Category Archives: doggy dreamhouse?

Update. Finally.

Miss Carol rested her chin on my shoulder and said, Is this a new one?

And I said, I hope so. I’m tryin’

After days and weeks and months, I’m back.


Is anybody still out there?

I know I’ve been miserably neglecting my miserable neglected little blog for most of the summer, but.

I’ve been really, really, really busy. Serious.

Don’t believe me? Just check it out sister- I’ve been working (on The Little House of Horrors and on my company and on helping my little brother take over the residential side of my contracting company and on getting my little trucking company going and on my book which is a little over halfway re-written). Whew.

The Little House of Horrors is coming along really nicely. It’s tough building a house on the weekends, but my little brother and me are doing it. The exterior is done and painted, we got the electrical final so we have lights and A/C and running water and we are finally, finally,  finishing things and ain’t life grand? It is.

Work is, and has always been, super busy. Don’t get me wrong-I admit it- I’ve been lucky. The commercial communications side of my little company has never really slowed down and now, with my little brother handling the handyman/contractor side of things, I’ve had time to concentrate on trucking which is good ’cause that hasn’t been going so well. It’s a whole lot more work than I’d bargained for and my driver has had waaaaaayyyy more issues than I’d ever imagined or bargained for.

But we move ahead, right?

Yes we do. Right into writing (see what I did there?). In amongst and squeezed between everything else, I’ve rewritten 18 of 30 chapters of my book and I hope/want/need to have the thing finished and sent to the folks at CreateSpace before NaNoWriMo in November ’cause I’m hoping/wanting/needing to have my first book (my first BOOK?) mostly done before starting the prequel. Life is hard, right?

So yeah. Blogging has kinda slipped off the table and skittered across the floor and been chased down and eaten by Cutter and Tug.

But I want to get better ’cause I miss you guys.



Anybody still out there?



We get to the fun part.

After a year or so of building and after several years of planning and designing, Miss Carol and me started doing the fun stuff.

No,no,no, not THAT fun stuff.

I mean the fun stuff that is the finish work on The Little House of Horrors.

On Friday I installed the kitchen cabinets and then my little brother and me and a friend of my little brother’s finished roughing in the island and laid the plywood for the counter tops.

She’s starting to look more like the adult playhouse I’d envisioned and less like the excruciatingly painful labor fest that she’s been.

It’s fun now.

Over the decades and centuries that Miss Carol and me have been married I’ve slowly realized that no matter how much room we had, no matter how big or small a house we had, when we have people over, they’d all congregate and cluster in the kitchen.

So-somehow learning from these life lessons- I made the main living space in The Little House of Horrors mostly all kitchen and all of it mostly adult style playroom.

There is no living room or den or Me Only Room- there’s just the main living area/kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a media room (can we say 8′ porn? yes oh yes, I think we can).

It’s gonna be everything we need to continue our little life of self-indulgence.

And it was while I was taking these pictures that I suddenly realized The Little House of Horrors might actually be slowly evolving into The Church of Adult Fun and here I was, staring at her altar.

Can I get an aMEN?

Can I get a Praaaaaiiiiise Jeeeeesus?

I think I can.

Look Ma.

The Little House of Horrors has walls. And ceilings.

I had originally wanted to plaster the walls and ceilings and leave them the hard plaster white and let the paintings, southern yellow pine trim, tile, and hardwood floors provide the color.

Miss Carol had other ideas. She not only wanted to paint the walls and ceiling, but paint them different colors and add a strongly contrasting wall in the bedrooms.


After spending the last coupla weekends painting I’ve discovered some fundamental DO’s and DON’T’s to follow when forced to paint an entire house by yourself and against your will.


  • Spend the extra money and buy quality brushes and rollers. A craftsman is only as good as his tools, right?
  • Wear clothes you won’t mind throwing away once the painting nightmare is over. Trust me- you won’t want them or their memories.
  • Listen to the pretty music. Plug in your earbuds and rock out. Painting drywall is mindlessly repetitive boredom that drains the soul and atrophies the mind. A shuffling playlist blaring into your head helps numb the pain and makes you feel like a rock and roll hero.
  • Dwell on how much of your life is speeding by while you needlessly paint walls- the annoyance’ll make you work that much harder.


