Effin’ unbelieveably, we’ve somehow, some kinda way, run the beast to ground and trussed it up and made it give us what we want.
201001382. My new tattoo.
This is what went down.
On Monday while I was working I was working with Jason, my new best buddy NC building inspector, trying to work through the exposed rafter thingie. Finally we worked it out that if I supported my goofy rafters with an additional beam, he’d sign off on it and issue the permit.
I flew to Office Max that evening to fax the updated drawings to my new best buddy Jason, feeling close to a beginning.
Then.
That night I proudly showed Miss Carol what I’d done, how I’d rescued her exposed rafter ceiling.
She looked at the revised plans for a minute, sniffing the air, and then pointed imperiously at them and shouted WHAT ARE THESE?
um. they’re posts that’ll support the beam that’ll support the exposed rafters. I said.
NO, NO, NO fucking way. she said. POSTS in MY living room? she said. WHAT IS the matter with you? she screeched.
I’d thought they’d be kinda cool. um, guess not?
CAN’T WE JUST GET THIS DONE WITHOUT ALL THIS BULLSHIT? she cried.
So anyway.
I called my new best buddy Jason The Inspector early Tuesday morning so’s he wouldn’t spend any time inspecting the drawings I’d faxed the night before and I told him I’m over it, that I’d fought the good fight, that I’d gone down swinging and cursing and that I was just gonna build the house to NC IRC code and give up on all the other stuff.
When he called back, I could almost hear him smile. Can you come in tomorrow? he said.
Yup, and I did, and we hashed it out and I paid more people more money and I got it. The Building Permit is officially MINE.
And as I cradled it, rocking back and forth softly and chucking it’s cute little laminated chin, Jason snorted and told me I needed to man-up and stormed out of his office leaving me alone with my Permit.
Whatever, baby.
Bring it on.
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