A Quick Patch - Part 3

Here is my patch after 4 coats of paint.  I think I may give it one more and call it finished.

The Joys of Pears and Crack-whores

Mothers, don't let your boys grow-up to marry crack-whores.

As the part of the woe that is our syphilitic existence, the fellow we had lined up to buy our little blue rent house backed out of the deal at the last minute. To say that we are disappointed is an understatement. We still haven't figured out what exactly happened, but is seems that tattooed chain-smoker he recently married has some addiction issues. I imagine that really eats into your money for the closing costs and your interest in becoming a home owner.

Really, we shouldn't be too surprised. The last fellow we had contracted to buy the great blue blight died a week before closing.

At any rate, instead of turning to whiskey, easy women, and heroin, I've been spending a lot of time painting. I've finished a pretty good run of still-life sketches and have some big paintings in the works again. If you are interested, click here and take a look. Any proceeds earned will go to paying someone to finish the Devil Queen. That's a good cause, right?

Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, or Less is More

If I were to attempt a concise summary, it might go something like this: "Refuse prevents the refinishing of the dining room floor," or, even better than that, "What is all of this shit?"

Really, what is it? Why have I gone to such great length to keep it with me until now only to toss it into the trash last night with a curse? After only three hours of intensive labor and soul searching, I have found my dining room floor. And, now that I've cleared the deck for action, I'm going to spend the weekend outside painting window sashes and hanging storm windows. Can you see why this whore of a house isn't finished?

We're supposed to have a full week of blue sky and sun, so I figure this may be my last chance to get the storm windows up. That way, when February rolls around, my frozen ass won't be handing over the better part of a paycheck to the electric company every month.

I've decided that less is definitely more. Owning a room full of thirty years of shit in cardboard boxes, stacked to the ceiling as though placed there by mischievous poltergeists, is bad mojo. Try it sometime if you don't believe me. I'll bet serious money that you will eventually find yourself raving alone in a dark, cold house saying shit like, "Why??? You have got be kidding me! Shit! Shit! Shit! What is all of this? Cthulhuflagen, Yog-Sothoth , goat with a thousand spawn flibrishermagagiagiiii!"

Not pretty, is it?

Anyhow, even if the floor isn't finished yet, we have been at work. First, we may have painting assistance lined up to work until the old whore house is finished. And, there is allegedly a plumber coming Saturday to make a bid on Plumbing Remediation 2.0.

Wish us luck. And, if Mars is in opposition and Saturn is crossing Orion (and no rain), maybe I'll even take some damn pictures of what we've been up to here at the Devil Queen. A novel idea, no?

Old, Fat, Tired, and Sore

And it was still a pretty damn good weekend. Decided to forego puttying and patching the dining room floor. The weather was too good to waste. Instead, we prepped the porches, decks, and skirting for priming and painting. We made decent time, but we're nowhere near finished. We have maybe six weeks to get her painted and sealed-up before it gets too cold and wet for paint to cure. Pictures will follow soon.