  • Don’t think.
  • Or if you do- don’t estimate how many square feet your roller will cover before you need to load it up again.
  • Or if you do that- don’t go down to your truck and get your tape measure and check your square footage estimate.
  • Or if you do that– don’t estimate how many times you’re gonna have to load up your roller before you finish rolling out the first of two unnecessary coats of paint on the ceiling. (why oh why can’t white paint cover white drywall in one coat??)
  • Or if you do THAT– don’t start counting.
  • And definitely DO NOT think about having to do this all over AGAIN next weakend.

Just listen to the pretty music.


I’m an overachiever- I know that about myself. Or maybe I’m an overreacher.

Or maybe I’m just a flippin’ retard.

Whatever it is that I am and however it relentlessly pushes me, it propelled me yet again this weekend.

It started on Thursday with bunches of pictures of paint selections and the hopeful oohing and aahing and wishfulness that flairs when dreams are in the air.

And then when Miss Carol and me agreed on colors for the exterior of The Little House of Horrors, I immediately decided that this was the ONE and ONLY weekend to paint the house. Fretting, I worried that if we waited, all would be lost- I’m gonna be working the next several weekends- and then winter would be swooping in and the whole house’d be reduced to the sulking and moldering dampness of loserness.

I HAD to paint this weekend.


I’d planned on renting a 45′ articulating 4-wheel drive lift and drive around The Little House of Horrors probingly insect-like, spraying her with paint as fast as I could move.

I figured I’d be home in time for brunchie brunch and a cool cocktail.


There were no lifts to be had, so Me and Crockett (one of Phabulous Phil’s guys) spent ten hours spraying Pro-Block primer on Saturday, humping 40′ ladders and cleaning the rental gun every 5 minutes. What a piece of crap.

Then, on Sunday, we continued the humping of 40 footers and sprayed color using my little one gallon sprayer. And ooh baby, baby, talk about the tiny train that could- I’d kiss her if she wasn’t so painty.

But it was exhausting. Even my hair is sore.













Miss Carol just told me maybe I should just leave and drive a truck- that maybe we’d be happier- that maybe we wouldn’t be keeping our lives on hold.


I don’t know how to take that yet.


It’s something I’ve known and dreaded.


*tortured sigh*

On my way to work this morning I stopped at the paint store and snatched up every possible color brochure thingy. I’m not good with colors and need lots of pictures showing all the different combinations that talented designers recommend. Plus, it tends to confuse Miss Carol.

Can we say delay? Can we whisper, hopefully maybe never?

And I’m thinking that in the next month or so, maybe, Miss Carol and me can agree on a color. I mean, the Little House of Horrors needs to get painted, she’s started to show that 5 o’clock shadow of neglect and loserness. Unfortunately, my hurry-ness has snuggled up right behind my want for a root canal.

But being a responsible kinda guy, I keep pushing ever onward and on my way home I stop by Sunbelt Rentals to check on the price and availability of a 45′ articulating lift (’cause i’m a pussy and there’s no way i’m painting a 3-story house on ladders and if I have to do this at least I get to play with construction equipment?) hoping against hope that it’d be prohibitively expensive and I can convince Miss Carol we really need to pay somebody, anybody, to paint our Little House of Horrors, but that ain’t happenin’, so me and The Little House of Horrors have a playdate.

That’s cool, I’m thinkin, I can deal with that, knowing that Miss Carol still has to look at and digest and decide on a color scheme after she goes through the many million paint hint thingies I brought home. It’ll be months, I’m thinking. I’m sipping a beer feeling pretty good about a no-paint future and watching Man vs. Food when Miss Carol chirps brightly- Ok, I’ve narrowed it down to these four.


So I go look and damn if I don’t like them too and I point out the two that I really like and Miss Carol agrees and raises me and says she really, really likes this one and I call and have to admit I like it too and there you have it.


The weather over the next five days is supposed to be picture perfect so now all the sudden I’ve got to try and get Sunbelt to deliver the lift tomorrow and get the paint and rent a sprayer and spend the weekend putting the bling on our Little House of Horrors.

Pinch me when this gets fun.

Little House of Horrors.

I haven’t written about the Little House of Horrors lately mostly because her constant needs and wants suck everything out of me.

Vampiric-like, the Little House of Horrors is slowly, inexorably, draining me of everything I might call happiness or life or even a simple justification of existence.

Building a house is a marathon- it’s not for the faint of heart, nor is it for the happy-go-luckys that think something like this might be FUN. It ain’t. It’s grueling. And it’s at it’s gruelingnest right now. It’s still in the pre-close-in stage, everything’s still rough as a cob, and it seems like the Little House of Horrors will ultimately resist being built and laugh heartily and long when I collapse, spent and unfinished.

