Mother, Forgive me…
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By jank - Last updated: Sunday, August 3, 2003 - Save & Share - Leave a Comment

This evening’s entry is brought to you both from an actual back porch, and with actual, delicious, beer. Peruse at your own risk.

I did a bad, bad, thing. Not crucially bad, since I’m still sitting here on a Sunday evening, eating a little kalmata olive bread, a little cheese, and sipping on a delicious Ommegang beer. Melissa, despite her best instincts, hasn’t left me, nor have I broken any laws.

Regardless, I’m seeking absolution. I have done a bad, bad thing.


Admittedly, it’s had hugely positive results. I’m sitting on my porch for the first time in about 8 months (and the first time ever without losing blood to mosquitoes more rapidly than I can make it), loving the heck out of WiFi, and ready to lay into the new Tomb Raider.

It’s not quite lying to a grand jury bad, or lying in a state of the union address bad, but I do feel the need to apologize to the world .

All, right, I’ll come clean – I borrowed my father-in-law’s pressure washer, and ran through about 3 gallons of gas and God knows how many gallons of water blasting the better part of a decade’s worth of mung off of my house. I feel terrible, since the eco-friendly thing to do would have been to get a stiff bristled brush and scrub, scrub, scrub with about a tenth the water. But, damnit, it felt good. Watching years worth of algae come off the house was great, and it saved me enough time to get a decent start on painting today, instead of scrubbing all day. Plus, instead of me having to buy a brush, I was using equipment we already had, and gas I’d bought for the mower.

I’ve got to give kudos to the Hardware Store, though. I brought in a piece of trim that I’d torn down when I replaced our rotted out garage door, and the paint matching system was able to match the color exactly. Which was a pain painting in the afternoon, because by the time I was able to move the ladder, the paint on the house was dry. And after blasting it clean (Water only, no cleaners), it was almost impossible to see where the new paint stopped, and the old (ooh, just killed a mosquito) paint began.

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