home repair … kill me now, tiny dancer … a redux …

seeing as it’s holiday time ‘round here, and i haven’t been posting regularly, i thought i’d dig into the archives and at least leave most of ya’ with something different to read … and seeing as tis’ the season o’ the home reno …

to anyone who is about to go through that most dreaded, yet inevitable, of all of life’s trying, expensive and mindfu&%ing events …
the home reno/repair …
so, my innocent and soon to be scarred friends …
this is for you …
(i wrote this piece some time back, and it is being reposted in it’s entirety, with my own kind and generous permission … please heed the warning peeps … lol … and good luck on that reno) …

                                       ………………………………………………..

reno gone wrong

okay, so this isn’t my usual rant …
but, seeing as i’m pretty sure that everyone is comfortably seated, i’ll begin …
and the story is “absolutely, every bloody word is true” factual …
in fact, i’m sure it was worse than this, but they’re pretty sure i’m blocking some of it out …
it did start out that way, now i think of it as more of a reflective tale of karma gone to shit …
but, here goes …
let me start by saying that, yes, i was a renter, that’s right, i was NOT a home owner at that point in my life, i was one of “those people” …
you know who i mean, you see ‘em at the bus stop, huddled outside their office smoking, doing things like coaching soccer and fixing their own shit, 10 extra pounds and aging … yup, yer’ neighbour …
you know, divorced, kids hanging out all over the place, semi-permanently, semi-pissed-off ex-wife hanging around, little apartment down the street guy, 10 extra pounds around the middle and aging, even rides the odd bus …
i know, and i’m not trying to generate sympathy here, ya’ just need to get the whole picture …
i guess i figure if just one young lad or lass can be spared the misery that is known as the “new bathroom outfitting” by this tale, ( i shoulda been scared right there ) then my life will be somehow more “complete” and i will feel that i have mattered and that this time will have been well spent as i exit this mortal fu*&in’ coil …
i know, i should get a puppy or something … but have ya’ seen the prices for a good neutering, or a “doggie daycare” or “puppy – chemo”, alas, i digress …
anyways, my saga …

so let’s journey back through the old time machine …
that fuzzy, scary, fading and somewhat “alzheimered” cloud o’ haze that i like to call my memories …
it began while standing naked in my shower one a.m., a long, long while ago …
(and oh, so alone i might add … sigh … lol )
trying like hell to shake the feeling that something evil had come my way whilst i slept and had deposited some kind of vile and unidentifiable remains in my mouth ….
brain felt about the same …
you know, monday morning …
staring at the tiles in front of me …
i find myself staring like an 18 yr. old boy who’s just been told that “no, you WON’T pay for him to take a few weeks off school and go to some ski resort with his friends” to “have the experience of his life” …
sort of like a deer, just exactly that moment before his ass becomes your necklace on a dark mountain road late at night …
looking blankly at the tile before me … gettin pissed …
ya’ see, i had this funky ( re: “dumpy, old and dusty” ) apartment in a semi yuppie, semi “funky” neighbourhood that was close to my kids and all that i needed …
it was a U shaped building, and all my friends said it looked exactly like melrose place without the pool, but i never did see that one, so, i gotta trust ‘em that it’s true …
it was a great place in many ways …
the neighbours were great, we had drunk nurses in the front yard, several beautiful and plentiful apple trees in the back, and music and frivolity everywhere …
everybody liked and looked out for everybody …
it was absolutely perfect …
for me, and the kids …
the nurses were even great with kids …
all great …
except that for the 3 – 4 years that i have lived in said “funky” apartment, the bathroom has been in what i like to call a “fu*&in’ mess” state o’ affairs …
the sink is from the boer war, the toilet older, and the tub is a lovely fu*&in’ shade of green the kids affectionately call “flu – snot green”
matched my fridge, stove and “never-used, cos’ it never fu*&in’ worked” dishwasher, so hey, all was good, we told everyone “it’s retro” and they never laughed too loudly, so …
again, the digression … bear with me kiddies, this story may just save a life …
at least that of your contractor, and yer’ kids will be better off too with a daddy or mommy that isn’t serving 20 – life for murder at the local, government funded “les’ buggery hotel”…
but as i said, that’s all good …

