It was recently brought to my attention that our barn was in need of comfortable seating in which to kick back after a vigorous session of drinking. And to that I say…
I’m way ahead of you.
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Okay, so it’s actually just the porch furniture we store inside every winter… but I’m thinking come spring, when it heads back outside? Two leather club chairs with a small table in between.
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Husband hung a few appropriate signs behind the (soon to be bar) the other day.
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Armpit lemon? Remind me not to over indulge in Puerto Rico.
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A no sewing required spot was found for the husband’s assorted patches.
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And a few more photos were carefully hung… while standing on a safe.
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As you can see, I have arrived … and finally been given representation in the man cave.
Yay me.
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A magnetic bottle opener was installed on the staircase.
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And a recent antique store purchase was displayed.
Since I multi purposed our giant crock as a trash can, I decided I wanted something equally fun and antiquey for returnables.
You would think shopping in my husband’s vast array of crap stuff would yield the appropriate receptacle, but sadly nothing was found. Which is when my spouse gleefully suggested we visit the antique mall.
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I was on a mission and didn’t dilly dally. The same can not be said for my spouse.
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I moved him quickly away from this horror…
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Because right now the only thing the barnMahal doesn’t have is a kitchen sink… and I wasn’t taking any chances.
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Fresh lobster made us laugh. There’s nothing worse than cheeky crustaceans.
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I had my eye on that wagon to the right. But at $520 it seemed a bit pricey for empty beer bottles.
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Even the chicken thought so.
And then I found it…
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Buried in the back and full of oars.
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$50 later…. the old barrel with original lid… made a perfect returnable container.
Since all the trim work was finished in the barn, it was time for a little decorating…. husband style.
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The old washing machine was slid across the floor.
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A few military helicopter pictures were hung.
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And of course….
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His favorite sign of all was prominently placed.
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Moving back inside….
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A second tier of shelves was built into every corner.
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And then it was time to go shopping upstairs.
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Apple press?
Check!
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Butter table?
Check!
And then my husband, the man who visibly cringes every time I put a nail hole in our walls….
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The man who has given me hell for each and every thing I have ever hung in our home…. decided this would be his I love me section and plans to fill it with photos and plaques while turning his barn walls into Swiss cheese.
I admit, I may have cackled at this point. The irony was simply too strong.
Work continued on the big barn ceiling insulation project and one corner was finished.
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And as I knew would happen, the covered pool table became a repository for stuff.
(Not to be confused with a suppository for stuff, because no one wants the husband’s stuff there.)
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On this day I was given the task of hauling more useless crap treasure upstairs.
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In case you were wondering…. the answer to the question how much stuff is too much stuff? has yet to be determined.
Christ, there’s even stuff hanging from the rafters.
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Antique collectibles…. or torture chamber implements?
Tough call.
But downstairs, stuffing progress was made.
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And yes, there’s a bathroom sink on the love seat.
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I think it looks quite comfortable, don’t you.
Was it our sink? No.
Did we need an ugly ass shell shaped sink from the 1970’s? No.
But we have it all the same, because….
Say it with me now:
It was free!
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One side of the ceiling was fully stuffed when the husband realized he had a problem.
I would tell you his problem was not listening to me 5 years ago when he insisted on putting these ugly, bright as the surface of the sun, fluorescent lights in…
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And running them on one electrical line with no junction boxes, but I doubt he would admit it…. because, you know. Men.
But now that he’s outfitting his man cave with a heat pump, insulation and a ceiling …. he’s changed his mind about those ugly ass lights and wants to put up these more attractive, appropriately rustic fixtures instead.
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Which is great, except there are no junction boxes and they’re all on the same line.
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Not being an electrician, he’s been pondering this predicament for a while…. and was forced to set up temporary lighting. (Which throws an equivalent BTU level as the bonfire at Burning Man. I swear our electric meter was spinning so fast there was smoke…. and the stock holders of Central Maine Power were chortling with glee.)
If he figures this all out without electrocuting himself and/ or burning down the barn, I’ll be sure to let you know.
I woke up on our last full day of vacation in Williamsburg, Virginia (Yes, we’re finally there!) cursing our second resort’s small bathrooms.
I mean… come on.
For a girl with big hair this is a very small space to make the magic happen.
And the shower?
One teeny tiny shelf!
I had to put the rest of my things on the floor.
We started the day at the husband’s favorite breakfast spot where he was now greeted with ”The guy who wants two plates of chipped beef on toast is here”.
