Tag Archives: men

And we’re back.

 

Baby barn work commences…. again.

And I have to ask – are we the only ones who take a year to remodel what is in essence a small shed?

On second thought, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.

 

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So we’ve moved around to the back half to finish our utterly favorite part…..and by that I mean the hellish nightmare that is angled trim work. I believe we’ve established we suck at this and not wanting to break tradition, we still do.

 

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How badly do we suck?

I’m glad you asked.

 

 

Badly enough to require shaving corners with less than modern tools if you’re my other half.

 

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What….

You mean 1940’s saws aren’t still viable members of the tool arsenal?

 

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Yes, that’s always my reaction as well….

But the husband says it still has life left in it.

 

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Corners were turned…

 

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Though not all of them where they should be…

As the poppa barn ( who’s still screaming for paint and agrees with River how wonderful he would look in a nice rusty red with white trim ) looked on in horror.

 

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To be continued.

 

 

It’s a miracle… albeit a small one.

 

By now I think you’re all familiar with the giant barn we built a few years ago.

 

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The husband had visions of a man cave complete with bar, pool table and plenty of space to display his  totally useless crap  treasures.

What he got was a little different.

 

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This is what happens when you’re a hoarder in training. You have a more than ample 2 story space and you fill it with random  rubbish, recycled debris  stuff.

So the other day when the husband asked me if I would help him clear some of it out?

 

 

I admit I was a trifle excited.

 

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The future yard sale pile grew larger.

But don’t faint…. it’s mostly my things, with some items a friend left in his basement for the husband when he moved to Oklahoma. Yes, that’s the $800 scooter we bought on Craig’s List for the husband’s brother who said he wanted it but didn’t like it and never used it. My eyes did some serious rolling that day let me tell you.

 

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There was a lot of heavy lifting involved as none of the husband’s  rusty crap  treasures are light.

What… you don’t have an adjustable height potato planter that weighs as much as a medium sized water buffalo?

Why ever not.

 

 

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Of course he wanted most of these items upstairs.

 

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See that?

It’s a hay bale fork with a pulley system for the hay bales we’ll never have or be required to move. And guess what? When you drop it on your toe while climbing the stairs….

You curse it.

Quite colorfully as it turns out.

 

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As we spent the next few hours moving and sweeping and organizing…  ( okay, that was me and it was pretty fruitless because the husband refused to put anything in the trash pile, even this collection of tires that don’t fit any vehicle we own )  I realized my miracle clean out was really just a ‘move things around so you can see the floor again’ type of miracle. But hey, I’ll take what I can get.

Before  –

 

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After –

 

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Floor!

 

Part of it anyway.

 

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I wish I could make him understand how wonderful a space this could be if he would just part with all the junk. And I don’t mean everything….. mixed in with all the why the hell did you buy that! stuff are some legitimately interesting things.

 

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This old butter table is sweet.

 

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And I do love the old apple press.

Otis the Opsrey is waiting patiently to be installed on the roof as well.

 

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Though that baby is all mine and cost me a pretty penny.

But the ridiculous things he picks up and brings home because they’re free?

 

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They’ve got to go.

 

 

 

So… this happened.

 

 

The husband mowing the grass over the septic tank?

Not blog worthy.

But the husband mowing the grass over the septic tank with one arm because he’s done some kind of damage to his left shoulder and the appendage is hanging uselessly?

 

 

Relatively blog worthy.

It took me a week of him alternating ice packs and heating pads. A week of him moaning, groaning and being perfectly miserable before I could get him to the doctors for an exam and an X-ray.

Thankfully nothing was broken or dislocated. They said it might be muscle trauma, might be a pinched nerve. In other words they have no idea.

A weeks worth of Prednisone has helped a bit, but just when we were making baby barn headway….

 

 

It seems we’ll be looking at this a while longer.

I’m seriously beginning to think that building is cursed.

Little known facts.

 

And once you read them you’ll realize how little you care…..

 

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I’m sure you could have gone all day with out hearing that, but since I hate nuts anyway? It strengthens my resolve that peanut butter is disgusting.

 

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Yeah.

Enjoy that sandwich now.

I dare you.

 

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I had to do a little research on this one because I grew up adoring Ted.

Sadly, he’s wasn’t always the sweet cuddly children’s author we imagined.

But I still love the Lorax, sorry Helen.

 

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Asbestos snow…

What could go wrong?

 

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True.

And quite bizarre…

 

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Well, we could all use a little more protein in our diets.

 

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People are allergic to cochineal insects?

How would they know? I didn’t even realize there was such a thing.

 

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Okay, I agree…. that really would have sucked.

And finally, because men aren’t filled with enough penile insecurities as it is.

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Sorry guys.

Penis envy is a horrible thing.

P.S. ….. When I woke up and checked WP on my phone this morning? My reader preview made me do a double take.

Damn.

The porn spammers will be back any day now.

As long as they keep making them…..

 

Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring seems to be a favorite in the re-created art catalog.

For which I’m glad.

 

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Though this next one does differ quite substantially from the original….

 

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You have to applaud the commitment.

 

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There.

Proof positive your mother was wrong when she said you’d never find a place to wear head to toe green.

 

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Man with vacuum cleaner.

You know women will swoon over this.

 

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Oh. My….

The less said about this the better!

No hole too small.

 

Maybe I should rethink that title…. don’t need the porn spammers dropping by again.

Anyway, after we planted our free trees the other day we had to do something with this under performing flowering plum that was now ruining the alignment.

