If having a TV screen built into the mirror of your bathroom isn’t the definition of “excess”, then I don’t know what is.

Because god knows you wouldn’t want to miss SpongeBob reruns in the 90 seconds it takes you to brush your teeth.

MysteryMan and I stayed at Ricky’s condo in Trump Tower in Vegas, which is about three or four levels closer to snooty than our regular comfort zone, but we had fun playing it up for a weekend.

Some things I learned about excessivly weathy people? They eat things like yogurt and green onion flavored potato chips at $8 per serving. Which really makes my gag reflex kick in on a couple of different levels, the first of which is yogurt flavored potato chips? And the second of which is $8 for 17 chips and some air? Seriously.

The country boy demonstrates what us regular folk eat…

…Ass Kickin’ Corn Chips, of course.

The thing about the time change and MysteryMan & I both being on an early to bed early to rise sleep schedule is that we were in bed every night by 10:30 PM. In Vegas. I’m sure that’s unheard of, but hey… that’s how we roll.

My new favorite Vegas restaurant is Maggiano’s. Totally little Italy. Totally kick-ass pasta. That’s all you need to know.

My favorite couple in Vegas are seated right behind us in this picture… a crotchety old Italian couple who complained their way through the entire meal. Still, I totally loved observing them covertly.

The man insisted they make his pasta special with noodles, olive oil, parsley, and pine nuts. Kind of like a parsley pesto, which I might be tempted to try out myself (being a pesto connoisseur) if I liked parsely at all… which I don’t. (See that dissatisfied look on his face, classic!)

Of course, the best part about our trip (other than the pool, and I have a great design for some wooden lounge chairs to build now) was the wedding. This is MysteryMan during the ceremony. You can almost see him praying… “Dear God, please don’t make me go through this any time in the forseeable future… I promise not to flip off any more old ladies while driving… Amen.”

Kidding, MysteryMan.

Although you do see how he strategically places a six-year-old between himself and the garter.

Ha. Ha.

But overall (and excepting the 115 degree weather) it was a nice relaxing long weekend, which is about the perfect amount of time for that kind of thing, if you ask me. After all, I have projects to get back to you, and whoa boy, do we have a big one coming up that I’ll let you in on later this week. Let’s just say that there are going to be much more exciting things going on around here than anything that happened in Vegas… after all, we’ll be using power tools!

Tags: food, las vegas, vacation, wedding

I spent the better part of my waking hours today breathing the soup fresh-air of Summer and slogging around through this…

… in a cracked work boot that allowed mud and small bits of grit to seep up around my toes.

Which didn’t even faze me, because first, we are making some serious progress on that big-ass wall.

And more importantly…

I’m going to be spending the next 72 hours in Vegas, laying next to a pool and sipping Margaritas. (And attending a totally fabulous wedding.)

So, bring it on, gods of rain and muck and port-a-pots and broken equipment. You can’t bring me down today.

Tags: construction, RediRock, work

If you’re wondering what this is… it’s a picture of me, falling in love.

Yes, with rusted, cracked, apparently duct-taped, windows… which happen to belong to this:

Look. At. All. That. Space. For. Tools.

Is there anyone else in the world who looks at this picture and gets a little weak in the knees?

This dilapitated little building has a story. I know that, even if I don’t know the whole story itself. It used to be a little gas station and that the garage once housed a hydraulic lift. I like to imagine it as a quaint little country corner store, with vintage Coca~Cola signs and little boys with scraped knees sitting out front drinking ice-cold sodas. More likely it was patronized by middle-aged overweight men who were all oil stains and plumbers cracks, which isn’t nearly such a nice visual, but it’s a story none the less.

Currently it sits –largely neglected– on three acres of property, along with a little house and an overgrown yard. The property abuts the land that MysteryMan’s grandfather farms, just down the street from his parents, grandparents, and Aunt & Uncle.

I’ve been making doe-eyes at this little shack every time we’ve driven by it for the last year and a half, and now MysteryMan’s grandpa* has bought the property, and is either going to rent it out or turn around and sell it to MysteryMan, if he wants it.

Now, maybe you don’t know this about MysteryMan, but it turns out he’s a bit stuck on me. When he said “what do you think?” I gave him that look where I lower my head and raise my eyebrows and blink at him seven or eight hundred times, because duh. You could show me a cardboard box and a piece of used tinfoil and ask “what do you think?” and I’d already have plans for how to turn it into a french country cardboard cottage.

Something like…

…this?

Maybe. I was just playing around with ideas… and wouldn’t it be great if real life was as easy as photoshop?