And seeing that we’d had 2 full weeks of doing everything I wanted to do, I thought it prudent to throw the husband a bone and let him pick our last day’s activities.
As expected, that bit me in the ass.
He chose the Williamsburg Antique Mall… and let me tell you, that’s a whole lotta mall.
I have never in my life seen so much useless crap stuff in one place. It went on forever, aisle after aisle after aisle. The husband was in heaven.
Oh, there were some interesting things.
And some seriously hideous things.
It was hard, but I managed to pass on this quartz rooster head.
And the Christmas tree in a shoe.
But damn, at the one hour mark we’d only managed to cover a little corner of the place.
The building was so huge it had push button call stations for help because it was too damned long a walk back to the front to find a sales clerk.
Twohours in there was a drunken Santa….
And some of the money the husband used during the Vietnam War.
Threehours in there was a pair of wolves on skis…
The ice cube trays I cursed with every breath as a child….
And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.
Fourhoursin there were Civil War era hats and a saleslady who gave me a piece of paper to write down the aisle number, the booth number, the case number and a description of each article we had questions about because no one ever remembers what was where. If you look in the upper left hand corner of the picture you’ll see my hand clutching it.
And no, I wasn’t going to give it to the husband …. I’m not stupid.
The husband?
Happier than the proverbial pig in shit.
Rusty tools….
Rusty tools everywhere!
I passed on more vintage chickens.
And wondered who this wide eyed Santa was going to poke with that…. that….
Whatever the heck that was.
At the four and a half hour mark I had to use the rest room.
Where I did indeed flush my hopes and dreams of ever leaving this place down the toilet.
There was definitely something for everyone.
Even if some of the price tags made you gasp.
Five hours in I told the husband I was too hungry to continue and we needed to go get some lunch.
Yeah.
My worst nightmare came true….
They had a cafe.
Where we had tiny overpriced sandwiches and frozen solid fruit to fortify us for more hours of antique shopping.
It was at this point I knew we’d never leave.
I was doomed.
Too late for that warning…. the husband has had it for years.
He was bound and determined to see every last item in this store or die trying.
And by this time I was happily planning his demise.
Yikes.
Paging Morticia Addams….
And holy crap.
Who in their right mind wants that hanging on their wall?
Six hours in I found a bug collection….
Some chicken humor…
And part of the line to check out.
These people took a number…. and have probably been waiting since June 13, 1976.
But the husband was still going strong.
And if I told you how many rusty old pesticide sprayers we have in the barn already? You’d fear for my safety.
Here’s proof positive there’s a magazine for everything.
And a painting that contains fish bones.
You’re welcome.
SEVEN HOURS in and we weren’t even 2/3’s of the way through.
I knew he wasn’t going to leave without buying something, but by then I’d reached my limit of utterly useless crap antique shopping.
I was on board with the old phone. It could have been fun in the barn…. when he builds that bar he keeps talking about.
You know, the bar he can’t build because he has too much utterly useless crap stuff in the way.
Eight hours in?
I was silently screaming FFS….just pick something and let’s go!
Or maybe I said it out loud, I can’t remember.
So there it is, the result of 8 hours of antique mall shopping.
A giant glass water bottle to add to the other 20 or so giant glass water bottles he currently has collecting cobwebs.
I love him.
I do.
And as long as I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine.
The first settlement in America looked something like this.
And I have to admit the buildings were larger than I thought they’d be.
This was the church.
And I swear it’s bigger than the one in my town today.
I loved the thatched roofs on the cottages.
And we enjoyed poking around inside them.
Some of them were simple.
Some a little more grand.
Check out the armor on top of the cupboard.
Nothing like some weaponry over the dining room table to get the gastric juices flowing.
Speaking of that…. there was an armory.
And it doesn’t matter how many times I see these, I still can’t imagine having to wear them into battle. I mean damn, they make my underwire bra look positively comfortable in comparison.
Needless to say the husband was loving all the old tools and farm implements.
Yes dear….
Rusty metal…. I see it.
The last building we checked out was a communal kitchen.
And you know what I found… right?
Wandering at will….
Hoping something would fall off the table.
There were also fake cocktails, which is a rude tease to those of us who happened to be thirsty.
Hell, if these fell off the table they’d bounce.
And that’s not my type of cocktail at all.
Okay.
Now we’re talkin’….
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
