Author: DmentD

Kitchen Sink.

DmentD

So, the right side of my double sink in the kitchen was leaking a bit from round the drain flange where the drain met the sink.  No problem.  That’s just a matter of replacing the crusty plumber’s putty that’s dried out and lost it’s elasticity, causing a little leak.

Removed the giant nut that holds it on and pulled the drain out.  Pulled the nut out from under the sink, looked at what I had, and cursed every landlord that ever just “made do” with a rental property (this house was a rental before I bought it).  Have a look.

Broken Sink

The nut was cracked (and not from me removing it), and the jackasses just packed the area around the nut with plumber’s putty to stop any leaks that sprung up.  Had to schlep my way to Home Depot at eight o’clock at night and buy a whole new sink drain and nut assembly, because they don’t sell just the nut.

*mumblegrumblecurse*

Stupid fucking sink.

Broken Sink

Canadian Animal.

DmentD2 Comments

Ok, I’m seeing double right now.

My favorite shows on the idiot box are mostly composed of cooking shows (Good Eats, Ace of Cakes, Iron Chef America, and an outside contender that skirts the line between food and travel show… No Reservations), Discovery Channel fun/danger shows (MythBusters, Dirty Jobs, Deadliest Catch), BBC America imports (Top Gear, The Graham Norton Show… and hoping like hell that QI makes its way across eventually), and a number of one-offs that aren’t defined by a genre.

I just picked up a new one, basically a “contractors fucked up my home, I’d like you to make it right” type show.  The host comes in and soberly, with minimal sensationalism, tears out as much of the original poor construction as necessary — pointing out where the original contractor screwed the pooch with relation to safety and code — and redoes it properly, explaining what and why he’s doing.  The show is Holmes on Homes, and the host, Mike Holmes is a sturdily built dude, with a no nonsense attitude, and a Boy Scout complex a mile wide.  He looks, sounds and behaves almost exactly like my brother, Animal, if he would have gone into construction.  It amuses me to no end.

Sweets, Celebrity And Grilling.

DmentD

Hello loyal readership (and by loyal readership, I mean my near countless minions numbering in the single digits).  So, while I do not have a trip journal to entertain you with yet, I do feel like blabbering.  So, why not?

First and foremost, the HMS Sweets has docked on our shores.  Her flights — in complete defiance of common practice — were all not only on time and effortless, but even had the audacity to arrive early in some cases.  I don’t know what we did to deserve this cosmic/karmic boon, but I sure as hell won’t be forgetting to toast DeJockamo any time soon.  I threw a “Belated Happy Birthday & Welcome Home” party in her honor the day after her arrival, complete with lots of grilled animal flesh, and a cake in the shape of a sheep.  Good food, good company, and puppies galore running around and being cute as can be.  Capped off by some homemade tiramisu ice cream (my own recipe, thankyouverymuch), the day was a success.

We then spent the following week getting her settled in: opening a US bank account, a cell phone, getting a dresser, unpacking, hanging pictures (I left them down so she could help me hang them, and contribute to decorating the house and feel like it’s her place too, not just my house that she is staying at), going to her orientation at the culinary academy, birthday present clothes shopping (for Texas-heat appropriate apparel), and other such things.

It’s spooky how well and easily we’ve settled into the house together, and have established a happy routine.  Mind you, this is only the second week, but so far it’s gone well.  As different as we both are, we see eye to eye on a lot of things, especially when it comes to keeping house.  She’s spent so long trying to keep her head above water — cleaning wise — in a house with three to four other housemates, that she’s developed basically the same housekeeping philosophy it took me thirty four years to evolve.  Neither of us are OC neat freaks, but we like a tidy house… and a clean and orderly kitchen especially.  Things get put away in a timely fashion, but we shun dusting unless absolutely necessary.  We keep house in such a manner that we would never be embarrassed if company stopped by unexpectedly.  So, we seem to be domestically very compatible at this point.  Check back, gentle readers, in a year.

