The merit of reading instructions.

So, hypothetically speaking, if one were to discover a minor swamp in the bottom of the dishwasher because it has suddenly ceased to drain, should one:

a) shake one's fist and swear like a sailor?
b) disassemble the awkward-to-reach bottom/filter/outlet of the dishwasher?
c) check to make sure the drainage hose actually drains somewhere?
d) all of the above?

Um... So I chose D. Wasn't the right answer, but I chose D.

I took apart, in the smelly swamp of stale dishwasher water, all of the filter-bits and cleaned them to make sure water could drain out. I can not emphasize enough the disgustingness of this job - the filter had what looked like a rubberized mold layer on the bottom that jammed up all the little holes. Given the mold-plug over the filter, I sensed victory and ran the dishwasher again. Alas, no drainage except onto the floor where it over-filled.

Dad had the genius idea of disconnecting the outflow hose that drains into the garbage disposal and, like magic, the disconnected hose drained just fine into a bucket under the sink. That sent us scurrying around the house trying to find the garbage-disposal instructions to see what went wrong (they were in a baggie on the low shelf hidden behind my car in the garage. Obviously. Where else would they be?).

In the Troubleshooting Guide we find...
Problem: Dishwasher flooding
Possible Cause: Knockout drain plug still in place.
Solution: Fire the idiot that didn't read the instructions. Seriously.

No - actually it said Insert screwdriver in knockout plug and tap with hammer. But I'm sure they were thinking fire the idiot...

So, having knocked out the knockout drain plug, and reassembled the red-herring filters at the bottom of the dishwasher, I felt a fit of cleanliness come over me and sprayed out the inside of the dishwasher with "Awesome Orange" - the off-brand orange oil cleaner to 'really do the job right'. Huh.

After this, the dishwasher was spic and span and we gave it a test run.

This is when it turns into an "I Love Lucy" episode. Apparently "Awesome Orange" foams like mad, hence creating the foam-overflow river in my kitchen. The saddest part is, this is not the first time I've had the foam thing happen, but I'm not telling the other story.

So anyway, dad and I had to bale out the foam-filled dishwasher a few times throughout the cycle and then run it again to clean the thing out. After that, we stopped for lunch because by this point we'd frittered away the entire morning with the only productive part (the knockout drain) having taken all of 5 minutes. Best quote of the day happened when I asked dad if he wanted tea - he said, in a serious, slightly grim voice "Tea? We should be drinking rum."

The afternoon, however, was actually productive - we took up the laminate flooring that was slapped together over half of the living room (I'm assuming this was a well-intentioned attempt at making the house more attractive to buyers). Then we scraped the gross, smoke-stained popcorn ceiling off of the entire downstairs except for the kitchen. The kitchen, in a bold interior design move, was completely hermetically sealed with plastic like some freakish crime scene. Granted, it kept the kitchen clean, but it's kind of creepy now that it's past sundown.

The only bad part is that I just discovered this little piece that's supposed to go under the bottom-most filter in the dishwasher sitting on my kitchen counter, innocently, as though it's supposed to be there... Damn.

Happy Holidays!!!

I'm off to the beach with the folks so everyone have a wonderful holiday and I'll start up again with the whole pesky work thing when I get back!
Much love,
Amy

Acoustic Irony

What is that saying about the road to hell? Paved with good intentions I believe. Well, by the looks of things I've managed to lay a few stones myself. In an effort to do the house 'the right way' I've been attempting to go the extra distance in terms of the little perks of a house, like acoustic barriers.

In a two story house with all bamboo (eventually) floors upstairs the whole echo/elephant-walking-noise issue comes into play. In a well-meant effort to reduce this effect, I spent several hundred dollars and a very tense couple of hours with my father attempting to make these huge foam rolls of acoustic under-padding fit the first room we bambooed. *Please excuse this new addition of the verb 'to bamboo' into the english language. I'm pretty sure that's the correct conjugation - to bamboo, bambooed, bambooing, perhaps bambooer? Bambooee? Oooooh I like that one.*

As it turns out, this accoustic barrior seems to have had the opposite effect we were hoping for. Apparently the foamy-ness of the acoustic stuff makes it very springy and hence difficult to nail the bamboo through with any solidity. So, as you walk in the first room, in spite of the effort we took to secure the sub-floor, the bamboo planks shift and creak.

