More accurately, a date AT the dump, but I thought that title had more caché…was catchier.
My mostly-he’s-gone Tugboat Man started a project the minute he got home on July 4.
Hubs decided he needed a consultation.
My son’s dad is a friend — yes, I said FRIEND — and a master builder as well.
He came over to visit my tugboat man right after his return.
Yup, you heard me right. He CAME OVER TO VISIT. The two of them poked and prodded at the deck like a couple of doctors agonizing over a diagnosis – and came to the conclusion that surgery was imminent.
He offered to come back and help re-build the engawa (an exterior hallway on the side of a traditional Japanese house), a walkway that parallels the entire back of our house — after this deck project. Joy.
Here’s Captain Destroyer doing what he does best. Destroy.
Now I can’t even walk outside, I have to go out the front door and walk all the way around to the back gate to work in the garden.
He’s totally on my very last nerve with this thing.
He’s been sanding and sanding and sanding — FOR DAYS.
The windows are filthy even though the sander has an attached bag to catch the sawdust.
It’s not 100% foolproof. Obviously.
Thank goodness he’s almost finished.
Why do guys do this crap anyway? Can anyone enlighten me? Anyone???
Today the highlight of our day was a romantic outing to the Carlsbad dump to offload the trailer of all the old termite infested and rotten wood.
Why did I go, you ask?
Well, for some strange reason, I love to go to the dump, sit in the car while hubs does all the work, and read a book. It’s just a time to be together, and reminds me when we were in Hawaii driving all over Oahu on the Kamehameha Highway from surf spot to surf spot.
I think hubs enjoys the company; I can chatter away about nothing and everything for hours on end (I’m a good travel/driving companion for that reason, too) and it’s turned into a “date event” for us.
Weird. I know.
Today was the dump date from hell, tho.
We arrived at 11:15 a.m. Got weighed and paid at 11:35 a.m. At that point, we noticed the huge line of cars and trucks and garbage trucks lined up and stopped. As in not moving. This has never happened before. Usually if you go to the dump during the week, the whole process moves along fairly rapidly. But we were stuck. It was hot; it smelled like, well, like garbage, and I stared feeling nauseous. At 12:35 p.m. we were next in line to be directed to a the offloading site. Then, the guy who was in charge pointed to the truck next to us to move forward. He hadn’t been waiting nearly as long as we had and I was THIS CLOSE to jumping out of the car to start screaming but my tugboat man got it all straightened out before a major incident erupted. Thank goodness for his calm demeanor. I guess that’s why opposites attract, huh?
While hubs threw about 2,000 pounds of unusable wood into a pile, I got on my cell and started calling around to complain about the nightmare of a long wait we just endured. I complained about their lack of time management and their inefficiency and the general hell of it all to anyone that would listen. No one much cared, that’s the major takeaway I got from my futile efforts.
We got home at 1:15 p.m. The dumb dump is only about three miles away from our house, so we didn’t do a lot of driving. It took exactly two hours to accomplish what should have taken no more than thirty to forty minutes.
My dump date bliss was really scarred by that horrible event. I’m not sure I ever want to go back. Poor me.
Job almost done. New redwood deck, freshly oiled.
All he needs to is install the seating, screw them down, and we can PARTY!