Sweets’ first week of school is going well for her, all three days of it so far.  They’ve covered sanitary practices and health codes, temperatures and other things.  She’s covered all this in her UK courses already, but just needs to learn the Fahrenheit temps instead of the Celsius temps.  Day one, in the first few minutes alone, she charmed the pants off of her instructor for this first three week course, simply by opening her mouth and talking — her accent made the instructor nearly swoon, and now she’s telling the other instructors to just listen to Sweets talk.  I told her before she got here, that her accent is going to be key in charming and winning people over, well before her culinary talent is called to action.  Americans are predisposed to accept a smooth, posh English accent as a sign of culture, refinement and intelligence — and I’m not saying “ha, she’s going to have everyone fooled“, because she is wickedly intelligent and charming too, but that she should use our genetic weakness to make friends and contacts in the industry as it is a fantastic foot in the door.

And I must say, I have discovered a hitherto unknown fetish for cute, bespectacled women wearing a crisp, white, double-breasted chef’s jacket.

And on to thoughts that do not involve domestic bliss.

Been reading a lot of Kevin Smith’s blog My Boring Ass Life, as well as Wil Wheaton’s blog WWdN: In Exile.  It’s oddly quite comforting to know that two pop-culture icons of my generation, two moderately successful guys who occupy the limelight, are just a coupla’ normal schmoes like me.  If you remove their fame, money and notoriety — hell, in spite of their fame, money and notoriety — they lead relatively normal human lives.  They’re geeks, have everyday insecurities, do their best to hustle up work and provide a decent life for themselves and their families, get pissed off at the drive thru when their order is wrong, and basically are human to their very core.  They’re warm, decent guys, and I have an overwhelming desire to spend a few hours just sitting around and bullshitting over a few drinks with them (and Wil, I recommend PranQster Belgian Style Golden Ale).

They make my list of “celebrities” I’d like to drink with, which is composed of people who are earthy and interesting.  As a result they don’t trigger that idol-worship reflex that causes one — when in the presence of someone famous — to sweat profusely, stammer uncontrollably, say inane things and give limp, damp handshakes.  Others on that list include Fred LeBlanc of Cowboy Mouth, Douglas Adams (now a long gone chance), Chris Elliot and Bruce Campbell.  All hard working, intelligent stiffs, and not infected with a prima donna complex.

Been grilling a lot.  I’ve always liked grilling, but have had a near three year hiatus due to some blowhard bitch that killed my home in NOLA.  The staples of grilling live in my freezer — boneless skinless chicken breasts and sirloin burgers from Sam’s — but I’ve started a meat-affair with my local semi-fa-fa grocery, Central Market (think Whole Foods with only half a stick up their ass).  They offer pre-marinated fresh animal flesh of all types that walk, fly or swim.  Their chicken is divine, especially the pesto garlic marinated variety, and dear Jeebus their dry-rub seasoned fajita beef rocked my world.

Have also grilled my fair share of veggies, too, most notably corn-on-the-cob.  And while I’m a sentimental, aesthetic fool and like the notion of grilling corn in the husk, I think the best method yet is to de-husk it, brush it lightly with butter, sprinkle a bit of salt and pepper, wrap in foil and throw that on the grill over medium heat, turning it two times at five minute intervals (15 minutes total).  You still get some color on the kernels, but you preserve most all of the moisture, and the butter can seep between the kernels nicely.  Even with soaking in cold water, the husks still dry out quickly, char and catch fire.

Aaaand, that’s what I gots for now.

Insert Distraction Here.

DmentD5 Comments

Ok, some videos and such to distract you from the fact that I haven’t posted anything about my recent trip to Wales.

First Where The Hell Is Matt (2008).  The back story of the video is this:

“Matthew Harding spent 14 months visiting 42 countries in order to produce “Where the Hell is Matt?”, a four-and-a-half minute video featuring Harding (and anyone else he could rope into it) doing an incredibly silly, high-energy dance in some of the most breathtaking scenery around the world. This may be the best four minutes and twenty-eight seconds of your week.“

I happen to agree. The video made me grin like a fool for no reason — and for every reason, it just made my heart feel light, and made me happy.  I liked the song enough to actually pay for it (conceal your shocked expressions, please).  If you wanna know more about Matt and his 15 minutes of fame, you can read all about it on HIS SITE.

Second, a video that I’m sure everyone has seen, but just hit my radar today, courtesy of an email.  I present to you, the heartbreak of COOTIES.

Lastly… sometimes it’s worth watching the ORIGINAL, sincere, but unintentionally silly video, just so you can really enjoy the PARODIES, as most of the time they are FUNNIER, and more LUDICROUS.  And then someone comes along and does THIS (ignore the video, listen to the music).

