We have a toilet! When demolition started three weeks ago today, the toilet was the first thing to go, which then  presented a problem when we had to go. Seeing that nasty old thing ripped out and sent away was pretty heartwarming, but its absence over the last couple weekends means that our renovation party has seen its fair share of the Home Depot bathroom, a facility one would be hard pressed to describe as sanitary.  It only took me two squeamish visits to opt, instead, for the facilities at our local McDonald’s -  a mite cleaner and a visit there always ends in soft serve. After a good hand-washing, of course.

But now! Now we have our very own toilet! A toilet I didn’t even notice until I’d been at the house for a couple hours. I’d inspected the taping and mudding on the walls and the new door frame but because I’d been so used to a gaping whole where the crapper once was, I missed the glorious addition entirely. What a happy discovery (happier once I remember to bring some toilet paper).

Tonight, I buy doors… because the doors decided to join the guest bedroom walls in spontaneously shedding their latex paint. Look, I don’t know who painted those doors or the bedroom walls and whether or not it was the previous owners. It could be a coincidence of timing, but I’ll admit I find it very suspect that we have our first hot, humid day and bam! it’s like a molting effing paint snake at our house. IF the previous owners painted as a quick fix for the sale, and they did it incorrectly (as evidence by the peeling), I can’t help but feel immensely disappointed.  As a contractor, he would know better. Period. And yes, I bought the house from a coworker – and then quit. We don’t interact at all.  Which is good because I am fuming and when fuming, deliver one mean stink eye.

Up next: tub refinishing, floor refinishing and – pending carpenter quote – banquette seating for the dining room. T-minus two weeks and two days til move in.

Last night, I showed up at the house to sand the final room in preparation for painting this weekend. What will eventually be our shared office was, in its previous life, the master bedroom. The purple master bedroom. The most common question I get when I show friends and family around the house has to do with the status of the previous homeowner’s… uh, man bits. That a grown ass man went to sleep every night in a seven year old’s My Little Pony dream room either says that he really loved his wife (who, clearly, loved purple) or he simply didn’t notice.

Anyway, when I got there, I walked through the house cleaning up the assorted painting supplies that were strewn about and when I passed by the guest room I noticed that SURPRISE! the paint was peeling off the walls. Paint. Peeling off. The walls. Oh, man, I sure do love surprises! This whole time, I’d been thinking that the guest room would be a breeze. A breeze! A lovely Caribbean breeze! Not some dirty, downwind of the dumpster breeze. As the only room with the original paneling intact, the walls we a far sight cleaner than the rest. But joy of joys, they were painted with latex paint over years of oil paint, either to test of my fortitude or because some really just didn’t know how freaking foolish that is.

Just how freaking foolish is it? Really freaking foolish.

Now I don full body armor and a mask and I scrape. Because I’ve been left with no choice. Most of the offending paint peels off in long, rubbery strips. But let’s not kid ourselves into thinking the whole thing will work that way. Tonight will be interesting.

Did I mention that we have  to be done by Tuesday? As in, one week from today? Oh ha ha,  yeah. On Tuesday, the floor guys start sanding the every lovin’ crap out of the lovely hardwood that apparently doubled as a dog toilet for many moons. Those floors are going to be glorious when they’re done. At some point I’ll probably roll around on them naked just to commemorate said glory.  In the meantime, though, I’ve sort of hit this cement wall. And the more I tell myself, “Keep going! You’re almost there!” the closer I come to a persistent vegetative state. I’m worn out (to the point I feel sad instead of tired). But also, it turns out, stubborn. So full steam ahead.

Ahem. If you’re handy with either a small electric sander or a putty knife, PARTY AT MY PLACE! Tonight. 7PM. Who’s with me?

Woke up this morning to an email from Google telling me my AdSense account had been terminated for invalid clicks and that any money I’d earned was being refunded to advertisers.

Well, that’s not good.

They don’t explain why, and per their Terms and Conditions they don’t have to. The strange thing is, over the last several weeks (content updates have been few and far between because someone decided to up and buy a house and take up residence at the Home Depot) ad clicks were way, way down. I mean, like fewer than half of the months before. So, I’m confused. Were all four of yesterday’s ad clicks invalid?