So I don’t write about her and try not to think about her too much hoping that maybe, just maybe, by ignoring the Little House of Horrors, she’ll somehow relent.

But hey, at least the electric’s done.

And, yeah, I can’t wait for the phallic jokes. GO.

Shit and goddamn.

This was gonna be one thing and then it became another.

I was gonna rant and rave about the Little House of Horrors and how it was such a piece of shit to work on and most probably bitch and moan about how much it blows to build a Little House of Horrors.

My life sucks, right?

And then I saw that Amy Winehouse died and I don’t know why but something kicked in, and kicked me in a way that was surprising.

I actually feel sad. Really sad. And I don’t know why. I wasn’t a huge fan, just a guy liking her music.

And Miss Carol too.

We can’t quite figure it out, but it hit us like a bullet that somebody with all that talent burned out that fast.

Or maybe that’s why they do.

Maybe it’s all they can do.

I’m at a loss. I don’t know why it fucking bothers me so much. But it does. I wish I could puzzle it out but I can’t.

Thinking of Amy makes me sad.

Fuck the stupid house.

Cash is King.

Phabulous Phis called me on Friday to let me know he was done and needed to get paid.

You owe me $11,000 he said in his gravelly bikerbaritone.

Will you take a check? I said meekly.

Nah, man, cash is king he said warmly.

Phabulous Phil’s a helluva a nice guy and I wouldn’t ever want to build a house without him. But working with him and his crew is like running with hungry wolves. They’re all lean and mean and tattooed and they work violently and almost feverishly.

It jacks up my testosterone just being around them, but you kinda wanna pay up when it’s time.

So I withdrew the cash in two $6000 increments ’cause if you play with $10,000 or more of YOUR money the Feds get involved.

And don’t even get me started on that.

But the thing is, I never EVER carry cash. Hell, I’ll pay for a cup of coffee with a credit card, just so we rack up air miles for trips we’ll never take and dream dreamy dreams of faraway places we’ll never visit, but hey, that’s just us.

So it was very strange to be carrying around a chunk of 50 dollar bills almost three inches thick.

I was soooo glad to give it to Phabulous Phil’s wonderful little wife Barb this afternoon.

You’re paying in cash? she said.

I smiled, trying to be cooler than I am and said, cash is king, right?

Ooh, finally. A good day.

Not only are we dried in.

Not only do we have plumbing roughed in.

Not only do we have heat and A/C roughed in.

But ooh, baby, BABY.

The best shit, like, EVER?

We got’s us a utility easement. Dominion Power had been searching legalities using the road name. Come to find out, Edgar Cayce (yes, THAT Edgar Cayce) had set up the development under HIS name.

Once the enormously unrelenting ego’s were pushed aside, we got’s us an easement.

Which means Dominion Power is gonna be planting the biggest, greenest, thickest, most engorged telephone pole ever, right IN THE FUCKING MIDDLE of dickheads property to bring us our sweet, sweet, electricity.

I hope it gives the fuckwad a stroke.

And I know. I KNOW.  I should be a nicer person.

But I’m not.

Thematic. Maybe?


I think we’re maybe getting closer to something resembling the possiblities of what could pass for in somebody else’s dream sequence as a dream home.

For me right now, though, it’s a wickedly snarling thing run to trail wrapped up in a nightmare spiked with vodka and set on fire.

Hooboy, ain’t that the fun shit you tuned in for?

I’m sorry.

Let me rephrase all that.

The Little House of Horrors is a full metal jacketed round boring into my forehead if I don’t do something and soon.

Whew. Is that better? No?

I think it’s one of THOSE nights, maybe then.

*total horizontal hand wag*

Don’t get me wrong. I’m pretty sure once it’s done and it’s the little house of the best times and parties ever in the history of everybody we’ve ever known we’ll wonder why we didn’t build it and drink and eat like conquering heroes sooner.

I know these things. But, dude, right now? It’s a pestilence, a scratchy patch on my face that festers annoyingly. Honest.


At least Miss Carol and me picked out the stanchions whose lonely light will theme our Little House of Horrors.

Ever since South Beach I’ve been mainlined to the idea of stanchions dimly lit.

And Miss Carol and me finally found some we both like. We’d been thinking The Little House of Horrors is gonna end up being slightly kinda hispanic and seductively recluse so we’d wanted to find something, you know, seductively reclusive? And mexican?

And we did. And a theme was born.

Think Zorro in a thong.