Tag Archives: crap

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Busy work for the not so happily retired.

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My husband started a new project. One that isn’t on the honey do list, or even makes any sense as far as I’m concerned.

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But because he’s bored silly since the weather has turned and he can’t tinker outside? He decided our basement needed a ceiling.

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The area is neither heated nor finished…. so why he decided this, I don’t know.

What I do know is he’s thrown all my holiday decorating items into a giant pile and mixed the Xmas with the Thanksgiving and the Easter with the Halloween. Grrr…

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My little section of the basement was the only clean and organized part, so of course that’s the section he wanted to install a ceiling.

His part of the cellar still looks like this:

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Packed to the rafters with useless crap his treasure. (Please note my Christmas reindeer in the foreground. It did not have a broken, missing horn yesterday. 😠

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There used to be a path through this section but not anymore.

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This path now dead ends as well.

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The only remaining path to the stairs is starting to narrow as well. If he isn’t careful, he’s going to get trapped down there….

And at times? I think that might not be a bad thing.

🤣

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They could be twins.

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When it comes to collecting crap stuff, my husband is the epitome of the phrase ‘the thrill is in the hunt’.

He’ll tirelessly scour flea markets and antique stores for that just right piece of crap treasure….. but once he owns it? It will languish in the closet or be left in a deserted corner to gather cobwebs.

And now?

His cat is displaying the same traits.

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Yes, that’s a half dead mouse.

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And just like his father….

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After he hunts it down, Lord Dudley Mountcatten could care less what becomes of it.

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If there’s an award for the world’s most patient wife…

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I should win it.

Hands down.

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Because I’ve been looking at this mess for…. count them…. 37 frickin’ days.

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This giant load of useless crap was belched from my husband’s closet in the den on December 8th when he needed to climb up in the attic.

I didn’t bitch, it was a necessity.

And since he had the next 30 days off work because he didn’t take any vacation in 2020, I figured he would deal with it at his leisure.

I was wrong. So very wrong.

I didn’t bitch a week later when it was still there.

But two weeks later? I was bitching silently in my head.

Three weeks later? I was bitching in my sleep.

Four weeks later? I was bitching opening while plotting his slow, but quite painful demise.

It’s only today, 37 frickin’ days later, the day before he goes back to work….

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That he decided to deal with it. Of course it’s not a matter of simply putting things back in the closet. No. That would be too simple. Instead, each and every item must be fully examined and then brought to me for the desired but never realized “Gee, that’s swell. I wish you had 6 more just like it!” response.

Then he leaves the item in front of me with hopes that I’ll look it up and find it’s worth thousands of dollars.

FYI? The Moosehead beer mirror my husband knew was a vintage bar collectible?

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Turned out to be a carnival prize worth $10.

As I type he’s knee deep in a stack of tattered Look magazines from the 60’s.

This clean up may take a while.

Another 37 days is not out of the realm of possibility.

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*Update – 5 hours later? The room is still littered with crap and there’s a ladder in the hallway.

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Good times.

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Operation clean out has begun.

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The construction and finish work on the Barn Mahal was finally done, so it was time for a major clear out.

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Giant piece of paint covered glass from the kitchen porch he replaced 5 years ago… which he’ll never use again but must be saved?

Check.

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The large wagon wheel frames my girlfriend gave me that I wanted to use as barn decoration?

Check.

But make no mistake, clear out does not mean throw out.

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It means stuffing things in every possible nook and cranny he can find.

Over the cars in the garage? Yes.

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In the newly remodeled and previously almost empty baby barn?

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Of course.

In the tiny room on the side of the wood shed?

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Naturally.

In the wood shed itself?

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Why not.

Those frameless doors he picked up at the dump because they’re free and he could?

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In between the motorcycles and covered with a dirty towel is the perfect spot.

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And lastly, things migrated upstairs in the barn itself.

Because, you know…. there’s soooo much room up there.

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And people wonder why I drink.

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The circle of life.

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As you already know, my husband is the king of free. He can’t pass up anything, no matter how useless…. as long as he doesn’t have to pay for it.

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This has driven me nuts for years and I have never, ever! felt the need to join him in his obsession.

Until last week.

When I saw this on our local Facebook page:

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Pre-Covid our plan was to replace all the flooring in our home. (Post Covid? Holy crap, I don’t want strange people in my house!) Along with that plan would have come long overdue new furniture, to include coffee tables. So since the plan went out the window with the plague, I thought why not? This looks good… and it might be a nice interim fix.

I should have known.

When the husband lifted it out of the truck? It jiggled…. and never even made it into the house. What an utter piece of junk! Fake wood, loose glass and legs so unsteady dropping a napkin on it would probably cause it to collapse.

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Out it went, in front of our house.

How bad was it?

The damn thing was there for a week and though lots of people looked, no one wanted it.

Next stop?

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The recycle center.

Where I left it…. and my desire to ever pick up anything marked free again.

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So maybe it wasn’t quite the miracle I thought.

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The other day I blogged about the miracle of finding my husband getting rid of things in the big barn.

I was happy!

I was thrilled!

Heck, I was downright orgasmic.

Until I walked upstairs.

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A lot of the things I thought he’d gotten rid of…

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Had just migrated upward instead. So with determination in my step I went back down to help him sort through things to throw away.

It did not go well.

Here are a few of the items he couldn’t bear to part with.

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No, you’re not seeing double. That’s a flippable measuring cup… though why on earth you’d need to flip one I don’t know.

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Blank dog tags.

A box of them.

Why? Unless he’s planning to outfit a woodchuck army…. I don’t see the point.

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A rock.

And while I’m normally all about the rocks, I do prefer mine outside…. or slowly cooling my gin and tonic.

Finally there was this:

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He wouldn’t part with it, even though he didn’t know where he’d gotten it or what the hell it was.

So let me resurrect that old blog series I used to torture you with..

Name That Crap!

What is it?

( And yes, I did research so I know the answer. )

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It’s a miracle!

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Somewhere …. pigs are flying. I know this because I went out to the big barn and saw something I never thought I’d see.

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My husband sorting through and …. are you sitting down?… actually throwing things out!

It’s true. And I might have wept with joy. (After an orgasm. Or two. )

Not only did he throw things out….

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He chopped some up and cut them into little pieces.

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Okay he did it with a saw that was on the floor because the tables were covered in crap… but still!

The old rotten shelf with the 40 degree lean that was filled with useless stuff? Gone!

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Whatever this was?

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It and all it’s relatives… gone!

I couldn’t figure out why this was happening, but it’s like extended happy hour at your favorite bar…. you don’t ask why. You just drink till you pass out.

And then I noticed where all of these things were going.

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In piles alongside the deck.

One minute there was a rusty folding camp bed and broken sewing machine table…. the next minute? They were gone.

I assumed the husband was loading up his truck for a dump run, but no.

It turns out the man who we hired to paint our barn wanted it.

All of it.

And was filling up the back of his truck.

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Pardon the terrible through the screen photo but I was so happy to see the crap leave our property I had to.

So miracles do happen, and the best miracle of all?

We’d hired a fellow hoarder! And I realized the husband wasn’t throwing out his treasure…. he was gifting it.

Why in the world didn’t I think of this sooner?

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A bridge too far.

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Things have started appearing on our barn porch.

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Rusty things.

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Old things.

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Things that look like my husband chose them.

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He swears he didn’t, and since we weren’t home when these things showed up? I have to believe him.

Someone is leaving things on our porch.

Things we don’t need.

We have more than enough things!

So please, whoever did this?

Keep your things to yourself.

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And we’re stuffing again.

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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.