BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’ve designated this entry “Part 1” because Hell Week Part 2 begins tomorrow morning at 9 AM.

By way of making a long story semi short for those of you who have only been following the bouncing blog for a short time, back in 2003 my father passed away very unexpectedly. His estate was split between my sister and me as outlined in the will. However, a part of that estate was his house in Saint Louis which was occupied by an extended family member, and due to a handshake deal with said tenant we were unable to sell the house. Unfortunately, at the same time there was also no income whatsoever from the house due to the same handshake deal.

Never make a handshake deal. That’s all I have to say on that subject.

At any rate, eventually the extended family tenant moved out. Unfortunately, in the midst of this move the finished basement ended up flooded into oblivion making it necessary for me and 16 of my closest friends to completely gut the lower level of the house, right down to the bare cement walls.

There was plenty of other damage to the house that we had been unable to repair due to restricted access while the tenant was living there, so we have been slowly but surely working on the house getting it ready for rental. You may or may not have seen some of my tweets about yard work, cutting down trees, cleaning, repairs, etc.

Well, in recent days, if you have been following me on Facebook and/or Twitter, you have almost certainly seen me lamenting my age, physical condition, and general muscle soreness over one of the major repair projects at the inherited property we affectionately call “Hell House.”

During this I took several pics with my cell phone, and as promised I am posting a few of them here. What you will see is only about half the work we did because I forgot to photograph the trenches and drainage system we installed.

At any rate, here you have Hell Week At Hell House, Part 1 (Yes, Part 2 will be forthcoming…)

Day 1 – Tuesday 9/8 – We thought we were 20 years old again. We went at it gangbusters, as if we could do anything…

After installing new pipes, GFI outlets, outlet covers, and valves on the sump well in the front of the house we elected to begin work on the massive project of repair on the rear sump. Upon inspection it was obvious that the concrete stairs and pad needed to come out and that a new sump well needed to be dug.

(Left – My contractor buddy Steve going at the concrete pad with a jackhammer. I had already been on the stairs with a sledge.)

Day 2 – Wednesday 9/9 – Muscles we didn’t remember having were complaining. On this day we decided we were 40 years old, which was still younger than we actually are, so that’s a good thing.

Finished jackhammering out the stairs and pad, then dug hole for 20 gallon sump well. I am fairly certain that we made it all the way to New Zealand. Also dug hole on other side of retaining wall in order to connect drainage pipes to the sump.

(Right – Well installed and leveled. Wiring run set in place. Preparing to install pipes so concrete pad can be poured.)

Day 3 – Thursday 9/10 – Aches now have aches. We reached a conclusion… We were no longer 20 or even 40. We felt pretty much like we were 60. Not good, because chronologically in real life we were still younger than that.

(Left – Pad poured) We were happy campers. You can see the form set up in the 12×12 access hole for the sump well. A metal grate was set into place and recessed so that it wouldn’t be a hazard, but was installed on a lip so as to be removable for cleaning and maintenance (or eventual replacement) of the pump itself.

Day 4 – Friday 9/11 – We arrived at the house ready to work. We looked at one another and immediately knew that we had aged 20 years overnight. We were now feeling every bit of 80 years old, and moving like it too. But, there was still work to be done and we jumped into it as hard as our now ancient bodies would allow.

(Right – Other hole to New Zealand on the other side of the retaining wall)

We finished connecting all the pipes throughout the various trenches in the yard, then back filled with chat and dirt. Once the pad had cured a bit we ran a hose into the sump well and tested the operation of our handiwork – Both for satisfaction of curiosity and to be able to properly adjust the sump pump float switch. Then, we cut, assembled, and installed the stair forms. By the time that was finished it was Beer-thirty (5 PM) and we knocked off work early since it was a Friday. Still, we ended up tinkering with smaller projects that could be accomplished with a beer in one hand until much later that evening.

Day 5 – Saturday 9/12 – We were now 120 years old, and felt every bit of it. But, the end (sort of) was in sight. A buddy from KC, Duane Marshall, drove into town to help out. We mixed concrete until we couldn’t move anymore, and managed to pour the stairs.

(Left – Freshly poured stairs with forms in place)

And, what would a Brainpan Leakage entry be without an appearance by Evil Kat… Well, you see, while unloading the extra bags of concrete, Duane (who is always getting himself in trouble with E K anyway) accidentally knocked a brick off the top of the retaining wall and it plummeted into the freshly smoothed stairs just about the time Steve was standing back and inspecting his work. It was like a scene right out of the Three Stooges. Duane apologized profusely, and after all, it was just an accident. Steve took it all in stride and fixed the stairs post haste. However, we couldn’t help ourselves. We had to tell the Evil Redhead. As it happened, when we arrived back home and relayed the story to her she happened to be holding a wire coat hanger. What happened next was… Well, let’s just say that Duane ended up doing a lot of standing because he had some soreness issues when it came to sitting.

Day 6 – Sunday 9/13 – The shortest day of the job thus far, and it was a good one. Steve and I were both actually feeling like we were 50 again, which is pretty close to our actual ages. If we continue the backward trend and settle in at around 40, we’re good with that.

We removed the forms, cleaned up the stairs, and did a bit of touch up work before calling it quits for the rest of the weekend.

(Right – “Green” stairs right after removing forms and doing touch up. You can see the metal grate mentioned earlier in place on the lower pad. The landing at the top of the stairs is the original and slopes toward the yard to direct runoff away from the stairwell which is why it looks uneven. )

And there you have it… We start Hell Week 2 tomorrow with a foundation repair, and finishing on the stairs. I’ll keep you updated…

More to come…

Murv

Well, it seems I screwed up.  Nothing so bad as to warrant a beating from E K… Well, scratch that, actually. E K never really seems to need a reason to hand out beatings… But, be that as it may, I think I escaped the wrath of the Evil Redhead for this particular infraction.