In an experimental fashion I've begun the second bedroom with no underpad at all, which does seem to cut down on the shifting and creaking (and, in a happy coincidence, the cost as well). My recent visitor, Reverand Phil (who looks like a David to me, and so in my head is Rev. David) was kind enough to say that his wood floor creaked at first, but that effect reduced as it 'settled in'. So I maintain some hope that my floor is just 'settling' and not actually bouncing on the foamy thing. Granted it's a small hope, but hope none the less.

Attached is the picture of the meager progress I've made on the second bedroom. I have to admit I'm not looking forward to doing the floor in the master bedroom because there is just so much of it. Eek!

Found objects and holiday laziness

You may have noticed that I haven't been writing. There's a simple reason for that, which is that in true holiday spirit I haven't been working either. I took a week off for sanity, and then holiday season started in earnest so I just haven't had time to do anything. Lazy, lazy Amy.

In progress-related news though I now have one bathroom that actually has a mirror, sink, toilet and shower ALL IN THE SAME ROOM. I can't begin to describe the new level of luxury living that this has brought with it. All that's missing now is a door.

This house has a character of it's own, and I would honestly love to meet the last people who lived here because they were either really funny, really crazy, incredibly negligent or some combination of the three. I suspect it's crazy with a hefty dose of negligence, but I'd like to think they were funny on purpose sometimes too...

Along that vein, I'm going to post a list of found objects. The little pieces of the former owner's lives that they left behind. Mostly in highly mysterious places.

The Found-Object List of '08

1. Decorative Marbles (2) - Found under carpet in master bedroom - wouldn't they have noticed the lumps?
2. Child's teacup (1) - Found while digging out an herb garden. Within the earth of the backyard.
3. Barbie's Pink Fetish Sandal (1) - Pink, strappy, fetish-height sandal for barbie. Can't tell if it's the left or right sandal because barbie has scary same-on-both-sides-feet. Also within the earth of the backyard.
4. Toilet roll holder (1) - In the U-bend of the downstairs toilet. IN. THE. U-BEND. Seriously this would have taken some effort.
5. Marbles (3) - also within the earth of the back garden. But for the lack of sand, I would think sandbox play-area.
   
6. Scary toy shoes (2 - matched pair) - Marg - these look like they could have been your baby shoes. Also, in the garden. Can hardly get the plants in for all the flotsam and jetsam floating around in there.
7. St. Arnold's Ale Mug (1) - In the tank of the upstairs toilet. Why? Who knows. Sick joke? Misguided attempt to use less water? Just couldn't think of a better place to keep it?
8. Back-Scratcher (1) - on the roof. Where else would you put it?
   

I'm hoping '09 unearths (possibly literally) a similar collection of ecclectic oddness. Maybe at the end of this process I can make an installation peice or something. I do still have one toilet to remove and that seems to be a good hiding place...

SNOWED!

Ha! It's really sad that I bounced out of bed like a kid on Christmas to see if any of the snow stuck (hence the pictures in the still-dark morning - I was afraid it would melt before I snapped one). We've got a tiny wee dusting, but I'm keeping it! My poor confused rose bush that I planted is both blooming, and sitting in snow. And yes, I know it's completely lame to decorate a house for Christmas when the inside is utter chaos, but still. it's my first Christmas in my own home so let me be a bit of a geek about it.

Thunder-Snowing???

I swear Texas never ceases to surprise me. Last night we had a thunderstorm with fabulous lightening and the long rolling booms of thunder aaaaaand snow. SNOW! I've seen a lot of snow in my time (Canadian. Not so much here in Texas) but I've never seen a thunder-snow-storm. Especially not on a day that starts out literally 70*F (that's about 21*C for Hedgie and all the miscellaneous Canadian folk).

So cheers to Amy's first thunder-snow-storm. Now I just hope I covered my garden in time - seriously I've got a good crop of lettuce and some baby beets and baby chard that I'd hate to lose.

