Bathroom Saga (rated G - but with violent thoughts)

Maybe I should name this post differently. "Bathroom Saga" contains so many preconceived notions: farting is always fun, steamy mirrors with finger drawings of smiley faces, or maybe squeaky music and kitchen daggers through the shower curtain. It's not going to be any of those. This is my whiny post about how I had plans and life just doesn't work very well with my plans. I thought I had really good plans, something life would want to go along with. But no. I just wanted to paint my bathroom. I wanted to paint it on my four day weekend (that wasn't). I've been fighting mold on the bathroom walls for a year now and I'm just getting tired of it. I notice that each time I go after the mold with vinegar, baking soda and a nylon scrubby pad more paint comes off. It's a homemade remedy that takes off everything actually. Rather effective at removing. Not so effective at preventing.

The upshot is, I want to paint the bathroom. This long holiday weekend would be perfect. I would have a four day weekend, or so I thought. I called upstairs to the manager of this four-plex last Saturday and asked about bathroom paint and said I'd paint it if he'd come up with the goods - Kilz, painters tape, paint and stuff. He was pretty excited that he has all this stuff and rollers and paint brushes too he said. But ya know, he adds, the paint is going to have to warm up (it's was pretty darn cold last weekend, hanging around freezing for several days). I assured him we can set the cans of paint in my hallway this week cause I want to paint on Friday after Thanksgiving and there's plenty of time for paint to warm up. (Is anybody catching the part of this post that says right now it is Saturday...almost noon...) I didn't hear from this guy upstairs all week. I texted on Wednesday night to ask if there's anything happening with the painting...it was a very nice text I thought- lots of honey in it. No reply. I left another text Friday night - some honey, but some vinegar. No reply. So this morning when half my day is gone - I no longer have four day weekend but a measly day and a half like any other weekend, I call up there (I'm done texting) and he has the gall to say, "Let me get up first and I'll unlock the closet to see what I got." (10:30 this morning - okay...so we don't share the same time references; by entire weeks, never mind by hours). It's finally almost noon. I have bathroom paint and Kilz and rollers and brushes and tape in my hallway. I now get to wait some more while it warms up.

I feel that I'm supposed to be thankful that all this is offered. I'm concerned that I'm supposed to be thankful I even have a bathroom that should be painted. But instead I am spitfire mad that the lazy jerk upstairs can't even open the supply closet a week ago, when it was a weekend - I'm not asking for anything special. I have some truly terrible thoughts about what I think of him and his paint and the attitude (I orignally wrote exactly what I think, but ya know...he's just a stupid guy getting a really good break on his rent by being the go-to guy for the 4-plex - I hope he's really good at his regular job because he sucks at this job - oops there I'm starting up again, stop now young lady.)

Ya' know, if someone offers to do your job, I'm just of the belief that it'd be really smart to hand them the tools to do it while the iron is hot. Right now...I'm really hot...and it aint' good.

Watching paint warm up

Is kind of like watching grass grow

Without any movement.

Is that a hiaku?