Wanky Poofers

OK, so it wasn’t the end. Yet. Read on. If you dare……

More Tales From the Semi-valueless Cabin of Mystery

So Dweebert and I went back up to the cabin. I took a couple of mental health days off work and we went up on Wednesday afternoon. Go figure. How will that improve my mental health? We were looking forward to a couple of productive days of work. Go figure. You’d think we have enough experience with The Way Things Are, by now.

We wanted to work on the bathroom, and bedroom. I was hoping to finish something. I decided on the hall. We think small. More on this later.

The traffic was just as bad at 2:30 as it is any other time. There appears to be no good time to drive on 580 through Livermore, or 205 through Tracy….. Duh! And traffic in those places sucks, too.

One of the best parts of the drive up is the magpies on Liberty Rd. If you are lucky and you have lived right, you might see a pair of magpies near Kennefick Rd. You probably won’t. They don’t show themselves that often. Besides, it’s not something one sees every day. Neither magpies nor Kennefick Rd.

Dweebert says “nyther”. I say “neether”. He says “eyther”, too. Tih. Poofy wanker. That’s another thing I have against him. That and his interest in boy bands. Is DePeche Mode a boy band?

Well, I digress.. A stop off at the Home Depot in Stockton and various other slow-ups (like Dweebert insisting on driving like a slug) got us there in 4 hours. Fortunately, I was able to convince him to forget a stop in Jackson to the Dollar Tree, and the Cost Less.

We eventually stopped at the Cost Less on the return trip to buy cases of Crane Lake Cellars wine @2fitty a bottle. I usually don’t go for the good stuff, but it seemed a good deal after seeing the same thing at the Buckhorn for 3. That’s a substantial savings. They got meat there too. I wanted to buy a 30 lb. package of ribs there for $22, but couldn’t figure out how to keep it cold. Next time it snows while I’m up there, boy, the pork ribs are comin’ back packed in snow.

I digress again. So we’re finally there. I walk in and think the same thought I always think when entering the place. “What a dump.” Seems that we got up there too late to work. Nothing for it but to Drink Wisky and Eat Wheat Thins. This is not in itself a bad thing. However, it tends to slow the productivity somewhat.

Next day we rise and shine. Dweebert makes coffee and oatmeal. He makes me eat some. Feh. No brown sugar? The coffee goes down like buttah, though. Then to work.

Ha! I attack the unglued-in drain pipe. I gets in my “Phil” overalls and climbs under the house like I’m not even dreading it. I have avoided this moment for months. I slide under, pulling myself along by the drainpipe. I surprise a couple of colorful salamanders under a sheet of tattered plastic I lift to check for wetness. They give me baleful looks. I leave them to whatever they were doing. I suspect, from the looks on their faces, they were probably making baby salamanders.

The space under the house goes from tight to tighter. I begin to sweat. I know I will drop the trouble light and be pitched into darkness. Finally, I squeeze myself under a big stringer and there it is: the shower drain trap. I am filled with trepidation. How will I manage to get this thing glued together straight, when I can barely reach it, and can’t see it that good? Then I discover that I am a genius. I have no memory, but I am a genius!

I have already glued the hard parts together! I did it all from the top, while it was opened up, and promptly forgot. The only part not glued in is a piece of cake! Alls I have to do is cut it to its proper length and glue it in.

This only requires scrambling in and out from under the house a half dozen times. Finally, it’s glued and Dweebert turns on the shower. No leaky. I tell him to fill the dishpan and pour that down. It’s almost as dry as I like my martini’s. It’s practically desiccated. I wave goodby to the salamanders and slide out hardly worse for wear. We are in bidniss! We can take nice hot shawrs! INDOORS! Whoo-hoo!

I am way ahead of schedule. I suddenly realize that if I don’t play it right, Dweeb will make me do his work, which he’s way behind on. And there’s a half a box of wheat thins and a pint of wisky left. I strip off the overalls and head for the deck…..

No dice.

“Aren’t you going to do the ‘Nam-style knock-down in the bedroom?” drawls a voice.

Poop! Busted. Slowly I turn, and make a sudden break for the front door. Dweebert is quicker. He raises his phaser, set to stun, and blasts me where I stand. He shoots me full of some sort of hypno-tranquilizer and turns me into a zombie. He makes me do his work for the rest of the time. And he makes me sleep in the loft where I probably get fiberglass poisoning. And eat red meat all weekend, too. And watch Rocketship X-M.

By the end of the 3 days, we have the bathroom practically done (including the linen closet), the bedroom textured, primed, and painted, the bedroom closet primed and painted, and some other important stuff done, including major progress on the bathroom vanity. I also figure out, using my mind pawrs, how to install a drain for the washing machine. And they said it couldn't be done! Teh!

Of course, nothing is actually finished. There are endless finishing chores to do. This is why, once a room is livable, you never finish the detail work until you sell the house. Mashie hates that, but has learned to live with it.