brazil

chapter two: brazil

this is NOT a shining moment in my history of men. it may in fact be one of the most embarrassing stories i have to tell. it, of course, like all embarrassing stories, starts in vegas...

vegas for thirty. four girls. an AMAZING two room hotel suite. itty bitty dresses. and ALCOHOL. so. much. alcohol.

i don't remember which day of the trip it was. i don't remember which club it was. i DO remember table service. and a bottle of vokda for the four of us.

one of our girls managed to wander off for a bit and when we caught up with her she had met brazil. i'm pretty sure he had a real name. i think it started with a J.

braSil (they spell it with an s. we're ignorant americans) was pretty. a trained boxer with a body to match. apparently his rough english skills didn't matter when it came to tonsil hockey on the back patio of a vagas bar. or the back skylit section of a casino club. or the pretend it's outdoors because it's decorated with green stuff and you've had so much alcohol it doesn't really matter section of the bar.

brazil and our girl were getting friendly. there was even a warning about appropriate club behavior at one point i believe.

the night goes along, our girl and brazil are inseparable. two of our four head back to the suite in a cab. i stick behind with our girl and brazil- no girl left behind. especially with a non-english speaking stranger in a club.

are you confused as to how this is MY story yet?

the night ends with brazil giving my girl and me a ride back to the suite. we invite him up (she invites him up) to the suite for a night cap. only polite thing to do, right?

the way the suite was set up is entry way, room to the left, room to the right. the two gals that had headed back in the cab earlier were sharing the room to the left. future mrs. brazil and i were sharing the room to the right. being a good wingman i took the couch in the entry way (actually a large living room area, couches, tv, table, you get the idea) while my girl and brazil took to the room.

an unknown amount of time later i was awakened by brazil. it seems that my girl was a bit trigger shy when it came to closing the deal. combine a dead sleep (or being passed out, po-tay-to/po-tah-to), a large quantity of alcohol still in my system, and the fact that a gorgeous man was (sadly and second-handedly) hitting on me, suddenly of COURSE sex sounded like a good idea. after all, it wouldnt be polite to send the poor boy home with blue balls after a whole night of build up. what can i say, i'm thoughtful like that.

i honestly don't remember much of what went on. there was sex. bad sex. jackhammer sex. there was an orgasm. singular. his. and then he was gone.

oh how i wish the story ended there.

in the morning i was horrified about what had happened. my girl had brought the guy back with her. had i technically poached her catch? SO against code. you never poach. ever. then i got to thinking about it...how horrifying that only after he had been soundly turned away did he wander out into the living room and see if maybe there was still a chance with that other chick. holy fuck embarrassing. i was really conflicted. i didn't want to tell any of the girls what had happened. i didn't want them to know ANY of it.

i made it about half way through the day before i cracked under pressure. while out to lunch i talked to one of the other gals about what had happened. she had come home in a cab and had no idea about any of it- brazil coming back with us, his rejection and second attempt...or so i thought.

TURNS OUT.

holy fuck embarrassing.

brazil. rejected and kicked out of the bedroom on the right wandered all the way across to the bedroom on the left. woke up BOTH of the girls in there consecutively to see if he had a chance. after being rejected by girl 1, girl 2, AND girl 3, he wandered back into the living room for his last ditch effort.

that's right. i was not the second choice. i was not the third choice. i was the last ditch effort on the way out the door.

nothing romantic. nothing special. not even the slightest attempt. a last ditch effort.

so embarrassing. talk about a severe ego kick. granted- vegas, that much alcohol, and a true pure blood asshole, it's a rare combination. generally there's a little more thought and consideration put into things. a little less being a trashed non-cognitive mess. but there it is. in all it's vegas shame: brazil, the last ditch king.

hurry up- I HAVE TO PEE!

so. i have a house. and it’s an old house. and it needed work. and i decided it needed more work that it *actually* needed. and then i pulled a ham string kicking myself in the ass for deciding it needed more work than it needed.

they say the two worst things you can pick on in a house are the kitchen and the bathroom. guess what two things i did in my house?

the kitchen turned out pretty damn good (minus the hole that’s still in the floor where the threshold is STILL missing).

the bathroom?

