Impure Thoughts

So I'm painting the living room today which is really like walking in quicksand. The more you thrash about, the deeper you sink in. You eventually suffocate in the stuff and my breathing has been a little shallow lately to tell the truth.

The living room is the ideal project. It's way off the priority list, kitchen and bathroom should be first but like the first guy at the Hindenburg crash site said: "Pick that pencil up will you? Somebody might stub a toe."

Which is to say that in the face of abject disasters, you tend to gravitate to the manageable.

Hence, re-painting the living room instead of ripping out tubs, up floors and sketching out cabinetry solutions that will ensure I no longer have to store cereal next to dry cat food. Look for the blog posting that sounds like me steam cleaning out my mouth. Coming soon!

But painting calls for prepping and prepping calls for fixing and fixing calls for measuring if ANYTHING in this house is plumb to the general axis of Mars' orbit. Answer: No. So we pull off the window casement that is held in place by friction and hope. Re cut the miters and nail it in place properly and counter sink the nails and putty the counter sinks and then tape off the windows and remove the light switch cover to reveal Edison himself left you a little note here that says: "Wasn't sure of this. Hope it works."

So its off to the basement to look for the logical circuit that turns that off and find out that a plug in the living room is on the same circuit as the hot water heater and/or the garage door opener.

Then there are other incidentals. Like the cat ensuring that the wall to wall in the second bedroom gets torn up a lot sooner than I had planned on. That or Home Despot better have the pet stain shampoo I left for the owners of my old new place when I moved to my new old place.

I finally get to painting and am casually looking out the living room window instead of watching where I am slobbering the next cut in and SHE walks by!

Holy freaking shit where did SHE come from? Never seen HER before but suddenly things are looking up!

Long, tan legs propelling a helluva nice frame with a head of semi curly long brunette locks in place accompanying two little kids and my repeating mantra is "please let it be the babysitter please let it be the babysitter please let it be the babysitter."

She stops, with the kids, right outside the house (thank you God!) and starts talking to someone. I hear snippets: "We're (she's talking about the kids and no one else, I am in deep rationalization) right up the hill at 170." I'm eight numbers off and wonder if anybody still moves houses whole.

Ok, she's just talking about the kids. They look well enough behaved and children need a LOT of rest so it's off to bed little ones! No, don't mind that it's three in the afternoon, you'll thank me as teenagers! Keep looking, carefully. If someone catches you pretend you always wash windows with your tongue. There's no ring on...the WRONG hand. There's a fat gold band on the right hand. Damn! What have I done wrong? Well nothing yet but the imagination fantasy gear is in overdrive and I'm almost passing out and falling off the ladder.

Nothing to be done except enjoy her occasional walk-bys and pray for a hot Indian summer.

Then it gets worse. A couple of hours later she's back. Pushing the kid in some sort of wheeled perambulating thing and hubby's along pushing the other kid. And other kid is screaming bloody murder so they both stop out front (Go ahead, tempt me! Oh, you just did. Never mind.) and hubby goes "Want daddy to push?" and I go "No I want daddy to have a coronary."

Pardon me sir, try these pork rinds? They're freshly fried.

Can I light your Marlboro?

This can't go on. I'm painting out the windows. If blackout shades were good enought for England in '41, they're good enough for me!

What's a bunny to do?