GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

(Obviously, this post was written this last Sunday.)

It is Sunday, the day of rest. Even though the temperature hit 90° today, I am not attempting to turn on the air conditioner. Like most other disruptive things that have occurred in recent years, the remodel is happening right in the midst of summer, and I'm bracing for the 100° days that will follow this week.

During work on the house, all the windows get opened up. I have had to sit in the office or work in the garage, because these are the only two places in the entire house where the dear little worker munchkins have not overrun. And the day is quickly coming when I'll be kicked out of the office so the de-popcorning and refinishing of the ceiling may take place.

For now, I'm enjoying my one day of solitude, as the days of the previous week were stressful, so say the least.

On Wednesday evening, Steve McCuen left a voicemail inviting me to join him and Roberto, Jeff and Chuck on Saturday evening to see "Citizen Kane" at the old Orpheum theater in downtown L.A. I jumped at the chance, as I haven't been out for an evening with the boys in nearly a year. I left a voicemail saying I'd love to go. Then Thursday came.

The paint crew (sans Carmen) showed up a bit after nine (as they are supposed to per my request not to start before then). They were just getting started on the painting downstairs when a crew showed up to install the bamboo on the stairs. All hell broke loose as they started arguing in Spanish with one another. Miguel comes up to me and says they can't do the stairs while his crew is painting or the wall finish will be ruined with all the dust of the stair installation.

All of a sudden, I'm supposed to make a decision about a situation I can barely understand, as none of the workers are fluent enough in English to explain (though I got the gist of the conflict). I told them, "You have to call Sam [the project manager] and have him sort this out." Miguel dials Carmen (the lead for the paint crew) and chatters at her, then hands me the phone. She repeats in slightly better English than Miguel that the stair people have got to go. I repeat to her, "You have to call Sam. He's paid to take care of these things." I then give Sam a call myself and explain the situation.

Within five minutes, everyone seems to be on the same page, and the flooring guys leave, saying they will be back tomorrow (Friday). Peace returns to the house.

Now it will come as no surprise that I'm still suffering from insomnia. On a good evening, I'll head to bed at 1 a.m., but 3 and 4 are just as likely on any given day. Since the bedroom is a shambles, there is no light in there, no way to relax with a good book before sleep. Everything is crammed into the closet, which makes it next to impossible to retrieve any clothes, much less the laundry basket to do the wash.

Friday morning, about 20 minutes before my alarm is to go off (I'm using the iPhone because my regular alarm clock is stowed somewhere in the closet), the gate buzzer starts going off. I leap out of bed (not to mention a deep REM sleep) and grope around for some clothes to put on, all the while the buzzer bleats downstairs, complaining and demanding. It was the stairs crew, and I said, not too kindly, "You're supposed to show up at 9." They looked like I had whipped them and drawn blood: "No," one replied, "8 o'clock." "Well, get to it," was my unhappy reply. And so they did.

Carmen showed up a bit later, turning her nose up at the flooring crew. She began doing wall prep for Monday, when this rabble doing the stairs would be gone. She also moved a good deal of the furniture crammed into the dining room and crammed it into the living room. The stair guys left around 3 p.m., telling me they would be here on Saturday morning at 8 a.m. to finish the stairs.

The most frustrating thing about this process is the lack of real communication. Like every freaking day, again I have to remind Carmen that all the blinds come down and get tossed: "Everything off the walls and ceilings, no holes or bare spaces underneath lighting fixtures or curtain rods." At one point, she came to me and showed me the valance she was taking down in the dining room. The screws to remove them are hex-head screws with a slot for a screwdriver. This screw has a hex head but no slot. I tried attacking it with needle-nose pliers, but to no avail. Carmen tried pulling it out ("We just patch the hole), but it's drilled into a steel window casing. So now the valance hangs by one screw (because she patched the holes for the other screws and I couldn't put them back in).

These are little things, I keep telling myself; nothing to worry about, they'll be resolved. I expect to have about a dozen little fixes when all is said and done. But right now they seem like traumas to me. I think it's because I can't turn anywhere in the house without seeing disassembly and disarray. I keep trying to envision the end product in my mind's eye. I also reminded myself: tomorrow I get to go out on the town.

Saturday morning, I set the alarm for 7:30 and was up and ready to greet the crew, but they didn't arrive at 8, like they said. Or 9. Or 10.

Around 11:30, Steve McCuen called and I had to back out on the Orpheum outing that evening. If the stair guys show up now, I wouldn't know when they would leave.

They didn't arrive at noon. Or 1. Or 2. Or 3. Then, at 10 to 4, the gate buzzer sounds, and there they are with sheepish grins. With open dismay, I let them in and they get to work.

They are also putting bamboo flooring in the downstairs bath, and I'm thinking to myself, "They'd better take the toilet out first, and not just install the flooring around it"; this is how much I distrusted these guys.

To make a long story short, they left here at 8 p.m., so I was wise to cancel movie night, but I'm feeling really cheated by these assholes. Not only did they steal what I had planned be to a day of rest and leisurely chores, they also ruined my plans for that evening.

After the last ceilings are scraped and the painting is finished and the new counter and sink are installed; once everything is back in its place and stuff gets moved downstairs for donation or storage; when the DIY projects (lighting, switches, handles and some trim painting, etc.). I will feel very good about all the crap I went through to get the place tip top.

Then comes the house cleaning ladies and then keeping the place pristine. It will be like living in a display case while we have open houses and appointments.

(I'm posting this on Wednesday, but wrote the copy above on Sunday evening.)

This week had been just as disruptive as the last. Presently, the painters are up in the office, scraping the ceiling and prepping it for paint. The cats are hiding in the office closet, though their litter box, food and water are in the bedroom. Hopefully, they can hold out until 5 p.m., or they will make the dash to the bedroom and hide in that closet until the hubbub is over.

There is more to tell, but I will leave that for the next entry and get this tome online now.

This is all worth it. This is all worth it. EGBOK. EGBOK.