*sigh*

here’s the story on the bathroom:

the house has two full bathrooms- one upstairs with a standing shower, toilet sink, and the one downstairs that had a full shower, closet, sink. downstairs there was also a closet in what i’ve claimed as the office.

after the remodel of the kitchen there was no place for the washer/dryer (yes, they were in the kitchen before. no thanks) and i decided, in all my infinite wisdom, why don’t we bust out the closet in the office, expand the bathroom, and add the washer/dryer in there? strike that: initially i thought i would just run lines into the closet for the washer/dryer, THEN i had the bright idea to knock out a few walls.

if you were wondering, here’s what it looks like when you start knocking out walls in a 110 year old house:

that picture was taken on june 23, 2011 when the first work was done on the project. that day the bathroom door was removed (frame and all), the sink was removed, the walls were knocked out of the closet, and the ceiling was opened up.

then the pause button was pressed.

and held down.

and held down a little longer.

i FINALLY got around to hiring a contractor to finish up the work. he came over, looked over the project, looked through the basement, looked over all the plumbing, electrical, everything and gave me a quote of $5,000 and said it would probably be LESS if i paid by the hour instead of a flat bid.

yes, i’m an idiot. i believed him.

his worked started on August 8, 2011. walls were ripped down. the ceiling was ripped down. the floor was ripped out (all three layers of hardwood. yes, THREE.) the plumbing was changed out, the electrical was re-run. the floor was put back in. the walls went back in. things were going GREAT. i was working with mac (the worker bee) on things, talking about where things would go, what we would do with the space, what parts were needed. we had a good process of cuss and discuss working- we would both toss out ideas, talk about what would work, what wouldn’t, come to an agreement and on things would go. it was great. it was easy. it was taking a little longer than i wanted (and a little more money since i was paying by the hour) but it was good. we discussed about me doing the tile work and painting to save money and everything was good with that. i suggested putting in the shelving between the stacking washer and dryer to give me a place to store soap and they liked the idea so much they started using it on other sites. things were going along smoothly.

and then the shit hit the fan.

tim, the main contractor and the official owner of the company started coming in to work. and it went from great to FUCKED UP over night. i was sitting on my couch one of the first mornings he came in doing paperwork for one of my jobs. i could hear mac and tim in the bathroom talking- the french doors haven’t been finished and there’s no door in the bathroom so i could hear everything pretty damn well. the issue at hand was some light switches that mac and i had talked about installing two inches lower than standard to accommodate a recycled mirror that i wanted to use. mac and i had discussed it, if it would work, if it wouldn’t, decided there was no particular reason they couldn’t be lower, and so all the switches on one wall were lowered two inches. no big issue. right? well, according to tim it was a HUGE issue. they were all wrong and needed re-done. i sat and listened to the conversation progress, listened to mac explain why they were done that way, how he and i had talked about it, measured the mirror and decided like we did. and then i hear tim: “well, sometimes when you have a difficult home owner you just need to tell them how it is.”

*ahem*

WHAT? did i just get called a difficult home owner IN MY OWN HOME? did that REALLY just happen? over something that i had discussed with mac and we had decided on TOGETHER? not once during the whole project had i ever insisted on anything. EVER. i tossed out ideas, if they worked, they worked, if they didn’t i was more than happy to come up with another solution. SEVERAL things were changed, adjusted, moved around, made to work. i wasn’t married to one single idea in that bathroom. it was a blank slate to me. and suddenly i’m called a difficult home owner? last i checked? it’s MY house. I’M paying the bills. shouldn’t it be how i want it to be? difficult or not?

from there it went from bad to worse- suddenly the door to the closet (we closed off the original door to the bathroom) needed to be ripped out and changed- $105. suddenly tim needed to do the painting- several hours at $35/hour. suddenly tim needed to do all the tile work- even more hours at $35/hour. oh, and the BRAND NEW COMMERCIAL TILE SAW that a friend loaned me? not good enough, tim decided he needed to go out and rent one. which he then set up on my front porch leaving a huge mess on the porch and tile drips all the way across my hard wood floors that he didn’t bother to clean up. AND? the tile work? worst i’ve ever seen in my entire life. he used CARDBOARD spacers for the tile. really? tile spacers are approx .53 cents for nine million. why the fuck would any contractor EVER use cardboard?