 

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We planted 2 of these before the big barn construction began, but one died and the survivor gets eaten alive by Japanese beetles every year. I was all for heaving it, but the husband had other ideas.

When my mother died in 2014, she was cremated and I planted some of her ashes with a lovely tulip tree in our backyard.

 

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It did well for 4-5 years until we had crazy late spring freezes and frosts that it couldn’t tolerate.

Since I planned to replace it this year?  Husband decided to do a little transplanting.

 

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I  (very helpfully)  told him we’d need a bigger hole since we were moving a mature 12 year old tree with an extensive root system.  With this  (ever so helpful)  advice, he did what he always does….. and promptly ignored it.

 

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Digging up the plum was an absolute nightmare. The roots were thick and deep and under the topsoil? Hard clay that might as well be cement.

 

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Our farming neighbor offered to come over with his backhoe and scoop it right up, but no.

 

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The husband didn’t want to tear up his lawn and went with the spiderweb approach to removal.

It took us approximately two hours of digging and tugging and even then we ended up chopping what had to be 10 foot long roots.

Whoever said gardening isn’t a workout needs to be bitch slapped.

 

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This photo caught the other half gasping for air after the last pull.

 

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I had serious doubts the hole out back was large enough, but away we went.

 

 

 

Yeah, not quite.

 

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There was a lot of twisting. And turning. And laughing.  ( Okay, that was just me. Husband didn’t find it the least bit amusing. )

Some quite inventive spiderweb root trench digging later……

 

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He made it work.

 

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Whether it survives is anyone’s guess.

We are definitely not mathematicians.

 

On a gloomy, overcast Sunday morning….we started putting trim board on the baby barn at 9:00am.

 

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At 10:00am we were still on the first piece.

 

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And yes, at 11:00am we were still there as well.

 

 

Frustrating?

A wee bit.

 

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Cutting angles is not our forte….. and it almost made me wish I’d paid more attention in 7th grade geometry.

 

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A lot of serious thought, planning… not to mention cursing…. was going on right there.

 

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And before you say “Use a mitre saw!”, we did. But the building is less than straight and square and when we finally did manage to get it right?

 

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It was still wrong.

 

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Thank God for flashing. It covers a multitude of sins.

 

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So this side looked good.

 

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But when we turned the corner?

Not so much.

 

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How the Hell did that happen?

There was only one solution.

 

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Sit on the big barn porch and photograph it from far away.

Yes.

Much better.

 

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More flashing, more nightmarish trim board.

And if you’re asking what I contributed to the project?

Besides acting as a general gopher…. because when the husband is up his tools are down, and when he’s down his tools are up… my contribution was this:

 

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Classic tunes on shuffle.

 

 

There he goes again, ever the optimist.

 

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Thankfully the husband used to do roofing when he was young, so yes. The shingles were perfectly level.

 

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And because he was so thrilled something was finally level?

 

 

He checked it again.

 

 

And again.

 

 

I gave up on him at 6:00pm and headed inside for dinner, but he was out there until 8:00 trying to reach the top.

 

 

He didn’t quite make it.

 

Because I know you were anxiously awaiting it’s return…..

 

It’s back.

The ongoing baby barn remodeling saga…. and for those of you just joining us? Consider yourself lucky you missed the first 300 episodes.

Winter is over in Maine, we think…. so work has begun anew.

On Saturday afternoon rotted wood was replaced.

 

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And the silly man I’m married to tried to make everything square.

 

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Look at him with his little level. Isn’t that cute?

If you remember anything from last year, you’ll know the terms level and square are completely relative when dealing with this nightmare of a building.

 

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But hope springs eternal, and maybe sometime before we’re through that damned bubble will be in the right position.

 

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The last of the Zip siding was installed…

 

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And yes, that’s my husband’s back…. as he refused to smile for my camera.

 

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I can never quite figure his modus operandi when he works on a project……. and wondered why he made his way from the outside in to meet in the middle.

 

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This doesn’t usually bode well when you’re using a tongue and groove design.

I  (oh so)  helpfully told him this, but of course he paid no attention because I’m a woman and what do I know?

 

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Well, yes.

As a matter of fact he is.

 

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But when he tried to fit that last piece?

I admit it, I chortled while he cursed.

Which I enjoyed, because really… the world needs more chortling.

 

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Apparently I did chortle a little too loudly because I also got the look.

Which, after 36 years…. he should know has positively no effect.

 

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A little trimmed tar paper later and he called it day.

 

 

 

Well, no good came from that.

 

I’m speaking of the (oh so helpful) post I did the other day about that most wonderful product……  the butt mask.

I hate to say it, but I’m afraid that bit me in the ass.

You see, right after I posted it? I noticed I had a few new followers:

 

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Not the shoe woman or the wine lover… those are totally understandable.

No, I’m talking about Pistol Pete.

Whose blogs are a little out of my area of expertise.

 

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Am I ready for men’s thong underwear?

No, Pete. I most assuredly am not.

And if Pete wasn’t bad enough? I also picked up his alter ego Daniel Alexander.

 

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I must not know about this.

Really. I mustn’t.

 

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Nothing. There’s no occasion that calls for male G string underwear.

Office party? Nope!

Dinner with friends? Nyet!

Your mother in law’s birthday? Well, maybe….

 

 

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I’ll throw this one over to my male readers.

What do you say guys… are they comfortable?

 

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In closing, the moral of the story is….

Don’t blog about butt masks.

 

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And say goodbye to Pistol Pete as fast as you can.