More Housework And Soon To Be Travels.

DmentD

A few more pics of the ongoing housework HERE.  New shelves in the kitchen cabinets, the garage painted, and new roof pictures (by request).

All moved in, and have spent the last two weeks or so putting things away and organizing my life.  Painted the garage, made new kitchen cabinet shelves, and both of those projects not only stopped me dead in my tracks from unpacking, but were holding up any unpacking I could do in the kitchen or garage.

I keep finding things that need to be done before I can progress forward — yeah, yeah, I know, “welcome to home ownership”.  Been there once already, I know the drill.  But when your closet shelves and clothes bars are falling off the wall, it makes it a little difficult to put things away until you remedy the situation.  So now, my master closet has an all new, modern hanging and storage system.  What should have been an hour of organization turned into 8 hours of demolition and reconstruction.. and then and hour of organization.

The house is mostly unpacked, with some more organizing to do.  My goal was to get to this point before I left for my return trip to Wales this week.  Yup, heading back one more time before Sweets moves here in August.  I get to attend a wedding, and meet family so they can be convinced I’m not a sociopath… because it’s hard to detect psychopaths from their covers.  *grins*

So, I will be out of easy contact for a little bit — “out of pocket” as we say in the industry.  What a stupid phrase.

Ok, that’s all the news fit to report for now.  Will have stories to tell upon my return.

Housework.

DmentD1 Comment

After receiving several requests for pictures of the new house, I am simply going to link to the gallery I am posting pictures into as I take them.

Go HERE to see work in progress pictures of the house.  There are appropriate descriptions accompanying the pictures.

New roof is installed, and looks great.  Started painting the garage.  Kitchen cabinet refinishing is done… just need to build doors and shelves now.  The fridge was delivered and is chilling like gangbusters.  New attic ladder is installed.  Ran all new coax cable and stripped off the miles of old cable from the outside of the house.  Pre-installed rear-channel surround sound speaker wires in the attic to save trouble later, and to avoid disrupting the insulation that is going to be blown in in a few weeks.  Installed new locks and security strike-plates, and window locks.  The alarm wiring is pre-installed, and ready for the alarm company to finish up next week.

The move happens on May 24th.  That’s when the movers come and haul all the heavy, bulky, unwieldy shit from my second floor apartment and place it right where I tell them to in the new house.  This week is finding me packing boxes and moving them a truckload at a time to the new house.  My intention is to have everything in the apartment — with the exception of the big stuff — boxed and moved before Saturday.  Moving sucks donkey cocks, and if I can avoid imposing said donkey cock sucking on my friends, and avoid a HUGE push to move everything in a single day, I will.

So far, so good.

More news to come as is comes.

I Am House.

DmentD2 Comments

It’s official — my bank owns a house, and they’re gonna let me live in it.

Spent an hour signing eleventy-billion pages of paperwork.  The moment of comedy came when I was asked to sign a sheet of paper two ways for the bank that demonstrated my signature both with, and without my middle initial… and anyone who has seen my signature knows that you’d be hard pressed to make out any letters, much less the presence or absence of a middle initial.  I gave the title lady a look that said “you’ve seen the chicken scratch I used on the last hundred pages, are you being serious?“, to which she chuckled and told me to sign it the same way on both lines.

After closing, I met the seller’s agent at the house to receive the keys.  That is the first thing to get changed… the cheap-ass, made by Tonka locks on the house right now, and of particular note, the deadbolt and knob lock that are upside-down, as they are made for a door with the hinges on the other side.  New, well made door locks (Schlage), heavy-duty strike plates, window locks and a lock bar for the sliding glass door.  Then blinds, and a garage-door opener (the original one is MIA).

Bought a fridge too.  Well, ordered one.  25 cubic ft, “titanium finish” stainless steel, bottom freezer and french-door fridge, and ice maker (thank Jeebus).  To be delivered on the 10th, and it will just squeak into the space I have available.

Starting the address change dance.  Joy.

This weekend I go and start prepping the location to begin trickling things over.  Not much in the way of room painting needed, but the garage has some unpainted drywall, and frankly, could use a coating that dust and grime won’t stick to.  Also, the upper kitchen cabinets will eventually get glass-front doors, but the insides of the cabinet are nothing I want to show off, so those will need paint too, along with a few coats of poly for the cabinet fronts (the seller re-stained them, but neglected to seal them).