And I know at least some of you caught on to the fact that there is a whole house on that property to contend with. And even if MysteryMan buys the property and the building with the big windows becomes tool heaven, they won’t be my tools per se, because I have my own house and my own tools which need to say within 50 yards of my person at all times. Because you never know when you’re going to need to palm route something, okay?

But it has potential. And I’m driven by the need to reach in and find that potential, to roll up my sleeves and turn ugly old things into something both beautiful and full of character.

And have you ever known me to be able to resist a project? Seriously.

* MysteryMan’s grandpa should also be known as Superman, and can I just want to say that I want to be him when I grow up? I do. Well, first I want to be like that long line of badass women I come from, but secondly I want to be like MysteryMan’s grandpa. He has a whole barn full of tools. And tractors. I don’t even know what I would do with a tractor (well, I know one thing), but it seems like something I need to have. Obviously.

It has been a long time since I have stepped in the shower at the end of the day and watched the water flowing to the drain turn black. And not resulting from a skin condition either… this is from what I like to call a really hard days work.

For the next couple of weeks, this, my friends, is my canvas:

Take a good look, because when I’m done with this project there will be a wall approximately fifty foot tall surrounding that building. Actually, it’s not a building, it’s a set of aggregate hoppers, but I know you aren’t interested in all of that… what you’re really interested in is me in a hard hat.

MysteryMan loves it when he sees me on the jobsite and I’m all “Hooonnney?? Does this make my head look fat?”

I have to say, it’s been almost two and a half years since I’ve been on a proper construction site, and other than having realized that I’ve grown unacceptably soft (you will not belive the kind of agony I woke up in this morning), the first crunch of workboot on gravel reminded me of all the things I love about construction sites:

1.) The building of things. Really, really, big things.
2.) Learning new stuff… like how to properly use a grade laser.
3.) Being outside all day.
4.) Pushing myself to the limits of my physical ability.
5.) Men who work a lot harder than normal because they see a girl kicking butt.

The flip side to all of this is that while it’s a fun break from cubicles and computer screens, there are some very good reasons why this will never (or at least no longer) be what I do as a career. Firstly, you know me, I love everything about tools and equpment and building stuff… but in the grand scheme of things, once you know what you’re doing, it doesn’t give me the kind of brain challenges that I need every day. On this project, for example, the last two days were just logistical nightmares (my favorite kind) what with getting all of the right equipment to the right place, and getting all the lines and stakes where they should be. But we’ll have about one more really challenging day, and then the next week and a half will be pretty much like stacking a huge set of legos.

Kind of like this:

(For size reference… that’s a four-foot level sitting on top of that top block. Also, don’t mind my giant thumb in the pic.)

Only it will take a lot longer than legos, and there is always the possibility that I might lose a finger. Not that that’s anything new around here.

And of course, the other thing I hate about working on construction sites is trying to walk that fine line between staying well-hydrated and never ever having to use a port-a-pot. EVER.

Plus, while the blood of four generations of construction workers runs through my veins, deep down inside you know I’m a technology girl. And while yes, I did fall in love with the grade laser, I need my computer and spreadsheets and websites and programming. I don’t live for these things necessarily, but I can’t live without them either.

So, I am totally thrilled at the fact that during this part of my life, while I am actively searching out my dream job, I get the chance to go back to my roots and play in the sandbox with the big boys for a couple of weeks.

And despite how stunning I look in construction apparel…

…I’ll also be glad to get back to that much fresher smelling version of myself when this is finished.

**If you’re all “What is that fuzzy heavenly glow on all of your pictures?” don’t worry, this isn’t a dream. My camara phone just takes crappy pictures.

Tags: construction, RediRock, retaining wall

A couple of weeks ago I started my big summer project (big being a very relative term as it definitely is not as big as, say, a badass pergola), which, in case you missed that post, is to rehab the entryway of my darling 80 year old house.

Step one in this process was to remove the crumbled-to-shit iron railing, which, obviously, had seen better days.

Step two? Taking care of this mess that the previous owners left me.

It’s hard for me to talk about what was done here without steam pouring out of my ears or using the f-word excessively… but I’ll try. It appears that there were at least three attempts to patch the mortar around these stones. The first resulted in that fun border of mortar you see decorating the bricks at least an inch away from the actual place that needed patching. Why? Who the heck knows? However I have to give the previous owners some credit for actually using mortar in this instance, because as you can see on the second attempt some sort of plastic runny mystery substance was dripped around the stone. At least, I assume this was an attempted patch job… one in which they expected this gray slop to defy the laws of gravity and just stay in the crack. Can’t imagine why that didn’t work.