i was a man of great peace and calm …
i had a great job that i loved …
i even had the biggest fu*&in’ t.v. that ya’ ever saw to watch my news and hockey on …
all good …
what i was now losing my mind, and all that calm and peace over, was the tiles before me …
let me digress a sec …
when i had taken my first shower in my “funky” little apartment, oh so many wonderful days before, i had noticed that the wall where the shower head was had seemingly given way and was basically being held up by the weight of the tiles and 4000 year old grout …
so, i did what every renter holds up as his or her inalienable “renter’s right” and called up the landlord and said, “dood, i need ya’ to fix my wall so it don’t fall down” …
and the lying, self-serving, money-grubbing, but otherwise okay, fat bastard did what every great landlord in america does …
he promised he’d be “right over and fix that damn thing up …
just like new” …
so, i did what every renter throughout the annals ( or in case of this story, anals ) of apartment owner / renter history did … i bought the prevaricating prick’s story …
NOTE: the asshole sold the building 2 years later …
and the fu*&in’ wall still wasn’t fixed …
by then i had taken that really sticky, clear packing tape and taped every fu*&in’ seem of every fu*&in’ tile on that fu*&in’ wall, and the only thing that’s holding up the piece o’ shit wall is the tape and the fact that NO -ONE is allowed to touch it…
i mean, i hafta clean the thing like i’m washing some kind of god-damned ming vase or the pope’s dick or something so it doesn’t fall down and leave me standing somewhere behind above mentioned flu-snot-green dishwasher …
i have by this point declared war on the new owners ( by now owner # 3 ) for not doing this repair, and they are avoiding me like i had some kind of communicable disease AND a gun …
and when i do occasionally manage to corner the snivelling, lying, cheap rat-bastards and ask about my “fu&^in’ wall” they just smile a lot and wanna talk about the good old days … “
yeah, like, remember the old days dood? …
high school, chicks, beer, pot and long hair? …”
“the allman brothers and sayin’ peace ‘n’ shit, man?? ..
ya’ know what a-hole? …
“SHUT THE HELL UP!!!
FIX MY FU*&IN” WALL!!!”
like i knew these dumb f*&s, or woulda’ ever hung out with them in the old days …
or any other bloody days for that matter …
just shut up and get it done …
nope …
months go by, then winter passes …
then …
some more months …

so, back to standing naked, dazed and pissed off in my shower …
as my rage against the tiles grows, i suddenly see the answer …
it has been staring me in the face forever …
( i know i coulda moved, but baby, this was and had been for a while, a mission ) …
i’m gettin’ me a god-damned wall …and that’s that baby! …
last man standing’ shit ya’ know? …
the solution is simple …
so without thinking ( a key point to remember here folks ) …
i lean on the wall …
not too hard, cos’ hey i’ve not been able to figure out how to extricate my dumb ass from behind the dish-washer ( yup, flu-snot green ) … just hard enough that i hear a very loud bang , and somehow i instinctively know that now ALL that is holding up my wall is the tape, and that’s it …
i step my naked ass back a step and survey my work …
it’s a beautiful thing… the wall now has a nice “rounded” effect that it never had before
( i’m telling ya’, one and all, get yourself a roll or two of that freakin’ tape, it is amazing
shit …)
now they gotta fix my wall …
just to make sure though , i give it a good bitch-slap right above the taps …
i hear another bang! …
again, great tape …
so i truck on out to the phone, wet and naked as a priest in a confessional on boy scout appreciation day, and i call the above mentioned landlord-owners …
“dood, i need ya’ to fix my wall so it don’t fall down” …
and the lying, self-serving, money-grubbing, prick-bastards did what every great landlord in america does … hmmm …
some deja vu …
they promised they’d be “right over and fix that damn thing up, just like new” …

much time passes … ( insert sad, lonely, yet manic soundtrack music here )

FINALLY, and i mean finally, the deal is set up …
( running count for those who care: 3 owners, multiple property management companies, 3 or 4 thousands screaming matches in the courtyard, and a little over 9,750 “fu*k youz!”)
oh yeah!!!!!!
they are going to send a crew in 2 days who is not only going to fix my wall,
but, da-daaaaa!!!,
i’m getting a new toilet!!!! … and a freakin’ tub-surround!!!
wow, fu&k me mabel! …
what good and deserve-ed fortune i have stumbled upon …
(notice i get to keep my boer-war / half-size / flu-snot green vanity and sink, oh well) …
oh, good deity of your choice, can it get better than this? …
i don’t bloody think so …

