Shiver my timbers, whatta fecking CHORR! (That's kinda like a chore, and a bit like a Hooer, but with extra "arr." Just in case it wasn't clear...)
We sheeted off my office walls on Thursday, to the blasting strains of Sweeny Todd -- Broadway, of course. What else does one play for home repair but showtunes? -- and on Friday, the first run at spackling the cracks went up. This morning, we fetched out the latex gloves, white vinegar, and bleach spray, and commenced to scrubbing. And to that, I can only say "BLEGGH!" Atomizd clorox in the bronchea is just about the least pleasant sensation shy of sandpaper to the corneae. There was much whooping and coughing, gagging, and determined elbow grease, and eventually we proved triumphant.
*cue blandly cheering monks. Yey.*
We took a break then, and made a run down to River street, to hit the Farmer's market before it closed for the day. I've no idea exactly why, but for some reason my humour tends to run toward cannibalism jokes whenever I wind up at the Market these days. Damned if I know why, but at least the father of the 'roasting pan sized' baby thought it was funny. Well... he laughed, at least, and didn't punch me in the head...
Anyhow, following that, we picked up aquila_dominus' photo society membership, and while there, discovered that the bleach cleanser, combined with a few moments of sunshine, had given me tiger stripes on the black sleeves of my baseball jersey. Yeah, some things will only ever be funny to me, I suppose.
So then. What We've Learnt Today.
You will never have enough dropcloths. Get used to the idea, and be ready to cut up your stash of garbage bags when the inevitable moment arrives.
BIN primer is very watery. This means that it will run down the sheeting on the walls, and seep under the plastic you'd expected to protect the antique wooden floors, and there's nothing you can do about it, but to have a bucket, soap, and a scrubby sponge at hand, and to wipe it up at once, and with vigour.
Socks pulled from the rag bin will not stop one from stepping in runny blobs of primer, and tracking it all over the unprotected floor, however they will make the chore of cleaning those spots up marginally easier.
When planning a project which will involve walls (and doors and windows) sheeted in plastic, AND ammonia-based primer in concurrent use, one must give a bit of thought to a little thing known as VENTILATION!
When one (or two) has neglected to consider ventilation, it is entirely possible that the painters will not actually realize that they are breathing pure, rarified EVIL until they have killed so many brain cells that they can no longer manage to breathe at all. Then, generally, they die.
Dying is not allowed.
Walking out of the ammonia-tent in search of an extra broom-handle can be a life-saver, as it allows just enough oxygen to reach the brain that the Clue-function can properly engage, and recognize, upon walking back into the room, that it has become a death trap, and the mate cannot actually smell his impending demise at all.
The measure of a healthy marriage may be taken in the reaction of a husband when his wife orders him to put down his roller, and get the fuck out of the room.
Dominus passed that self-preservation test. No Darwin Prize for him. W00t.
So that's where we stand. One coat of primer up, out-facing fan in one window, AC set to fan only in the other. We'll get the second primer coat, and hopefully the first coat of paint up tonight, and tomorrow morning we'll be able to tell whether it'll want a second coat before we can rip the plastic down and set about cleaning up the remaining mess.
Here's me, knocking on wood.
Oh wait... that's my head.