The new roof should get installed next week, and the following few weekends will likely hold some coax cabling work, new ductwork and a hefty dose of attic insulation.  The movers are scheduled for the 24th, and they are moving all the big crap I don’t care to carry down a flight of steps.  Everything that can be put into boxes will be transported by me during the next few weeks.

That’s all the news fit to report.  I ditched one elephant off my shoulders, so my stress is lessened by that much.  I can move forward with regard to the house, and not just sit here with my thumb up my ass.  Hopefully soon, one of the other elephants will at least reduce dramatically in size once Sweets finishes with the visa application and approval.

Stress Fractures.

DmentD6 Comments

The date to close on the house is rapidly approaching — April 30th.  So far, the stars are in alignment… the contract is a lock, the loan is a done deal (at a fairly awesome interest rate), my mortgage company deserves some sort of posthumous Medal of Honor for throwing themselves on the worst of the paperwork grenade and absorbing all the shrapnel for me.  I cut a check for my portion of the roof as a deposit (upgrading to the better roof for a fraction of the cost), and the work is a go as soon as the ink dries next Wednesday.

So why do I feel like a guitar string being tightened to the point of snapping, giving off metallic pings and tremors just before shearing?  I’m raw, I’m on edge, and my nerves feel like they’re being sandpapered.  I feel like I’m drowning at times, for want to get my head above the waves of this emotional ocean.

I’m lonely as hell.  The one person I want to spend as much time as humanly possible with is 5000+ miles, and an ocean away.  We IM, we video every so often, we talk on the phone now and again and I am comforted, elated and feel her companionship… but the second the signal is severed, I’m left alone again in my little apartment.

I can be alone, that’s something I learned about myself and am quite comfortable with.  But now that I have a such a wonderful girl in my life, I want nothing more than to be close to her, and I can’t.  At least not yet.  Yet the loneliness I feel is not from living alone, and is felt more sharply owing to the immediate stresses pressing down on me.

I have friends galore, whom I don’t get to see enough of.  Some of them are new friends, and they’re wonderful but we’re still trying to get our equilibrium with one another.  Some of them are old friends, and are the backbone of my emotional support system — they are the comfortable, well known easy chair I can turn to when times are rough, to cradle me, support me, and give me comfort when the world is crumbling down around my ears.  Except that they have problems of their own, or are soul searching and rediscovering who they are, or they are growing in a different direction, or they don’t feel like putting up with my crap any more, or I’ve done such a wonderful job of disguising my emotional state that they don’t realize anything is amiss.  So with a few notable exceptions, my comfy easy chair has left the building… I have a small cushion left, and that’s about it (and I’m thankful for that cushion, or I’d have lost my mind completely by now).

And this lack of being able to lean on my friends for a change has done nothing to improve my mindset.  I’m grouchy, irritable, and throwing off negative waves like a corpse off-gassing the stench of decay.  I’m afraid I’m wearing thin on those who have been putting up with me, including my girl who is oh-so-far away.  But still, what underlies it all is the fact that I’m bone-achingly lonely, and normally it’s not a problem except that right now it’s compounded by the fact that I’m about to lay out a huge sum of money all in one go, and that a figurative chunk of blue ice could fall from the empty sky and wreck the whole house deal.

I need some familiar company.  I don’t even want to go on at length about my problems, I just need companionship and a meal, a movie or a beer in comfortable surroundings.  I need distractions from my stresses, preferably in a small group of two or three.  I need someone to make me laugh — to release that valve on the top of my head like a pressure cooker.  Someone to engage me in a conversation that does not include “house”, “contract”, “closing” or “down payment” in it.  I have made attempts with sub-par success.  Maybe I am too good at hiding my mental state.  Maybe I’m comically lousy at it, and that’s chasing everyone off like Frankenstein’s monster smashing the door in.

But the one thing I don’t want is sympathy.  I don’t want a pat on the head and exclamations of “poor baby!”.  I’m not fishing for a pity round at the local pub.  I’m not looking for a sudden onslaught of calls and texts out of the clear blue sky looking to hang out because people read this post and suddenly feel bad for me, or guilty, or obligated — I’ll take my lonely little apartment over that any day.  In fact, I don’t know what I want, except to not feel like too little butter scraped over too much bread.