The Weeping Shitter of Wheaton, Illinois

Someday, I will sit down and post all of the before and after pictures of the work we've been doing to the house since Januaryish. I promise. The pictures are taken, and even uploaded to my computer (usually the biggest hurdle). Now I just need to find the words.

But anyway. We are down to the last room in the great redecorating blitz of aught eight: the downstairs bathroom. Now, if you've ever painted a bathroom, you know that despite their smaller size, they are the biggest freaking pain in the ass to paint. Lots of cutting and awkward angles. (I'm always glad that I do yoga when I have to paint a bathroom.)

And this house? Oh my god. The things I have seen when painting this house. Three layers of painted-over wallpaper? Check. Outlets painted to match walls? Check. The white molded enclosure of our bathtub mysteriously painted white? Sure. Why not?

So between the fact that it's a bathroom and past experience painting rooms in this house, I was prepared to not enjoy this project.

Little did I know what was in store for me.

The walls were papered in a red plaid and the ceiling painted a deep red to match. Obviously primer was called for. So I got my primer and brush all ready and got to work. About halfway through, I took a break (possibly to get a beer, but it's hard to say). It was then that I noticed that the primer I had put on first was beaded up and rolling down the wall.

Uhh. Okay.

My stellar investigative skills told me that the walls were oily. I'd wiped them down before I started, but only with water. Everyone knows that oil is hydrophobic. When you need to clean something greasy, you need the big guns. And that took care of it.

Or so I thought.

I started painting again. Then I noticed that the oil drips were back. Oh yes. There was oil dripping down the walls of our bathroom. Obviously , this was beyond my skill set (see: 409), so I reached into my bag of librarian tricks and googled it.

Turns out there is only one explanation. We aren't talking about a statue of the virgin, but that doesn't make it any less miraculous.

Am currently trying to figure out how to sell it on eBay.

Wanted: World-Class Pediatricians

Oh, if only we knew one ...

Jason!

Jason came to visit us last weekend, making him our first repeat Maryland visitor.

Also, still our only Maryland visitor.

Friday night we got to check out Chef Bowles' new place. Amazing, of course. The food was fantastic, the atmosphere relaxed, the music leaned to the new wave 80s I love, and, of course, I can't say enough about the company.

Saturday, the weather was gorgeous, so we decided to hang out by the pool. D made ribs, much wine was consumed ... it was a perfect day.

On Sunday we took the train back into the city to hit the Museum of Contemporary Art. Rather than walk, we decided to take the water taxi.


For two bucks, it's a pretty great way to see the city.



Then we headed to the museum, where we were treated to an underwhelming exhibit by Jeff Koons (including a special treat: pornography as art). I was disappointed that the museum doesn't seem to have a permanent collection. It's just exhibits. Although I did like the Calder exhibit.

After a stroll to Navy Pier, we hopped the train back home:

(The photographer suffers for his art)

... where D made us his fantastic pork chops and we drank the amazing Champagne that Jason sent us for Christmas.

(Note: amazing champagne and amazing flushed cheeks)

Then he left. 

Despite our pleas and tears and promises of a full-time position as our pool guy. It was quite the scene Monday morning at O'Hare departures, but I'm not proud. 

Even though we hate the leaving part, Jason's visits are always a good time: lots of laughs, great food, and wine.

So today, we restocked:

(Why, yes, that IS a St. Supery wine ...)

New basement, new hole.

We already showed you that Cat found himself a hole almost immediately after we moved in. But, since that hole led directly into the basement ceiling, we decided it wasn't the best place for Cat to hang out. Since we almost had to tear out our entire basement this spring (pictures are coming, but that is another post for another day), it seemed like a good time to wall up Cat's hideout.

We considered doing it up Cask of Amontillado style. Briefly.

Cat, true to form, stared longingly at the wall where the hole used to be for about a day, then bounced back:



I'm sure that fiberglass insulation is good for his little lungs.

Devil Cat

Lest you think that Maggie is our only ill-mannered pet:



It seems that cat missed us when we were gone for Memorial Day weekend. So much that he needed to dig D's mostly gone mocha out of the trash.

Unwanted Visitors

This is the male duck that, along with his lady friend, made our pool his home this spring. We haven't seen him in weeks, but she's out there everyday. And she seems sad. I feel bad for her, but not bad enough to keep me from siccing the Maggot on her.

Yesterday, after we chased her away when we woke up, she was sitting in the neighbors front yard, staring at me as I pulled out. Just waiting for us to go to work.

Ducks are so crafty.

Who knew?