so …
about 3 weeks later …
the crew arrives, and i’m just so bloody glad to see them that i welcome them happily into my home, and thank them for coming so much that i’m about ready to bake these two a cake …
and it fu*&in’ begins …
the “crew” is a pair of “old buddies of the landlords” …
oh great …
but, how bad can it be, right? …
and, they’re a married couple, just two old hippies who now ride harleys and really big ski-doos in their spare time, and they seem charming …
seem …
he’s a giant bear of a man, with a great freakin’ beard and a belly that made it seem as though it had been many, many, many years since he had seen his own penis …
but lovely …
and she is what those who are and those who admire, call a BBW …
in her own way … maybe …
but … like her mountain of a man hubby, lovely …
and they assure me that this will, at most take a day or two to complete, and that they, like any good and aging hippies, are “craftsmen”, fine and caring purveyors of their craft …
therefore, what a “friggin’ be-a-u-tee-ful job imma gonna git” …
i can’t wait …
and they notice that i have my phones and laptops and work sh*t all lined up on the table, and absolutely guarantee that they’ll get it all done so quiet that i’ll be able to work, unbothered …
i won’t even know they are there …
so, off to the bathroom they go …
to work …
and off to my front room i go …
to work …
had i known what was about to transpire, i would shot them both right then, disposed of the bodies out back under the apple trees and done the sh*t myself …
done …
but no …
not me …
off to get some work done …

i grab a pop … and two more i might add for my new friends, the “craftsmen” …
slam a couple o’ cokes their way, fire up the laptop, fire up some tunes, because i have learned in my earlier lives as a “renter”, ALL repair guy-tradesman LOVE some music to work to …
who the hell don’t? …
they must be happy i think, they are already gleefully banging and smashing away …
so much, for the “quiet as a field mouse” shit, but hey, the job is “underfugginway” …
so, i turn up the music. log on to my job, have a sip o’ coke classic,
and less than a minute later there is a very big girl in my front room, swaying back and forth as only a very large, non-rhythmic white woman can …
you know, the only place she’s actually bending is at the ankles, but…
she’s groovin’ baby …
eyes half-closed, s state of semi-orgasmic rapture on her face …
( may have been stupor looking back on it, but, at this point … the job is “underfugginway” )
i’m not sure what to make of this but, like i said, they seemed nice and at least hubby is still gleefully destroying my bathroom …
phase one of my “be-a-u-tee-ful job” …
after about 30 seconds, it just felt like days …
she opens her eyes and sez “this is cool music, got any allman bothers?” …
now don’t misunderstand, normally i’m rolling out the live at the fillmore set or a little
ramblin’ man, and in the old days, i mighta even tossed a chilm-hit or two for the workers …
but, they been workin’ like ten minutes or less and i’m already scared …
so, i say “nope, sorry, no allmans”, look back at my computer and she “boogies” off to do some scraping or something …
a half hour goes by, and my cell phone rings …
as i reach for it, she runs out to see if it’s her phone, gets distracted, and we’re off and freaking swaying again … still liking the cd i guess …
i answer my phone, say hold on one sec to the caller, and tell her it’s biz and i really need the room to myself … “sorry” she sez …
i think, oh good, she IS nice …
and take my call …
now i better explain something, my phones rang continuously in those days … part of the job. …
please, make note of this as it will explain both the homicidal AND suicidal urges that were soon to overwhelm me (although to be truthful, i’m pretty sure it would have been more than likely deemed to have been a “multiple-murder-suicide” by the coroner, for legal AND insurance purposes) …
i found out later that the owners didn’t even have proper insurance on the place anyways, but i’ll save that sh*t for when the legal gag orders run out and i’m allowed back on the property …
i digress …
so…
back to work for the dancin’ fool and i …
EVERY TIME my phone rang she ran out to see if it was hers, got distracted by the music, and started swaying …
EVERY FU*&IN” TIME!
for the next several weeks …
yeah …
you read that correctly …
several WEEKS …
and every time my land line goes, HE yells from the bathroom, “is that for me? …
i left your number with some people” …
EVERY TIME …
FOR SEVERAL WEEKS …
what the fu*k are you thinkin’ buddy? …
giving out MY number …
and who the fu*k is ‘sposed to be callin’?
yer “buddies” ? …
yer “clients”? …
wtf!?
are ya’ scared one of yer clients might need some weed at 9 in the fuggin’ a.m.? …
jesus h. christ! …
but, as i said, i’m a guy who likes to try and let things go …
plus, i got tons of work to do …
so …
back to work …

