We had multiple contractors come over and give us estimates on our exterior barn project… (Staining, trimming, soffiting) and after I picked my jaw up off the ground and cursed the fact we didn’t have any children to sell… we chose a locally owned and operated company.
We’re on their schedule, but I don’t know when they’ll start.
I’m sorry, that wasa cruel tease…. and a shameless attempt to lure aged disco fans to my blog. Please feel free to play Neutron Dance and curse me at your leisure.
Not trusting anyone else to pick out the trim boards, the husband dragged me to a lumber yard…
Where he closely examined and rejected dozens of 16 footers in the premium grade.
* Note to lumberyard workers – if you see my husband coming? Run. *
He refused so many, I swear the kid who was helping us starting sprouting grey hair.
After the first hour he delicately suggested we upgrade to the finish grade.
Which we did.
But…. silly boy, did he really think that would make a difference?
It shouldn’t surprise you to learn we were there the entire afternoon. And just when we were ready to leave?
The husband met a fellow Marine.
Another hour later… we left.
It’s amazing how exhausting it is standing around doing nothing. So much so, after we unloaded the truck…
Another weekend in the big barn insulation/ceiling project commenced, but this time reinforcements were needed on day 1.
Because in as little as an hour? We proved that I can’t reliably hold plywood panels over my head long enough for my husband to figure out where to screw them.
Go figure.
So with the help of a friend, insulation was stuffed, plywood was screwed and the part that gives me hives took place.
The husband…. playing with live electrical wires.
This is not a good combination and doesn’t always end well… but no one was electrocuted, so we call that a win.
The bane of my current existence pool table was moved to it’s new home spot.
And after a little trial and error, no toes were broken.
Also a win.
As soon as it was set up?
It was covered with plywood and a very rugged protector…. because no man cave should be without a touch of lace.
The next day we were off to Lowes for a tad more insulation.
Ka-ching!
We dragged it inside, and then all the crap that started here….
That was then moved over here….
Had to be moved upstairs.
Ask me again how much I’m loving this free pool table.
Go ahead, I dare you.
Once the temporarily mounted my ass stereo was uncovered, the husband found part of my old collection of 1980’s cassette tapes.
And while I stand by my CSN, Queen, Clapton, Dire Straits and Grateful Dead picks….. the 2020 River cringed at the sight of Madonna, Richard Marx and the Bangles.
UB40.
WTH?
And if that wasn’t bad enough..
He also found a box of albums he bought sight unseen at a yard sale years ago…. which meant this was blasting from his recently mounted speakers:
They say there’s a little boy in every man….. and if that’s true?
Mine is playing cowboys and Indians.
Left to his own devices, my husband could easily watch the western channel 24 hours a day. I know…. because True Grit, Fort Apache and Rio Bravo have been the background soundtrack to my life for the past 36 years.
He likes westerns, ergo he likes John Wayne.
Not as a real person, he neither knows nor cares who that was….. but rather as an idealized portrait of what a real man is supposed to be. At least on screen.
So when we went to Lowes the other day and were standing on the check out line? You know he had to grab this:
“Manly meals”.
I’m sure you can hear my eyes rolling from there.
Who knew my husband wanted to be a cookout legend?
The man who has never read a recipe in his life, but had to buy this book. And may I just say?
I was not impressed.
That is the saddest excuse for steak I’ve ever seen. And with pesto made from cilantro as an accompaniment? The Duke and his horse should be run out of town with their heads hanging down in shame.
Now correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Texas do everything up big?
If so, these are misnamed…. because those are the skimpiest, most pathetic tacos to ever grace a shell.
And I’m from Maine.
We fill our tacos with haddock and lobster… what do we know?
I’ll spare you the Gun Smokey Barbecue Chicken and the Ringo Kid’s Skirt Steak, but suffice it to say I doubt any of Wayne’s dishes will ever make it to our table.
And now, because this is my blog and you know I can’t help myself…. here’s one final picture of the quintessential manly man.
Maybe it’s just me, but when I see a list of “must have” products?
It’s a guarantee I mustn’t.
Do I need a magnetized bin to save my lint?
I most decidedly do not.
Does anyone?
With my luck I’d save lint and the red squirrels would steal it to make their nests more comfortable.
So basically this is a tarp with a square frame and handles. It costs $30 and you still have to pay someone to haul it away. Makes me glad I live in the country where we can just load up our truck and drive to the dump.
Is this a joke?
No one wants to time warp back to 80’s hair.
Just, no.
Eco friendly bamboo? Fine.
But charcoal bristles treated with carbon?
This is not a look I care to embrace.
And finally….
Sorry, but I’m thinking my inner mermaid is better left unrevealed.
Not worthy of a blog of their own, but random interesting stuff all the same.
(And by interesting, you know I mean not at all interesting… just random information you didn’t want nor need but I feel compelled to share anyway)
I read a lot…. and before now have never thought of myself as any of these.
But from now on?
I’m an ink drinker all the way.
Yes, I bought myself a frying pan that’s reinforced by diamonds.
Because my fried chicken deserves the very best.
My rose is blooming like a lolly pop.
Is this earth shattering news you can use?
No.
But nothing I say ever is.
This claims to be the perfect Cosmopolitan recipe.
I shall research it extensively and report back.
Sadly, we had to shop for 2 headstones for recently passed members of my husband’s family.
After we picked the size of the stone, and the color of the granite….this was what we were given. Sheets of paper with literally thousands of designs that were printed so small, even reading glasses and a magnifying glass barely helped us make them out.
I believe the husband chose a lighthouse for one…. but it could as easily have been a beer keg.
Time will tell.
Danger Will Robinson!
If you’ve never experienced a browntail moth rash you haven’t lived a full life. Imagine mixing poison ivy with fire ants and chicken pox…. and you might come close.
These little bastards have moved into Maine and are stripping our trees bare. And if you happen to brush up against one of them? Hang on, because you’ll attempt to rip the skin off your bones within 12 hours. Nothing stops the itch except a spray that comes in a one ounce bottle sold by one hospital in the state for $65 per. Insurance won’t cover it and you need a doctor’s prescription to purchase it.
I get the rash at least 3 times a year.
Good times.
And finally, if you’ve been wondering what people are doing to keep busy during the pandemic… or how they’re spending their stimulus money?
