it's a DIY jungle out there.

Good heavens. Sweet everything. My stars.
It is bananas at our house.

We are in full DIY mode 'round these parts.

Like I said a few weeks ago (you can walk down memory lane: here), we decided first up to bat was the master bathroom. Mostly, because we wanted to test our DIY skillz (with a z) in an area of the house where, really, worst case scenario, we are the only ones affected. It's the remodeling equivalent to doing a bleach test on the underside of your shirt. It's no lose. And possibly win-win if you end up with mad skillz.

I do not have mad skillz; I think we all know this and are comfortable admitting it.
Chuck does, but really, they come at the cost of being labeled "That Guy."

Lemme tell you what "That Guy" hath doneth aroundeth my house-eth lately.

We'll go a little Julie Andrews here and start at the very beginning, a very good place to start (you can thank me later for having that gem stuck in your head). A long, long time ago in a land called last Summer and then last Fall, I began the remodel rumblings. Hint hint. HINT. I got the obligatory "yeah yeah yeah, that sounds great". Sounds great wasn't cutting it for me so round early March, I had a hysterical melt down (truly. epic.), and yada yada yada, we've started remodeling (isn't that a coincidence)!

When I say I want to start doing something, I mean now. Right this second. I'm starting. Degloss. Sand. Paint. I'm good. Break me off a cabinet door. I got this. When Chuck says "I want to start doing something", he means in about a month after he's spent a minimum of 30 days and a truly offensive number of hours researching, reading, reviewing, basically anything that starts with "re", about the project, sub projects, possible problems with projects. Not to pull a Chuck (and reach overkill levels), but I think you get the picture.

God love him. He's nothing if not thorough.

This past weekend the stars aligned. Chuck was ready to begin.
We got the primer (and the paint, but BLAH that color was a bigger mistake than this marriage. Story for another time). We got the deglosser that Chuck had read more about than I had read on the American Revolution whence I was in High School and/or Twilight when I was 27. We had sand paper coming out of our you-know-wheres.

I was ready. Again.
Chuck was still preparing.

Naturally, I got bored with this and left.
I wanted it to be for good, but I only got as far as taking Lucy to a birthday party at the trampoline place.

When I came home from the party (and might I add, a mere 4 hours after I had left), I entered Chuck's world of painting cabinets. It looked nothing like what Trading Spaces had told me.

It looked, frankly, like something only Chuck would think, dream, or dare to do.
He's a visionary or an idiot. Either way, he's mine.

He said (casually, in his "Chuck" slur), "Why don't you go check out my paint station in the garage?"

I was grossly under prepared for what I was about to see AND had made a huge miscalculation of the level we (Chuck) were at with this project.


This is what I found in my garage.
It's Chuck's painting shop.

Here's another angle. Do you see it all now?
In my mind, this is what a meth lab must look like. Not that I would know, I just feel like it has to be like this.

In case you can't quite get the full visual or appreciation, what we have here is a "clean room" made from a giant plastic painting tarp, in a rectangle form hung from the garage door tracks. If you care to notice three pictures up, even his seam is perfectly at the mid section of one track.

But wait, there's more.

Here's the view from inside.
Oh, and in that four hours that I was gone with Lucy, at some point he drove to Capitol Hill, bought this card table from Pedro, fit it in his two door Rabbit, and still had time to create his new club house (which, ps, he actually called a club house and told me was "no girls allowed" when I snuck in to take this picture).

Please to note that on the outside (where two halves come together) is where I get the pleasure of sealing him into his plastic cocoon. I'm using chip bag clips, but I'm in the market for something more permanent to keep him in there. If you can think of it, let me know. Any. Price.

During hour 1,453 (estimate, not hyperbole) of dissecting every facet of cabinet painting, Chuck found a suggestion about having an exhaust fan in a permanent paint shed. Interesting, but we don't have a permanent paint shed so that's a no.

Oh no wait, he made one.

That's a fan.

Now it's an exhaust fan.
Pushing fume filled air through the tubing and out to our driveway.
What the neighbors must think is beyond me.

God love him.
He's thorough if nothing else. (I think I already said that, but I'll say it again.)

Here's where we are right now: just after round 2 of primer.

Pretty little maids all in a row.

And to be honest, he's got skillz. And I hate to admit it (this pains me), but he's right and the paint shop is pretty iingenious. The splatter from the paint sprayer can be wicked. Of course, he's got it covered (get it? get it? pun INtended). Oh, and did I mention he also wears a full jump suit, goggles, and respirator for this little affair?

Back off, ladies.
This one's all mine.


  1. Girl! If you watch Dexter (btw amazing show!) that looks like a mini kill room! Love it!

  2. Mad skillz is an understatement. And agreed with the other commenter - totally a Dexter-ish kill room.

  3. omg - I was going to comment about dexter too. If you go watch that show you will be way more freaked out about the paint room than a meth lab. Netflix asap.

  4. WOW. Agreed with Trisha. But I'm impressed. Your Chuck is nothing like my Kuba. Er, my Kuba was going to prime a WET fence the other day. Oh boy.


Tell me about it. Oh and thanks for validating my life.

Related Posts with Thumbnails