The Groutmare

I think I got my just desserts for bragging about how easy it was to lay the slate tile in the bathroom. It was easy to stick it to the floor - it has not been what I (or my knees) would call easy to make it actually look like a floor. Enter the groutmare.

Remember mud pies when you were a kid? The pure unadulterated joy that you got out of making just the right texture mud to make a pie-ish thing that you could then smash, throw or smear nicely on the front of your outfit (or, if you were that kid, eat.) Yeah. They're still fun as an adult. Mixing grout is about like that - you get it to mud pie texture, then have a coffee break because it needs to rest or rise or settle or whatever it is that grout needs to do. So far, so good.

Given how enamored I am of my slate tiles, I was a little scared of the grout at first but figured that it's kind of a necessary step, so I should get on with it. Essentially you glop the mud/grout on the floor then use a rubber thingy to shove (through the clever application of brute force) the grout into all the little gaps between the tiles. Joey, my local hardware store flooring guy informed me, with some measure of hilarity, that it would be great for building my "Popeye forearms." Thanks Joey. Now not only am I the weirdo girl who is fixing up her house, I'm the girl with "Popeye forearms" too. At this point I might just as well grow a full handlebar mustache and beer belly for all the attractive feminine energy I'm exuding.

Anyway, forearms aside, you essentially spend a few hours on your knees jamming this mud into the spaces, while becoming liberally coated yourself. Then you spend the next few hours alternately sponging the floor, and cleaning the sponge all the while cursing the mud pie mixture because a) it won't stick where it should and b) won't come off where you want it to. Essentially the mud mixture creates a thin, unattractive, incredibly tenacious film on top of the tiles, but peels right out of the spaces. The film, as it turns out, takes roughly 90 (and counting) rounds of scrubbing to come off, but I've still got streaks so I'll keep you posted.

GROUTMARE!!!

I'm convinced this is the reason that the word "grout" sounds like a disease. Like one could get a raging case of the grout, or perhaps cause a scandal - i.e. 'He seemed so perfect until I found out about the grout!' It should come with a rash and some hand-wipes.

Not only that, the grout that I chose is a deep charcoal grey - really rather lovely with the slate, but not so good under my fingernails and in all the little teeny lines on my palms, knuckles and hands in general. My hands looks like B-movie zombie hands. I'm getting more attractive by the moment - Popeye muscles and zombie hands. Now all I need is a hump on my back and maybe fangs and I'll be the movie-monster-hybrid girl. The best part is that due to the setting grout, I can't use the shower in that bathroom for another 24 hours, which means that I'm stuck in the bathroom without a functional shower. I have a tub, but it's not helping the zombie hands. Maybe next time I should hire someone else to do the grout part...

Slate floor and on-sale turkey...

So, Thanksgiving was fun. I went to my family's house and took a WHOLE DAY off from working on the house. Novelty! In the true spirit of thanksgiving, we had pot-roast with Yorkshire puddings and chocolate mousse and then watched National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. God I love a traditional holiday celebration.

Of course, then the work began. The weekend finally came to tile the guest bathroom, which has been intimidating me for a while now. Actually, the whole thing worked like a charm. I was expecting the slate to be a nightmare to work with, but our little wet saw worked wonders and the slate was more durable than I'd thought. The only real problem is that slate tiles aren't actually uniform in their thickness, so some sit up a little higher than others. The goal is to pound the high ones lower into the mortar with a rubber mallet (ooooooh that's a fun toy) but I don't seem to be very good at that part.

So essentially I have a very lovely, slightly uneven but good-feeling-on-the-feet tile floor. It still has to be sealed and grouted and all of that, but at least it's stuck down. Yipee!!! This means I'm one step closer to having a nice bedroom to sleep and a nice bathroom to get clean - what a luxury! Now if we can just stop every faucet in the house from dripping...

In a totally random whim at the grocery store I found free-range hormone/antibiotic/scary-chemical-free turkey for ridiculously cheap after the actual thanksgiving rush died down, so I cooked my very first turkey (easy as pie. Easier actually.) while I was putting down the slate. Move over Martha Stewart - I'm gaining ground.