I’m also confused as to how I could have controlled invalid clicking, a task which their messaging seems to suggest I was in charge of. For as much as I’m a part of ye olde Interwebs, I still don’t actually understand a lot of it. Bots. Spiders. Whatever.

Anyhoo. I guess I can appeal, but the kicker is, how to appeal something I don’t understand? So. Looks like we’re rolling ad free – and I’m off to plan a bake sale. If only I were any good at baking.

Know what happens tomorrow morning? I get tile in my bathroom, that’s what!

Oh, it’s funny the things that get me all riled up with excitement these days. Or pathetic. Maybe even really pathetic. But the tile is awful purdy. I do know you’re all probably just leeetle bit tired of the house renovation talk by now, but it’s all I’ve got, so let’s roll with it.

When we decided to gut the bathroom (it was hardly a choice, but we can talk about that when we get all Before & After in a few weeks), I was darn sure about two things:

One, I was keeping the bathtub. Part it had to do with this guilt I have with new things. It’s why I wanted an older home over new construction. Reuse, reuse, reuse. Refinishing a tub doesn’t save a whole lot of money over buying a new one at the Home Depot, and maybe it’s just as rough on Mother Nature as the production of a new fiberglass jobby, but it made me feel better to keep the original fixture.  Besides, a tub from the 1950s is made from cast iron and porcelain and try to get something of that quality these days and well, I’d be eating ramen noodles and honeymooning in the back yard.

Two, I wanted to find a balance between the freshness of a modern update while still paying homage to the age of the home. So, we chose modern things like vessel sinks in classic materials like white porcelain and modern, durable quartz Silestone counter tops  in a delicate gray and white color (think, Carrera marble like). The 3/4″ inch hexagonal tile on the floors might just be my favorite though – and I’ve only seen it in the box.

Once we chose the look of the bathroom, we went bargain hunting. God bless the interwebs for that. Warehouses, remnants, floor samples – you name it, we went for it. It’s entirely possible to get good, quality products without paying what everyone thinks you should pay. You just have to put in a lot of time and keep a big, bad spreadsheet. It helps, too, when you have some dude at one of the Big Stores call you up to “unofficially” clue you in to upcoming promotions.

Yeah, that guy’s going on my Christmas card list.

Although I don’t know what we would have done without the Boy’s parents over the last week or two, I do know what we wouldn’t have done. The hours and hours of work I’d already put in at the house were eclipsed in a few hours with two extra sets of hands and volumes of home improvement know-how.

In the last week:

The bathroom has been gutted and re-floored (and two rotten floor joists) replaced. The walls of the utility room, kitchen and living areas have all been sanded (we’ll get to that later) and there is a first coat of paint on them, ceiling fans and light fixtures installed. One door jamb and two sets of door frames have been torn down and replaced. The doghouse and fifty-year-old rust pole (er, clothes line) have been demolished and the yard mowed and trimmed. The kitchen and utility room floors have been steamed and the grout sealed. The attic fan has been removed and the ceiling repaired. A new attic entrance has been framed. The garage has been gutted and power washed. The windows (and screens), brick and siding have been washed. Pansies have been potted and added to the front porch next to a bench that was refinished (spray paint!), just beneath the also newly refinished mailbox (more spray paint!).

Next up: bathroom cabinet, tile and a painting frenzy.

The wall sanding thing, which I stubbornly insisted would be done prior to priming and painting, did not go over well with anybody.  The standard, “You don’t need to do that,” was almost always followed by a head shake. “You’ll never get them the way you want them.” Okay, so you might not know this about me yet, but from the minute you tell me I won’t be able to do something, I’m busy figuring out how to prove you wrong. Not that I was asking anyone to do it for me – if no one else wanted to play along, I’d have Little Red Henned that shit in a second if I had to. It was getting done and that was all there was to it. Years and years of inconsistent texturing and gloppy paint made the house look its age – not to mention all the years of bad smells and dirt that it trapped. In the end, my almost-mother-in-law and I got down and dirty with some hand sanders and holy cow, the result is nothing short of glorious! A coat of primer and just one coat of paint and it’s a whole new place. Our place!

Watch out, baseboards. I’m coming for you.