The Wetta Wants it Done

My grand visions of the master bedroom didn't come to fruition. Not just yet. Looks like I'll be sleeping on the couch for at least another week. In ripping out the old ceiling and sanding the walls, I discovered that the walls are made of different materials. Most are old-school lath-and-plaster (much of which is crumbling...lots of patch work to do), but one wall, by the closet, was drywall. The drywall reached only to the old ceiling, so the wall looked markedly different where the drywall met the plaster. I decided to get in a little over my head and tear the whole wall out. I can half-ass this renovation or I can go full-throttle. I'm revved. It's all or nothing, baby. What's so tough about drywall, anyhow? I've done it before. And, I figure, if beer-guzzling knuckleheads do this for a living, why can't I learn?

Re: bedroom colors - I think A's right. A bright red bedroom might conjure nightmares, and lord knows I have enough trouble sleeping. Perhaps a soft pastel, or natural/neutral? Something slightly girly?

People ask me what I think about when I wield my sledgehammer. I don't have very much to be angry about, so I sledge away the big, bad untouchables -- like Rummy and Bush and their axis of evil cohorts. I sledge Bush-lovers and warmongers and Bill O'Reilly (extra hard swing for him). Jerry Falwell gets it good, too (AW, remember when we were on his show, defending the gay Teletubby?). I take a few shots at Heather Wilson, who sobbed over the indecency of Janet Jackson's exposed nipple, but sees no wrong in sending teens to war, and then move on to sucker-punch the man I caught kicking his dog. Maybe I should don a spandex suit and a cape, work on my superpowers, and start crusading.

I've been thinking about getting another dog. Which is INSANE. Rex is so docile, I'm afraid he'd go belly-up if a burglar barged through the door. I've never seen him bear his teeth -- not once. And he needs a pal. Pip isn't any fun. He's old and grouchy, and growls whenever big dog tries to play.

Roger said he'd have the linoleum ripped up by today. Not so. He didn't even help Freddie w/ the labor (although Freddie took his sweet time and plenty of smoke breaks). I don't want to come off as a bitchy wetta, but I paid him -- and I want it done. He first said he'd finish it a week ago. I told him that if this keeps up, our little deal -wink, wink - is off.

Other notables: Watched my other neighbors, two Mexican guys, nearly kick Rick's drug-addicted ass in their driveway. Not sure of the conflict, but it was rough. Labor: Ripped out wall in bedroom, tore down ceiling in living room (showered with dust, looked like a coal miner by day's end), pried wooden beams from walls (remnants of wood panels), and swept endless piles of dust and debris. Next: Drywall, the furnace, and the retired electrician (who pays a visit on Tuesday...all of the wiring is out of code).

Week one triumph: I think I've finally eliminated the cig stench, with all of my candle-burning, coffee brewing, and fresh air.

Photos (more in next post):

1. Archway, from lv. rm. to one of the bedrooms/bath.

2. Blue light, porch.

3. Bedroom closet (needs drywall).

4. Light fixture in bedroom, dangling from ceiling.

5. Ceiling in lv. rm., after ripping off lowered tiles.