Why Don't I Shut UP?

We recently went through the arduous task of putting our house up for sale. Anyone who has gone through this knows that it's a stressful and trying time. There's the painting and the spackling and the steam cleaning and the "oh maybe we should change these curtains, I don't think they accent the carpet well enough."

Now, folks, I have to come clean about something. I'm not a handyman by an intents or purposes. I'm not that guy who gets a wild hair up his ass and rips out all the old plumbing to replace it with bullet-proof teflon coated 400 guage piping. I don't like doing that stuff. I don't WANT to do that stuff. And if it comes down to it, I do what any mild-mannered, ill-equipped retard like myself will do. And that's one of two things:

1. Buy two cases of beer and invite my friends to "help" me. This is a cheap alternative if you don't want it absolutely perfect. The key to this is don't let your friends drink too much beer until AFTER the task is complete. Fine example? I invited my friends to help put up a privacy fence. By the end of the day we miraculously had a fence (slightly crooked I might add), along with three sun-induced hang-overs, a mild chain saw wound, and a few fencepost holes where there should've been none.

2. Pay a professional to do it. Look up "Fleece" in the dictionary. I ain't talking about Old Navy clothing, either.

And GOD forbid if you even GLANCE at HGTV. Those people are evil and should be banished from the planet. Mark my words, people, if you're even THINKING about selling your place DO NOT TURN ON HGTV. The moment you do is the moment your life will turn into a living hell even worse than the hell you were in before you clicked the remote. Trust me, you turn on HGTV and suddenly you're spewing remodeling catch phrases like "crown molding", "built-ins", "accent walls", and "faux finish". And it doesn't stop there...you're out at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking for the perfect shower curtain to match with the new adhesive tile you managed to slap down on the bathroom floor without sealing one of the kids beneath it. The show implants subliminal messages into your head. Before you know it you wake up naked at Home Depot wondering through the fixtures aisle debating on whether you should buy the powder coat faucet or just stick with chrome finish. Listen to me now and listen to me well. If you don't want to end up second guessing and remodeling your entire home, stay away from HGTV!

When we first decided to put the house up for sale I thought, hey, a couple coats of paint, some duct tape, a few strategically placed Def Leppard posters and i'm ready to go. That list slowly steam rolled in to a task sheet from hell. Paint, new kitchen ceiling, more paint, refinish the dining room floor, new carpet, new light fixtures, steam cleaning, new plumbing fixtures, more paint, replace doors, replace door hinges, paint doors, bleach...that's right..BLEACH the basement floor, pressure wash the outside of the house...WAIT A DAMN MINUTE.

WASH the house? So you're telling me I should give my house a bath? My first thought was "Could I just wait til it rained again? But no...no no. That would be too easy. I argued with my wife over this one. Which was foolish to begin with but I went down the path anyway. Houses were supposed to have a little dirt on them. It's not like I was driving my place through mud holes. There were no dead animal carcasses splattered on the garage door. What was the deal? But, like a faithful minion, I borrowed my friend Rich's pressure washer (hey, I still have that thing, by the way...and its great for cleaning socks and particularly grimy undergarments), purchased some industrial size house wash (I shit you not...house wash. I was so out of the loop on this one) and headed out to bathe my house.

I read the directions on the bottle: Spray even coat of house wash on the area you want to clean. Wait 5 to 10 minutes. Rinse with pressure washer. Note (and this was the important thing cause I could definately see myself trying this had they not warned me): Do not spray house wash or pressure washer in eyes. The funny thing is...they had that warning for a reason. Somewhere, some jackass picked up a bottle of house wash and his 400 psi pressure washer, stared at them for about 30 seconds and said "hmmmm....i wonder."

So I sprayed a small portion of my porch with the spray wash and immediately hit my stop watch so that in five minutes I could rinse off the soap and smuggly PROVE to my wife that it would make little or no difference. Boy was she gonna feel stupid. In three minutes I will rinse this swatch off and you won't be able to tell the difference (other than that fact that it will be wet). Yes, sir, in two minutes my work for the day will be done and I can go take a nap...right after I pretend that the pressure washer is a flame thrower and blow the petals off ALL the flowers in our front yard (you know you did it too!). That's right, in 10 seconds I would be...oh shit! IT'S TIME!

I braced myself in front of the applied area, planted my feet firmly on the ground, aimed the pressure washer with glee and blasted away.

Well I'll be damned....

It was amazing! The spot I had just washed was bright....shiny...CLEEEAN! Suddenly, I was a born-again pressure washer. I began to coat the entire porch, mouth still agape in the suprise that a small amount of industrial toxins and a jet propelled dose of water could do such wonders. I had no idea how much house wash I actually ingested but I didn't care. I was on a mission. Before I knew it, the entire porch was saturated in house wash. It was running down the walls, dripping from the light fixtures, puddling in the corners. Soon, my porch would be shiny as new. Surely, this would raise the asking price by at least $75...maybe even $100. WHO CARES...I was doing manly things with manly power tools and I was LOVING it!

My anticipation was at full throttle when the stop watch hit five minutes. I couldn't WAIT to blast away the years of dirt and grime. I couldn't wait for my house to glow like new. I couldn't wait to go on a Rambo-esque pressure washing spree. I imagined myself in slow motion, sweeping the bushes with my 50 cal pressure washer, trying to flush out Charlie in a clean sweep (pun intended).

So once again I took aim. Savoring the moment, feeling the trigger beneath my finger and knowing that I had the power.

"Ya feel lucky?" I sneered, "well, DO ya, punk?"

I raised the barrel of my weapon, my eyes narrowed to slits. Women were rushing their children off the street. Tumbleweeds hopped down the sidewalk. Somewhere, a coyote howled. This was the moment where heroes were made. And in that split second, my trigger finger twitched and I heard myself cackling maniacally. I howled with laughter as the torrent of water pummelled the front of my house. As the dirt literally flew off the house I cheered triumphantly. I gritted my teeth in an evil grimace as all the paint began to peel off the wood.

Wait...WHAT? Is that supposed to happen?

Shit.

It took me a second to register that i was not only blasting the dirt off my house...but the paint as well. I stood in the aftermath that i had wrought. Old wet chips of paint lay around me like the pelt of an exploded beaver. Water dripped from the porch, dropping all around me with antagonizing ploinks, each one louder than the next.

*Ploink* You're a Moron

*Ploink* You should've paid someone to do this

*Ploink* I wonder what's on HGTV.

The real key to this is to pretend like you tried it. The correct way to handle this would've been to nod, hike up my pants, and start pondering which exterior paint I would need to finish the job. Yes, that would've been the correct way.

I, however, usually veer from the correct way of doing things (Hence, the porch with the paint completely blasted from its wood supports).

NO...no no no...I took one look at the porch carnage, took a deep breath...

...and screamed profanity at the top of my lungs.

Again, mothers were rushing their children off the street. Birds were dropping dead from their trees. Somewhere, a priest was crying.

I don't remember how long the screaming of profanity went on. Hell, I could've still been screaming on my way to the paint aisle in Wal Mart...not that they would notice. All I know is that my porch looks really great now with its fresh coat of paint.

Rich, come get your pressure washer before I shoot my eye out with it.

posted by Michael Witmer @ Wednesday, June 21, 2006