Maybe…

You see, I entered the wrong date into the post scheduler for my most recent blog (Mindy, Hold The Mork…) and therefore it deployed a day early. Now, normally folks would think of this as a Christmas in August sort of thing. You know, early present and all, but that just isn’t how my luck runs. Nope. Not in the least. It seems Anastasia, (yes, that Anastasia) who is apparently taking EVIL lessons from E K, informed me that if this premature post-aculation meant she was going to have to wait an extra day in between blog entries that I had better write a “bonus blog” or she would complain to E K and then help her do bad things to me. Of course, we all know where that will lead, and my insurance carrier is ready to drop me as it is…

So, as an act of self-preservation, after spending much of the day cowering in the corner with Satan, who still can’t seem to shake this morning’s Redhead Rampage, I figured I’d better make something… errr… ummm… write something up. So, since I already had notes on hand for the continuing adventures of Karen and Mindy, I figured what the hell…

It was a Thursday. A Thursday like any other Thursday, except that Mindy had dressed down for the day and Karen was in a mood. Now, granted, Karen was always in a bit of a mood, what with wanting to shoot everyone, but she was actually a bit more surly than usual. She might have even been carrying explosives in her purse, but I wasn’t about to ask.

The conversation had been raging on about blog entries and humorless folks for several minutes, and was now starting to wind down. I had no more finished jotting a few notes about the West county water issues than Mindy pointed at me and exclaimed, “Murv! You aren’t going to blog about that are you?”

I shrugged. “Why not? It’s funny.”

“You want funny?” Big K asked.

“Sure, but I think we’ve pretty much worn out the whole gun thing,” I told her.

She huffed then cocked her head to the side and said, “Oh yeah, well what about underwear?”

Now I was intrigued, but by the same token I was unable to hold back my compulsion to pun.

“Depends,”  I quipped.

“Yeah, real funny, Murv. Don’t make me shoot you.”

“Yeah, okay, so what about underwear? I’m wearing tighty whities.”

“Murv!” Mindy yelped.

“Hey, I actually used to get that question and booksigning Q&A’s.” I shrugged. “Now I just get it out of the way from the start.”

“People really asked you that?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Shoulda shot ’em,” Karen added on cue, just as I’d expected she would.

Mindy spoke up again, directing herself to Karen. “So, is this about that guy? You know, the one you yelled at?”

“I yell at everyone,” Karen replied.

“I know, I know,” Mindy agreed. “But isn’t this the story about that guy with the pink pants?”

“Yeah,” Karen answered with a nod. “Pink pants and bright green little boy underwear.”

I was no longer intrigued. Now I was just mildly disturbed, however I simply couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how did you know what color his underwear was?”

Karen’s voice was as deadpan matter-of-fact as I had ever heard. “Because he had his damn pink pants pulled down below his cheeks.”

“Ass cheeks?”

“Well yeah…” she answered, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “They’d look pretty damn weird up around his face cheeks, don’tcha think?”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I was just asking.”

Karen shook her head. “And you write books for a living? Sheesh. You been drinking West county water too?”

I ignored the jibe and asked, “Okay, so I have to know… How did you see this? Did you follow him into the men’s room or something?”

“No. This was in the meat department.”

Now, there’s something I forgot to mention folks – Karen works in the meat department at a local market.

“Rump roast then,” I said.

“Wasn’t on sale that day.”

“I was joking. Who’s been drinking the water now?”

“My gun is in my purse you know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Tell Murv what you did,” Mindy interjected, trying to avoid bloodshed. She seemed far more excited about the story than Karen. But then, Mindy was definitely the excitable one. Karen just approached everything with calm detachment before pulling out a gun and killing it.

“I went and got my knife,” she said.

“No gun?” I asked.

“I was at work. Can’t bring guns into work, dammit.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So, I got my big knife. Not the little one. The really big one. Then I went over and told him he needed to pull up his pants because the rest of the customers didn’t want his butt germs on their dinner.”

“So did he?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “He gave a bunch of attitude. Told me his butt didn’t have germs, which is a crock because everybody’s butt has butt germs. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that.”

“And you put up with him giving you attitude?”

“Hell no. I showed him my knife.”

“Ahhh, so then he pulled up his pants?”

“No. Then we had a wet cleanup in that aisle.”

I raised an eyebrow and began considering my options for escaping the table if I started feeling any more alarmed than I already was. I tried to keep my voice calm as I asked, “You killed him?”

“Oh hell no. Didn’t have to. He peed all over himself.”

“Ahhhhh… Okay.”

Karen shrugged. “Yeah, it was kinda funny. Anyway, then I went and put out some more chickens.”

“You mean like whole roasters and fryers?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I took the opportunity to divert the topic toward recipes. “Since you brought up butts, have you ever made beer butt chicken?”

“You mean where you stick the can up the chicken’s butt? Oh yeah, love it.”

“I just don’t know how you do that,” Mindy announced.

“What?” Karen said, incredulity in her voice. “You just stick the can up its butt and put it on the grill. It ain’t hard. You do have beer out in West county, right?”

“Ewww,” Mindy replied, scrunching up her face then shuddering. “I couldn’t do that. I’ve never even bought a chicken.”

“You haven’t? Are you a vegetarian?” I asked.

“No,” Mindy replied. “I eat chicken, I’ve just never bought one.”

“Well what the hell do you do?” Karen asked, coming upright in her seat. “Steal ’em?”

“No,…” Mindy began, trying desperately to explain.

“I shoulda known,” Karen continued, talking right over the top of her. “Damn West county people. I bet you wear green underwear too…”

More to come…

Murv