Die! Die Crickets! DIE!

I've spent the last half hour or so trying to find a video clip of Dave Matthews telling a really funny story about crickets. No luck -- it's from an episode of MTV Unplugged from about a million years ago. Anyhoo, the gist of the story is that one of his friends from South Africa wigged out and set a bunch of crickets on fire in a bathtub.

I totally and completely identify with the desire to light those fockers up.

Now, I'm not talking about good ol' Jiminy, or even the shiny black crickets you find in the backyard. I'm talking about these things:

Camel cricket, cave cricket, spider cricket, NASTY SCARY MOTHERFUCKING ALIEN CRICKET MENACE, whatever you want to call them, I hate them. With a passion.

I don't hate them because they do damage (they don't) or because they bite (they don't) or even because I generally dislike insects (I don't). I hate them because they hop, they hop FAR, and they hop in a very erratic fashion. Like, HOLY HELL IT'S COMING RIGHT FOR MY FACE. They're also huge, at least around here.

Why do I bring this up, you might ask? Well, guess what I found in my bathtub at 4 AM today? That's right. NASTY SCARY MOTHERFUCKING ALIEN CRICKET MENACE. Definitely not what I wanted to see as I was about to hop in the shower. I had to run to the utility room and grab a bottle of Clorox Cleanup -- the chemical of choice for cricket elimination. (Not really, but we didn't have any bug spray.) After hosing him down with the stuff for what felt like an eternity, he finally died. I put on a glove, wrapped him in TP, and flushed his alien cricket menace ass down the toilet.

I'll still be checking that toilet every time I use it for at least three days. For all I know, he's some sort of alien cricket ninja whose compadres will climb out of the sewer to avenge his death.

On Contractors

We've remodeled our house almost completely, almost every room. After the kitchen is done, the only two rooms left pretty much untouched are the downstairs bathroom (we painted, that's about it) and the utility room. Over the last three years (I can't believe it's really been that long), we've encountered all different kinds of contractors and subcontractors, some good, some not so good. The good guys were surprisingly good, and I've included photos of their work and contact info wherever possible. The bad guys, though...ugh. I wouldn't wish 'em on anybody.

The Nice Guy

Nice Guy fools you with his friendly demeanor, pats on the shoulder, and soothing words like, "It's gonna be BEAUTIFUL when we're done!" Six months into the six-week project, you're ready to saw his head off with a piece of stray lumber as he tries to blame YOUR choice in paint for the god-awful job done by his sixteen-year-old "helper." (No, dude, semi-gloss paint doesn't end up looking like orange peel just because it's a dark color.) Nice Guy preys on the remodeling virgins, the people who've never done more than swap out a ceiling fan. You accept his higher bid because, well, he's just NICE! He loves your ideas, loves the color scheme, and really loves to take your money. He promises that the job won't be done until you're 100% satisfied, but doesn't return your calls when you want to know why his sub hacked into a door frame to accommodate a wall outlet, or why your tile that's supposed to have white grout looks like someone spilled coffee on half of it. Or why the tub makes a loud pop-CRACK! sound every time you fill it up or step into it. Or maybe why the caulk around the tub is already coming off. Or why there's paint on EVERYTHING. By the time it's done, though, you're so happy to have everything finished that you don't care -- you give him the check and swear you'll never use a general contractor again.

The A-hole

He comes to give you an estimate on flooring, and sneers at your choice. His words: "Why the HELL would you want to use BAMBOO?!" You're about to throw him out on his ear when he explains that for your lifestyle, what you've picked is basically crap that comes with no warranty. He proves you wrong, smirks, makes sassy comments. But he does fantastic work, shows up on time, and lets you buy all the flooring at once, store it in his warehouse, and then has his crew install it a room at a time.

Steve Salas, Master Image Flooring 757.282.6770

The Chatty Guy

He shows up on time and knows what he's doing. He's polite, loves your dogs like they're his own, and gives you good suggestions about the work you're doing in the house and what you've done so far. And more than anything, he loves to talk. He talks to himself, to his helpers, to you (even when you're in another room and totally not responding to him). A little kooky, but it's worth it -- his prices can't be beat.

Dave, Orefice Plumbing Heating & AC 757.436.9752

The Invisible Man

After being hired to complete some pretty simple trim work, he goes out for lunch and never comes back. Bonus: He disappears before you pay him, and also leaves his tools behind!

The Strong, Silent Type

They show up early and work fast. They're so quiet, it's eerie. And most of them look like they might've spent their morning in front of a judge after a weekend bar fight. 

Sam Dowdy, Breaker Box Plus 757.689.8700

The Repeat Offender

Oh, the Repeat Offender...he's the dysfunctional boyfriend that you just can't bring yourself to dump because he's really, REALLY good at what he does. He shows up late (if at all), says he'll be back in an hour and doesn't come back for three. He does it every time, and every time you're about to write him off, he comes through for you. 

Lawrence Harris, 757.717.2372

The Dipshit Duo

You decide to help out a friend, someone a family member suggests, someone who's hit hard times and could really use the work. You're a little wary, but you say, "Why not? She's cheap, and she says she can get it done in a hurry." Oh, little homeowner...you'll never make this mistake again. On the rare occasion that she shows up to do work, she ends up doing nothing. (Yes, because I'm paying you to sit on my patio and smoke with my husband's grandmother. I didn't really want walls in my bedroom. That's just silly!) Sometimes her husband comes with her, and he manages to stain your tablecloth, trail ashes and dirt wherever he goes, and generally annoy the bejeebus out of you the entire time. The whole thing ends with a screaming match on your front lawn, where you end up telling her to get off your property or you'll call the police. 

