The Art Deco White Trash Door

It is official...I am white trash. I tried to ignore it, but it is inescapable...I now have photographic evidence and am so fed up that I'm not even embarrassed to publish it. It does help that no one reads this anyway, except my closest friends, those that truly love me, know I'm white trash & can look beyond it to my insanity. All the rest of you can just f off.

First off a few disclaimers.

• Once again I saw the date of my last post, shrieked and stammered about how long it has been since I posted. Then I moved on. Busy job, busy life, yadda, yadda.

• I want it to be known that I have at least been THINKING about new posts. Things such as the variances of stench, the fact that I have no fear when it comes to my employment & the things I will say to people in positions of power, and pre-teen boys who refuse to remain fully clothed.

• While I usually try to refrain from disparaging my husband, this must be posted! Things are going ever so much better with us, really and truly and that is the only reason I'm putting this on here. I love him immensely, but the idiocy astounds me.

For the past two years, yes 2!, I have been working during the day and he has been at home. He has been working nights, has a mother that expects him to be at her beck & call and carts children around from school. That being said, he does less around the house, on a daily basis, than I ever did. Do I complain? Not often. Do I nag him? Not really, unless when we are fighting counts. I do understand how hard it is and that he has to sleep sometime.

We live in a postage stamp. You are thinking that this is a metaphor for a small house, reality is closer to the truth. Our house, with the Arizona room closed in, is 900 sf. THERE ARE SIX OF US HERE!!!!! Two bedrooms & one, count it 1 bathroom!!!!!!! Our house was built in the mid '50's, things are falling apart. Does DM fix them? Oh noooooooooooo. He ignores them until they break completely and then blames the kids for being too rough. See, if they wouldn't screw around things wouldn't break.

YYYYYYEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH.

A couple months ago I realized that the hinges to our only bathroom door were loose. I mentioned it and he said he would get to it. About a month ago while one of the boys was going to get in the shower, they were chasing each other and the top hinges started stripping out of the door. DM began yelling at the boys that they were treating objects like women & to cut it the f out. I gently pointed out (snort) that screws fall out all the time, the world's an imperfect place. You know, 6 people, ancient postage stamp, etc. but he would have none of it. I said, fix it or it will totally break. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Fast forward to this evening.

#1 goes to take a dump (he insisted on that edit!). Next thing I know, he's calling me. Says I need to come, that we have a situation. I go looking for the plunger. Not that kind of situation. The top screws have finally stripped all the way out. The door is hanging like a baby tooth in the mouth of a woosie 7 year old. I tell DM that it has finally happened. The response I got made laser beams shoot out my eyes. He shrugged (YES ACTUALLY SHRUGGED!) and said, guess we don't have a bathroom door. While attempting to channel River Tam I choked out "I...t o l d...y o u...t o...g e t...i t...f i x e d." He barked out "I can't do it at 8:00 at night when I have to leave for work in an hour!"

I left the room, located a screwdriver and began removing the bottom screws. One wouldn't come out. I had #1 try, he couldn't get it. I had DM try so that we wouldn't be blamed if the screw got ruined. Muttering under his breath (he really has come so far) he tries to removes said screw...no dice. He goes to find the "liquid nails". This is a substance that has replaced the old time snake oil. IT DOESN'T DO JACK! DM shoots the LN into the door, in the mistaken belief that it will hold. He really is a true believer, now you can see why I don't let him near tent revivals. He now wants to find something to prop the door up to it's actual height. That turned out to be a comedy of errors all by itself.

Who found a book the right size?

Any guesses?

Yep! Me!

Not to mention the fact that while all of this is going on, the princess is showering and yelling for me to help her with the next stage. Climaxing with a near five minute chant of "MOMI'MDONEMOMI'MDONEMOMI'MDONE!"

After the door is snake oiled, literarily propped and has a stool leaning against it, DM decides that more is needed. The following pictures are his solution.

This is some kind of blue paper/electric tape...doesn't even use REAL duct tape. Gotta hold it in the right position, dontcha know.

While he was doing the tape job, I suggested, oh so helpfully, that he tape the other side of the door to the wall, as a reminder to people not to shut it.

View inside the bathroom.

There you have it, we've sunk to a new low, or I've finally come out of the bathroom, as it were. Wonder how long a proper fix will take? If it has to be after the funeral...so be it.