The third attempt actually managed to seal off the cracks, because they used a clear silicone caulk. Um. Seriously? I know I am the queen for not using tools and/or building supplies for their intended purpose… but, bathroom caulk? (Then again, I’m talking about people who patched holes in the walls with scotch tape, so I cannot even imagine why I’m surprised.)

So, lets talk about mortar.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a mason. I know some things about concrete, mortar, grout, and cement by virtue of the fact that I worked in the concrete industry for a few good years, but I’m not an expert, and certainly not a tradesman. What I am (and you all know) is fearless about taking on projects around my house, mostly because no matter what I do, it will never be as screwed up as what the previous owners have done. So, the information and pictures that follow will likely make a seasoned mason cringe right down to the very depths of his soul. However, this cost me $7 in materials and it worked, so I’m still going to share. 

The first thing I did was cleaned out as much of the old mortar as I could, using my favorite tools of destruction: A hammer and screwdriver.

Near the bottom I found something that made my eyeballs roll all the way back into my head:

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… but I have to say it just this once.

What. The. Fuck.

Obviously this chunk fell out at some point, but then another piece of stone was inexplicably glued to the back?? And shoved back in the hole??? Because… I mean… I can’t even think of a plausible explanation for this. Like the toothpicks in the screw holes upstairs were somewhat understandable, but… I don’t even know what to say. This is me. Speechless.

It’s not pretty, but this is as clean as I could get it. (And notice me still leaving room for mortar joints around the chunk.)

So, here we are, fairly cleaned out:

I think I chipped a little bit more of the side mortar out about half-way up, and then used a paint brush to clear out any dust/dirt/chunks-of-mystery-substance. Unfortunately there wasn’t much that could be done about the inch of mortar colored outside the lines there without damaging the brick, so I’ll live with it.

I found these little $7 bags of mortar for patching at Home Depot, and while leary about the add-water-and-squish method of mixing that they recommend, I gave it a shot.

(Yes, I’m barefoot and sitting indian style.)

Here’s my recommendation, pour the powder into a bucket first and then add the 7 oz. of water, and stir it up with that fun little yellow putty knife they give you. The squish method did not work so well. Also, resist temptation to add more water… mortar is about right when you can scoop out a 3/8″ thick chunk, then hold the trowel (or yellow plastic thing) vertical, and the mortar holds.

I don’t have picture of the next step because MysteryMan was nowhere to be found and I wasn’t touching my Nikon with fingers full of mortar. Suffice it to say I reached into the bag of mortar, pulled out a handfull and smushed it into place with my fingers. Cringe away masons!

I know that cement it corrosive. Believe me. And if you do this you should wear gloves and blah, blah, blah. And shoes, probably. But, hey, this is why I love being a DIYer and not a professional builder of things. I can do it my way.

Let me just say this about getting the mortar in the crack… It’s not sticky. Mortar is basically sand, water, and a really fine powder (thats the cement). What you’re aiming for is kind of like suction. You really need to get the mortar packed in there, and that’s what makes it stay.

Here’s another thing that will make a mason have an aneurism. They sell tools for striking the mortar (giving it that nice grove) and I even own one, but I wasn’t exactly sure where it was located within the 17 different spots in my house/garage where tools amass… so I just used the end of a paintbrush, which worked just as well for me.

After all of that was done (and here’s my mortaring trick) let the mortar dry for about 10 minutes or so, and then come back with a wire brush and clean of the excess which will have gotten all around the spot you actually wanted the mortar to go. I have one of those wire brushes (that looks something like a toothbrush) but it was off somewhere partying with the striker. So I dug this out of some closet.

It worked okay, but not great. And my knuckles got scraped to shit. If you’re ever going to attempt this, definitely get a wire brush.

Then I like to spray the joints (and stuff that just got scraped away) with a water bottle… it helps reduce shrinkage cracks… and come back in another 30 minutes or so and give it another go with the brush.

Which is how we go from absolute crap, to nowhere-near-perfect-but-way-better-than-before mortar joints. (And there are no longer gaping holes leading to the interior of my house, which is a bonus.)

Everything is a little fuzzed out from the mortar, but with a couple of good rains (or blasts with the garden hose) I expect the gray residue to fade off of the brick and stone.

With that, step two, complete.  

(Also, if you did this with your fingers and no gloves… go slather about a cup of lotion on your hands because in 30 minutes there will be no moisture left in them, and your fingers will start to bear a strong resemblance the terrain of Death Valley.)

Tags: brick, mortar, tuck point