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Not exactly Jericho, but the walls did come down. (Pictures coming soon)

June 21, 2011

Let me start this story by explaining The Kim Phases of Home Improvement. See, first I try the easy thing. That inevitably fails and I try the slightly more involved but still not that bad method. Then THAT fails, so I do the ridiculously hard, expensive, and time consuming thing. I have these phases in 99% of my home improvement adventures. I guess that’s why they are, “adventures,” and not, “morally superior stories of success.”

First, I wanted to paint the walls. Easy, right? No. That meant sanding the walls down because slapping another coat of paint onto 6 layers of gloppy, dimpled, gouged paint did not appeal to me. Hours, one cramped arm, and barely any progress later, I decided sanding was not going to work. This paint was made of bullets, I swear it.

After failing with the sander, I decided to use heat to strip the many layers of paint, which is why I know there were 6 layers of paint. It was actually kind of interesting to see the flakey layers of paint peeling off, like so much toxic phyllo dough. Sadly, I hit a big papery swatch in the wall that could not be peeled, scraped, or prayed off. Also, I burned myself a lot. Ever have a large strip of melting paint fall on your bare foot? Ever learn really fucking fast to put some damn shoes on?

Underneath that ugly paint was...much more ugly paint.

The decision to demo the walls came after talking to my friend Roger, who made an offhand remark along the lines of, “Man, I’d just put in new walls, LOLOL.” And with that, the seed was sown. Not just sown, it was a weed that took off and strangled all the other ideas I could have had, and I made Roger pinky swear to help me put up new drywall. He’s a good friend, which means he knows I will actually break his pinky.

Before getting to put up new walls, some old ones had to come down. This is where the fun and back breaking starts. I punched out a piece of drywall where the mirror used to be, to see what the deal was behind it (and to find out if there are corpses hidden in the walls because I don’t think Home Depot sells tools for dealing with that.) I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, except for the fact that insulation? There is none! This explains my back up alarm clock, aka, hearing my neighbor hocking loogies on the hour.

So, I may have jumped the gun at this point and went out and bought a big roll of insulation. You’ll be happy to know that the Pink Panther is still a spokes model. Remember when he used to sell insurance? Anyway, I lugged this big ass roll home, continued demolishing, and found out that I managed to spot check the ONE small square that did not have insulation. Facepalm. In related news, I am now open to suggestions as to what I can do with 30’ of extra insulation. Right now I’m leaning towards, “Add it to my hoard, keep it for 20 years, have a fight on reality TV when a loved one tries to get me to part with it.”

You may have gathered by now that I utterly loathe my bathroom. No? Let me make it clear: I fucking hate my bathroom. Going in there is how I imagine downtrodden, abused, hoping for the sweet release of death sweat shop workers feel going to labor for 21 hours in their airless factory. Except they get paid. So I hate it even more, because I’ve spent actual money that I have earned for the privilege of working a full time manual job on top of my mind-numbing but not manual full time job. I hate my bathroom. I hate my goddamn motherfucking piece of shit asshole tits bastard bathroom. I do. I hate it. [Note: I have removed a page and a half of “hate hate hate” to make this entry slightly more readable. You’re welcome.] Hate.

With the hate (hate hate hate) in mind, you can probably imagine how well demolition went. I’m serious. I swung my beautiful new hammer (three pounds of shining justice, right there) like motherfucking Thor on crack AND PCP, and I swear my arm never got tired. I wished I had MORE bathroom to destroy. There may have been maniacal laughter ala Baron Harkonnen when the tooth didn’t kill him. I don’t feel a need to explain that reference because it’s awesome.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH MUAHAHAHAHAHA! FUCK YOU!

All too soon, as with all good things, demolition came to an end. Which left me with roughly 4,000 pounds of debris to haul away (I used science to estimate). And 6 very large, very awkward, very heavy panels of new drywall to lug up three flights of steps. Thanks, delivery guy. Always looking on the bright side, I decided to consider the stair climbing “cardio” and skipped the gym. I did have help, Jeff came by to help bring up the new stuff, and muscle down the old stuff.

All in all, demo was a good two days of much needed catharsis, both to get over the nightmare of the floor and to sustain me through putting up the new drywall.

Already an improvement

(Still kind of wish I had more bathroom to destroy.)

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From → Bathroom

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