also: why would you leave the cardboard in long enough that the thin set dries and the cardboard is STUCK in the gaps? and it just kept getting worse. a friend came over to help with other projects outside the bathroom and suddenly tim was VERY territorial and flat out rude to my friend. ALSO: “accidentally” switched one of his shit beat up tools for my friends brand new one. classy. another darling friend came over to help me pick out flooring for the bathroom. again tim was flat out rude and actually refused to install the flooring i picked out (and so i had to pick out a different floor which, of course, turned out to be more expensive. *shock*).

the kicker? all this started because spokane remodeler magazine had approached tim and asked if they could feature one of his remodels in their magazine. tim decided mine would be great for that and all these changes and expenses needed to happen AT MY COST. ummm- NO. #1: you should have been doing your best work from the beginning. things shouldn’t suddenly change and need to be the best because a magazine is coming in. #2: if all this needs to happen for a magazine shoot: read: ADVERTISING FOR YOUR COMPANY, why the fuck should _I_ pay for that? if you want advertising for your company? YOU pay for it. we had an agreed price, we had an agreed scope of work. if YOU suddenly decide to change things, that’s not MY responsibility to foot the bill. i could have done the tile work and done a better job. the pictures i took are hard to see but ALL the tiles are off on the alignment- top to bottom, side to side, depth, every way tile can be off. ALL the big 18” tiles were cut the WRONG way (on the rented saw). ALL are chipped and most are crooked. _I_ could have painted and done a damn good job. i did the rest of the house and it turned out beautifully.

and so i fired him. well, that’s not true. i’m a chicken and i am TERRIFIED of confrontation so i actually had two wonderful gentlemen step in and handle things for me. it was rough, tim got very angry and defensive and confrontational- everything i was worried about. but, in the end, he left.

and so the story ends.

HA HA HA...if only.

when the gentlemen fired tim for me they asked him to leave immediately and send over an inventory of what was left at my house that he needed to get back and then someone would meet him and facilitate the pick up. part of an agreement i had with him was that there were some cabinets in my garage that he was going to do work in trade for. after seeing the tile work that he did in trade, knowing that it would ALL need taken down and redone, the gentlemen that were helping me and i decided that tim really should NOT get those cabinets in trade. i bet you can guess how well that went over. there were a few intimidating voice mails, a few text messages (all saved), and finally one last text “see u in small claims court” sent october 3rd. it’s been quiet since then. *knock on wood* all said and done i paid $6200ish for the work that was done. i paid in full, every friday as things progressed. i also paid for the tile, the tub, the sink, the flooring, the lighting, and quite a bit of the plumbing parts outside of his bills. my TOTAL for the bathroom is over $8,000. sounds like a bit more than $5,000 unless my math is that bad.

so. after over 6 weeks (it was supposed to take 4) i had NO bathroom: no toilet, no shower. no washer dryer, no door, no window, unfinished floors, shitty tile work, a busted pocket book and a threat for small claims court. insult to injury: when time picked up his tools after he was fired he left one last invoice for another $600+ trying to charge me for the tile saw rental, additional labor, and parts (some of which i’ve never even seen).

all that drama and i STILL have to stumble up the stairs to pee every time i get home from mommy’s wednesday night out.

here’s the GOOD news though:

since then i’ve had help getting a few more things done- my washer and dryer were installed a few weeks ago, the electrical has all been finished up and switches finally installed, the last light fixture has been installed, and this last sunday the flooring was laid out and cut and prepped to be installed (it needed to flatten out after being rolled up in the corner for too long). the sink has been set into place and will be installed right after the flooring and it’s actually starting to look like a bathroom.

i can’t wait to be able to pee without having to do a jane fonda stair stepper work out first.

so. there you have it: i picked one of the worst projects a home owner can pick, hired a TERRIBLE contractor, spent way more money than i was supposed to, and STILL haven’t finished the project.

excellent.

at least i’ll get to learn how to pee cool designs into the snow soon- winter is just around the corner.

