Crack House

If you looked in my front window you would think that my house was a crack house. Not that I know what a crack house looks like on the inside (or the outside for that matter), but the state that my living room is in is what I would think one would look like. I actually know very little about crack. I’ve never seen it and certainly have never smoked it or injected it or stuck it up my butt or whatever they do to get it in their system. I know as much about crack as I do about babies and women – absolutely nothing.

My mattress bed is right in the middle of my living room. My box spring is leaning up against one of the walls. My bedding and comforters are in a heap on one of the chairs. And yes I did say comforters (plural) as two keep you quite warm when the house is 55 degrees in the winter time (which might be close to crack house temperatures).

I had to take Thursday off because the Renter kept me up all night on Wednesday puking everywhere. And I mean everywhere. You’d think those Asian people would be able to eat pretty much anything and not get sick since they should be used to eating dog and cat on a regular basis but I guess not. I tried to stay awake for most of it incase she needed a ride to the hospital. I maybe got three hours of sleep so I was in no condition to go to work and be productive. So I called in to work and took a personal day and went back to bed. I woke up around 1:00 in the afternoon feeling quite refreshed.

Two walls in my bedroom have wood paneling on them. I don’t really like the look and parts of it is falling off in places. So, since I was feeling refreshed, I started pulling the shit off with my bare hands (because it sounds manly when you say “bare hands”). I moved the bed to the middle of the floor and just started ripping away. Some parts near the ceiling or floor were a little tough since they had molding holding it on. In 15 minutes I had completely de-paneled my room. The walls behind the paneling looked like they were in pretty good shape. It will need a little touching up where all the nail holes are but it shouldn’t be too bad.

I got the still ailing Renter to go to Menards (like Home Depot) with me to help me pick out some paint. She threw so many different shades of blue in front of my face that they all started to look the same. Picking out a color of paint for your bedroom is kind of a permanent thing and is not easily accomplished when you have a fear of commitment. The Renter eventually got fed up and walked away. I browsed around a little bit more but then decided to go and find her since we had taken her car and I wouldn’t put it past her to hop in the car and leave me there. I tracked her down and got yelled at again for still not having anything picked out. Then we found some displays that had rooms pretty much color coded with wall, ceiling, and trim colors. I grabbed four cans of paint, gave it to the cute chick who was doing the mixing and ten minutes later I was walking out the door.

Back at the ranch I managed to work up quite the sweat while trying to move crap out of my room. (I’m starting to wonder which I mention more, sweating or masturbating). I dragged the mattress out to the living room. I leaned the box spring up against one of the living room walls. I hauled a bookcase out to the kitchen. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but that’s about all I did to work myself into a sweaty fit of huffing and puffing. After regaining my composure I started pulling out nails that didn’t come out with the paneling. And I found out why they didn’t come out with the paneling. I had to use all my strength on some of them. The ones at waist height weren’t hard at all, pretty much like doing a seated row in the weight room. But holy fuck did it get hard for the ones right up by the ceiling. Arms fully extended and the wrench in my hand (some didn’t come out using the hammer), I pulled and twisted and groaned till every last one came out. If I had been a short Asian person standing on a chair doing this I would have fallen off numerous times.

Once again I was sweating and panting like a black dog sitting in the sun. The Renter asked me what was next and I said that was it. I’m sure she could see the look of defeat in my eyes.

This weekend will be fun. I’ve never painted a room before. And it’s supposed to be nice out this weekend which means it’s going to be hot in my room. When I’m hot I get angry, mean, foul, and even worse, I don’t feel like masturbating. So it’s official: I will be sweating more than I will be masturbating this weekend.