even with all the swaying, and running out / yelling out for phones, followed by more distracted swaying and sh*t, i’m now managing to get some stuff done, and the gleeful and ever-pleasant banging and smashing goes on …
a couple hours goes by and i’m thinking some lunch might be nice, so i wander the very short distance over to my fridge and grab a sandwich i made earlier, refill my pop, and turn to head back to the front room, and there’s the swaying lady, back to me and entranced as ever, and there’s the happy giant, three feet away and staring at me …
“what ya’ got? … smells good” …
“uhh … a sandwich … would you guys like one before “we ALL get back to WORK?”
“oh yeah sounds great eh hun?” …
the large swaying object of HIS desire grunts something and he grabs a chair and plops down to wait for lunch …
aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!
we are seemingly only about 1/2 way through what i am thinking is now going to be a three or four month job, rather than a 2 – 3 day job as i was originally lead to believe …
and i’m making sandwiches and gettin’ fu*&in’ refills for the gang …
we eat lunch and all through mountain man is telling me how great my new bathroom is gonna be, what a craftsman he is and ALL about high school …
and i’m thinking “god, buddha, santa, whothefuckever, just take me now …”
but, as life would have it, MY life anyways … no luck … still alive … so, we finish eating, she requests some lynyrd skynyrd or something … i disavow any ownership of said band , say sorry and decide that tonight when they leave i need to hide anything that looks like it might be southern boogie rock …
so, back to work we go …
i put on some fusion jazz to work to …
(no white woman can dance to that …no way, it’s science baby, science ) …
everything proceeds as planned …
we’re all gettin’ some work done …
except when a phone rings or i forget to play something no human can dance to …
and the day finishes without any legal incidents …
around fivish, it looks like they’re getting wrapped up for the day, so i go wander over to the can, look in expecting to see just a few things left to do ( i mean they wrestled the bloody tub-surround down the hallway hours ago … and i KNOW i saw a toilet go by first thing this morning … i KNOW i saw my old one get tossed hours ago … oh yeah, did i mention that i’m now peeing, etc. next door in an empty suite to which i have been presented with a key … apparently it takes more than a day or two for a craftsman to replace a toilet … okay, next time i try to get me a tradesman …
instead of a craftsman …
oh good, there’s the tub surround over there, nowhere near my tub
and there’s the new toilet … sitting in the hall …
wow, slick unit … and i was right, the old one is nowhere to be seen …

a few more weeks go by, and once in a while they even drop by to spend a few hours doing
even more damage …
every time my phones ring we do the “run out, get fu*&in’ distracted by the music” cankle dance …
or my new best buddy ( must be … i’m feeding the fat f*ck ) goes “that for me man?”
no you fat, stupid fu*k, that’s for ME, not you ..
not your XXXLBBW-harley-riding-skidoo-humpin’ wife either …
and every time i reached for a drink, or reached for a bite, there they were …
“hey, what’s that? … smells good”
god, oh god, oh god (and i’m a freakin’ atheist ), take me fuggin’ now …
please, just take me …
after a few more weeks of this i could take no more, the landlord wasn’t hearing any of it, i’m
pissing in an empty suite, and so are my kids whenever they’re around …
any idea how many times 2 young boys pee in a day?
huh ?
lots i tell ya …lots!
i’ve had it …
i go by a buds place and tell him, or cried, or sobbed or something, it’s still unclear …
he listens like the incredible friend he is, says “i can help”, and gets up and walks across the room to get something …
i’m thinking “you can?????”, “wow!”
he comes back sits down and sez “here man” …
hands me a couple of doobies and says, “if it ever gets that bad, go in yer’ bedroom, have a bit of this, close yer’ eyes and let it go” …”trust me bro” …
don’t get me wrong, i have for some years known which end of a joint to light, and while it had been a long while since i had puffed the magic dragon, no biggie, i’m a freakin’ guitar player after all …
easy, got it down, no problemo …
wrong! …
VERY wrong! …
we’re weeks into dust, and swaying and cankle dancing and grazing my kitchen and general dumb-fu*k-a-hole behavior, my bathroom is STILL not functioning AT ALL, and it’s time to roll out the doobáge …
so i sneak …yup, fuggin’ sneak … into my own bedroom,
bud in hand, lighter at the ready …
and i very quietly close the door, stuff all kinds of clothes and shit under the door, open a window, very quietly as well i might add, and here’s where it gets ugly …
for me at least …
i go over into the corner of my OWN room in my OWN apartment, CROUCH DOWN, in my OWN room in my OWN apartment, and with my back to the door, huddled like a god damned thief in the night, i light above mentioned joint, inhale, and …
“what’s up man, smells good” …
these big, lazy, idiot “craftsman” are standing in MY OWN room, lookin’ at me like some kind of refugee who’s seen a KFC truck pull up …
i don’t remember much else, except that I finished the bathroom …
and it wound up lookin’ pretty good, for a “funky” place …
the boys and i enjoyed having the tub – surround and the new toilet
we moved a couple years later …
the apple trees are huge now …
we’re all better now …

i know that i may have used some inappropriate language and referred to these people in semi-derogatory ways … and that is not really my style … yeah right … lol …
i NEVER meant to denigrate ANY dumb-fu*k-a-holes out there, just these two, and i never used ANY names, so there …
also, i happen to quite like most BBWs …
not contractors though … err … “craftsmen” …
anyone want some apple pie?

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