rant

dear plenty of fish guy:

can i just say how delighted i am to find out that your sleazy “not into casual sex” asshole self found me “sexy hot”?

why OF COURSE i’d love to stop by your office this afternoon and play dirty secretary with you in your obviously bustling successful office that allows their partners/managers to be online in the middle of the day chatting in completely sexually demoralizing ways with complete strangers.

i of course find it endlessly flattering that based on five pictures of me all from the shoulders up, you find me (and my deliciously sexy legs) to be such a complete and total turn on.

how can a girl resist such a temping offer as to be ravaged in a strange unknown warehouse by a complete stranger who has represented himself to be such an upstanding citizen? how did you know that was my secret fantasy for the day?

good luck finding someone else to entertain you during your oh-so-busy work day.

i hope you get locked in the supply closet and rot there.

not your arm candy OR dirty secretary,

(if i had that job, i'd quit)

me

ok kids. this is an URGENT s.o.s. for help and a preemptive date blog all in one:

there’s another fish. heaven bless the full moon and all the crap it’s bringing out…my blog is LOVING it.

so- fish:

WAIT: back up…there’s one other fish in there- cue “biggest contradictory asshole in the pond”

and we’ll back up and tell the story now:

email from fish: “hello. you have really sexy eyes. and a nice top. i would like to see more.”

um. nice. haven’t we been through this before? i selected the most docile, plain, NON-SEXY pictures of myself i could find. one in sunglasses, one at work, and one at a friend’s birthday party. NOTHING DIRTY. no centerfold material, no questionable strapless tops (ok…the dress is strapless, but it’s a ¾ body picture…from far away…).

*sigh*

so i look at the fish’s profile out of sheer curiosity- “i’m the most respectful, nice guy. i would never do anything evil or degrading or mean to people”

so. being me. i email the fish back: “well, aren’t you the biggest contradictory fish in the pond. (played back his own words for him). piss off.”

fish: “you’re a bitck. that’s Russian for…well, you can guess.” (**editor's note: this is the first time i've been cursed out in russian...YAY me...i think...)

me: that's russian for YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE? i couldn't agree more. don't you hate it when someone calls you on your bullshit? perhaps you should remove your head from you ass before you email people.

so. there’s another fish out of the pond. cracks me up. so much for the nicest guy…ha ha ha ha ha…all the bullshit they put on their profiles because women are obviously stupid and we’ll never see through that…ever…at all. fucking idiot.

SO.

back to the s.o.s.:

fish: 40ish, landscaper, virgo, not my type, but not terrible.

initial emails were decent, good sense of humor, full sentences…showing promise.

THEN the freak flag comes out- decides that we should “accidentally bump into each other monday night” and if that works well he wants to go out again friday. REALLY? planning TWO already? we’ll give him points for courage.

then i read through his profile- the “first date” section- FREAKING NOVEL. and this is coming from _ME_. seriously…slightly creepy…goes through the whole date IN DETAIL about how it will go, what they would order, where they would go for a walk, the type of car they would both drive…little over the top there…

BUT…points for creativity…so…you know…how bad could a 30 minute date be?

so i email back- “where am i “accidentally bumping into you” and what time?

and here’s where it gets strange (well, more strange):

“Well Sherry, I remember it this way... You stop into PF Chang's (across from the Mall) for a tall iced tea 'cause its soo hot that Monday. I am at the bar/lounge & take notice of the pretty girl that just walked in dressed in a cute little outfit. I walk up to you & accidentally bump into your right arm... The rest will be history!”

630ish? PF Changs Lounge?

Berry

and yes, that’s his real name…sherry and berry…ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

but…the email…creep anyone else out? does it make you wonder at all if he has THE REST of the story already planned out?

“then i gently smother you with an ether soaked rag and assist you into my waiting vehicle. you awaken as dirt is being shoveled over you in the back woods of one of my “landscaping” jobs…”

i mean SERIOUSLY…is this freaking anyone else out at all?

*cough*

i think i’m getting sick…

*cough*

dang summer colds can sneak up on you real quick…

back to the point- do i go? to get what you KNOW will be a good story for ya'll? or do i NOT go to avoid BECOMING my own "breaking news at 11" story?