June 07, 2011

True Lies

Okay ... the rennovation of the kitchen is done.  Well, it's done as far as the fact that all of the carpenters, electricians, plumbers, tilers and helpers left us last night at about 7:00.  There's still more to do to make it look absolutely finished, which may take longer than the seven solid days we had our downstairs taken over by strangers.  By "solid", I mean Saturday and Sunday too.

Here are some thoughts after the mental and physical toll subsides (slowly ... very slowly).

  • Having a room or rooms redone is not in anyway, shape or form, FUN!  No matter what you see on television.
  • Speaking of television.  Don't believe any of that shit you see on HGTV.  You know, where entire houses are totally transformed in one-half hour, while everyone laughs, giggles and cavorts around while tearing the living fuck out of their house.  I'm not watching HGTV again for a long while.  I'm going back to the Food Network, where a half hour is just about right to make a meal.
  • Speaking of HGTV, and especially that horseshit show where they transform rooms for two thousand dollars.  Here's the way that happens.  The crew goes around on trash pick-up day to supplement the measly pittance they had to do the rooms.  "Oh, and here are my receipts to prove I only spent 2 grand".  Never mind that the labor was 16 fucking-thousand dollars.
  • Your house will smell like sweat and farts for days afterwards, unless you buy Glade apple cinnamon air fresheners, then it will smell like sweaty, farty synthetic apple cinnamon.
Enough of the fucking bullet points.  I'm tired, unclever, unfunny and downright homicidal right now.  Where's the wine bottle?  Oh yeah, over there ... I think I'll go take another pull or two ....

Once we have the new table and chairs, the banged up wall patched and repainted, and all the dirt and grime cleaned up, I'll post some pictures that will make the kitchen and dining area look like something out of fucking Country Living Magazine.

Or not.  I really don't give a shit.  Where's that damned therapist's number?

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