Just makes you want to start ripping out walls and remodeling YOUR place, doesn't it?

Note: None of these people gave me any discounts or freebies in exchange for positive feedback in this blog post. This isn't a review blog, I don't have sponsors or advertisers, and I don't say good things about stuff just to get things for free.

The State of Things

Seems like not too long ago that I had a (semi) functional kitchen. And then we decided to start tearing it up. It began with two cabinet doors:

The Beginning of the End

Shortly after the above picture was taken, we pulled out the upper cabinets:

Ahhh, That's Better!

Remember that deeee-lish wallpaper I was talking about in my last kitchen post? Well, there was a whole bunch of it hiding behind one of the uppers. It just screams ELEGANT, doesn't it?

The Height of Kitchen Fashion - circa 1962 (or so)

After that, we moved on to the counter tops and base cabinets. I pulled off all the laminate that had been used in the "refacing" job done about twenty-plus years ago. You can't tell in this picture, but the rails for the drawers on the right were held up with DUCT TAPE.

Why did I leave my rug there?

Pulling out the base cabinets revealed more of the house o' horrors plumbing we've encountered in other rooms. I think the guy who did the original work in this house was either a) completely incompetent, b) using large quantities of crystal meth, or c) both.

Mold, corroded pipe, and hey look! A can of window cleaner!

After the initial shock wore off, Charlie and I dug in and started the serious demolition. We ripped out all the old drywall and plaster, pulled about a billion nails and screws, and scraped five, count 'em, FIVE layers of flooring off the concrete. Where does that leave us? Right about here:

Gutted

That big white rectangle you see behind the studs of the far wall is actually the rear of the huge metal medicine cabinet in our downstairs bathroom. We pulled one out of the upstairs bathroom, and it weighs about nine billion pounds. It also features its own huge and totally unflattering fluorescent light fixture. But hey, that's another post.

My stove is in my dining room, where we've set up an interim kitchen. It's a decent setup, but I don't think I could deal with it for more than a month or so. (I'm thinking of my mom's kitchen remodel, which took about six months.)

Charlie's moved the door to the utility room; well, he's framed it, anyway. And the electricians (great guys, 'tho one of them looks about 12 and bears a striking resemblance to Jesse Pinkman from "Breaking Bad") are here today finishing up all the rewiring and installation of new outlets and recessed lights. I can't believe I'll have more than one outlet to use! And that I won't have to fumble around in the dark to find the switch for my one overhead light! Squeeeeeeee!

We're making serious progress, is what I'm saying. It's a little unnerving - I keep waiting for something to go really, really wrong. Like, you know, the guys go to run wire and find something disgusting and Edgar Allen Poe-ish plastered into the ceiling.

Histoire de la Maison

It occurred to me that I've been Tweeting about my kitchen remodel, and some of you don't know anything about my house. Since we're about to tear into the old cucina, I'll start there.

Our house was built in the early '50s, when apparently all one needed in a kitchen was a giant stove and about six inches of counter space. Delicious avocado-green lino tiles were the flooring choice of the day. Oh, and the cabinets? They've got fixed shelves that prevent me from storing anything taller than a salt shaker.

When we first moved in, the far wall was half windows, the floor was half carpet and half linoleum, and the walls were covered in hideous, nicotine-coated paper. Two tiny overhead fixtures and one ghetto-tastic under-cabinet fluorescent strip were the only sources of illumination. Your basic nightmare:

Wall color: NICOTINE

That thing lurking next to the microwave cart? Yeah, that's a boiler.

Fake fruit, a birdhouse, and a china cabinet made entirely of particle board.

We couldn't afford to gut and redo the kitchen at the time, so we settled for some minor changes. We closed in the huge, nonsensical doorway to the dining room, added a sliding glass door to replace the bank of single-pane aluminum-frame windows, and swapped out the appliances. The hideous wallpaper got covered with plain white paint, and I scrubbed the tar and nicotine stains off of every surface I could. A vinyl remnant went down where the carpet used to be. 

It was a big improvement; we were making the best of what we had. And it really didn't bother me to be without broad expanses of counter space, a dishwasher, or functional cabinets. That is, until I had to cook Thanksgiving dinner. Dinner for six, cooked in the tiniest, most poorly laid-out kitchen I've ever worked in. And that year (2007), the far wall still had exposed studs and insulation hanging out over the stove. Everyone likes a little fiberglass in their stuffing, right?

Anyway, we've made do for as long as possible. But now, it's got to be done. I'm home to cook dinner five nights a week, and I can't work in this old, stinky, Formica-coated U anymore. I thought we'd be stuck for another couple of years because of financial constraints, but lo and behold! My fantastic mom and mom-in-law have offered up the funds needed.

We're going to use Ikea cabinets, mostly because they're inexpensive (everything we need for under $2000) but also because they're nice looking and well-made. The countertops will be LG HiMacs solid surface, and the same flooring we used in the rest of the house (Armstrong laminate in "Tiger Maple") will continue into the kitchen. Here's the plan:

An Ikea Dream, in greyscale

I can't put into words how grateful I am for my two moms and their generosity. And how lucky am I to have a hubs who's going to tackle 90% of this work on his own, while working full time AND finishing up his MBA? Yep, pretty darn lucky.