurethane and stain for ether and I can become the Hunter S. Thompson of Houseblogs. Would that make this Gonzo Home Improvement?

Sunday (or was it Saturday?), we spent a few frantic hours cloistered in the breakfast nook, drinking pot after pot of coffee, and working on the The Plan. Actually, it is a fairly compact affair. Phase One starts tonight. I will attempt to sent the paint scraping endurance record by systematically dry-scraping every flake of nasty, decrepit paint off the our ceilings. The living room will be first. It will be followed by the hallway, the dining room, the rear hall, and the master bathroom ceiling. While I wait for the cramps and seizures subside, I will try to relax by boiling hardware, shellacking, and other small, must-do tinkering chores. If I am partially successful (that would be finishing the first two or three rooms on the list), will be having a "paining party" two weekends from now. The last one was such a success that we are hoping we can replicate the effect and get all the scraped rooms primed and painted. This will get us very close to meeting our bank deadline.

The spray priming (is this the home improvement equivalent of spray on tanning?) of the Devil Queen is nearing completion. We may soon have to commit to a final color selection for the exterior.

Regarding the paint job, the question of the day is, what do the neighbors think? The answer will probably have zero impact on our course of action, but we are curious folk. Ms. Scarlet and I figure that it is a toss-up between:

1) It's about bloody time they painted that piece of shit. Slackers.
2) Wow, they painted it and it still looks awful. Maybe if we're lucky it will be struck by lightning and burn to the ground.

Anyhow, we continue on our journey across the dark underbelly of the American Dream, what the hell ever that means.