So many people have been asking me how our bathroom remodel is going (okay like 1 of my friends asked because she had a dream she was helping us, which I greatly wish was reality...) that I felt compelled to give an update.
It's going super-swell. Our bathroom now looks like this:
|So much better, right???|
Yesterday he moved the register from its former insane position to a new less annoying position. Insert Uncle McShoddy saying, "Hey, Bubba, make sure you put that cheap-ass plastic register you bought at the Wal-Marts right in front of the toilet. But do it right, man, 'cause it also has to be right in front of the shower. Maximize the possibility for naked Yankees fallin' down the airhole and breakin' their legs. Then, they'll have to call 911 and Cousin Larry the paramedic can take pictures and we'll post 'em on the Internets!"
Mmkay, so, you'll notice I wrote "He moved the register". Perhaps that was an oversight. I was also involved in this process in a multitude of useful ways. For example, after Dylan did all that important measuring stuff and cut a new hole in our floor (who knew you could just cut a hole in your floor?! Just decide, "Hey, I'm going to cut a hole in the floor" and then do it? It's so ballsy! I mean that's your FLOOR...yeah so anyway...), he went under the house to attach the new ducts to the hole (!) he put in the floor. I was instructed to stand at the mouth of the hole and tell him when the ducty thing was in the right place and then tape it (with duct tape, had a little revelation there, folks) so it would stay in place until he could come up and screw it or nail it or whatever sexual euphemism he employed to keep cats from being able to jump down the hole and destroy our entire air-conditioning-delivery system (oh yeah, in case you don't read my Facebook statuses, our dumbass cat did that in the old airhole last week).
Anywho, so he shoved the metal ducty thing up into the hole with much grunting and other manly noises and then yelled up,
"Is it flush?"
"Flush! Is it flush with the floor?"
"Define flush," I said as he struggled to hold an enormous amount of ductwork in place over his head.
"You know, is the edge of the (insert name of ducty thing here, I've forgotten it) meeting the edge of the floor?"
"Which part of the floor? I mean this part in this one corner is kinda poking up a little bit, but this other part looks right."
"Um...the left one."
"My left or your left?"
"Mine...no wait, yours...no, it's mine. I always get so confused when someone asks me that. Do you know how long it took me to learn left from right? And then your left and right is different from other people's left and right! Totally confusing, right? I mean correct, not right. That's also confusing. Like when you're giving someone directions, you can't say right unless you mean right because --"
"MEGAN! IS IT FLUSH?!"
Perhaps this would have been a good time to mention to him that when I took the Multiple Intelligences test in the 11th grade, I scored a 0 in the spatial component. 0. I literally don't know my ass from a hole in the ground. Well, okay, I do, but if you asked me how far it was from my ass to said hole in the ground, I might reply, "Er...eleventy-hundred inches?" And all those problems you get in math class where you have to rotate a shape in your head and then pick what the shape would look like from another viewpoint? Yeah...that stuff blows my mind. If I try to think about that, my brain freezes like a DVD with a scratch in it. Can't go any farther, better go back to the menu and skip ahead a few chapters.
It also may have been a good time to mention that in 9th grade Geometry, we were supposed to build models of famous landmarks or buildings. Lacking an awareness of my own shortcomings, I chose Monticello (perhaps if I had taken the Multiple Intelligences test a few years earlier...). Yep, couldn't have chosen the Washington Monument (I mean, the likelihood of me being able to cut anything in straight lines is still pretty slim, but it would have been in a ball park like around the corner from me instead of a ball park on the Moon), I chose a mansion. I really wish I had taken a picture of my finished model. I stayed up all night working on it and that raggedy piece of crap fell apart before I even made it to class. Sadly my teacher did not go for my explanation of, "It's abstract! It makes you really re-think what Monticello meant. I mean, who was Thomas Jefferson? It's deeeeeep, right?"
Of course, it wasn't actually a good time to mention any of this, so I just said, "Oh yeah, looks good, babe," stuck a piece of tape on it and left him to come upstairs and discover how stupid I am for himself.
Later on, when he was under the house again putting floor (!) where the old register hole was (again, you can just put floor anywhere! Why does no one else realize how Godlike this is?!), I happened to walk by the bathroom and notice the light from his headlamp was glowing red through the old register hole. So, of course, I had to yell down to my cursing, sweating husband,
"Whoa! It's like the gates to Mordor!"
"What? We don't need more doors! Where would we put them?"
"No. Mordor. You know. Although, I guess really it's like the inside of Mt. Doom because not all of Mordor was on fire."
"Ooh, or like the final season of Buffy when they find that entrance to Hell under the high school and Spike's living down there all crazy and much less hot than he usually is because he got his soul back. Remember? It's like you're plugging up the hole to Hell! I guess you're Buffy in this scenario. Hehehehe."
"Woman. Would you please shut up? I'm trying to work."
See? I've been all kinds of helpful. And yet, despite all my help, Dylan has actually managed to make some progress. Today he's moving some pipes around or something. And if he finishes that, he'll start to tile the floor. I kinda want to help with that part because it seems like good squishy fun, but I suspect I might need to make things "flush" or "square" and well...Monticello...