think of a man unemployed who would love to jump inm there and give you a hand Dan. Lee
On Mon, Nov 09, 2009 at 10:46:38AM -0500, Dan Rossi wrote: > So, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I decided to rip down the canvas > wall paper covering, taking with it some 80 years of paint, including lots > of lead based paints. I sealed off the nursery, taping the door closed, > had a big box fan exhausting out one window with the other window cracked > open. I had my respirator on, and a jump suit. I pealed all the paper > off the walls and ceiling in pretty short order. I bagged it and sealed > the bags. Then I shop vacked the hell out of the room with a heppa filter > on the vac. > > All went quite well. Unfortunately, Teresa and I made a monumentally > stupid decision after that. Being good parents to be, we discussed the > fact that due to past water damage, the paint on the window sills was > chipping and pealing so we should probably strip that paint off and > repaint them. What a fucking nightmare. I spent about 20 hours over the > weekend in a respirator, painting stripper on the trim and scraping it > off. The stripper worked well on the first umteen layers of paint, it > literally bubbled right off. After a second application of stripper, I > was still fighting with the last couple of layers of paint. I finally > gave up and just scraped it all down so that there was no loose material. > > My hands are scraped and sore from smashing them on corners, edges, > radiators, and exposure to harsh chemicals. My back and shoulders are > killing me from hours on the floor scraping the damn baseboards. > > I attempted making the pitch of just ripping out the trim and putting new > stuff in, but that didn't fly. It would have been so much easier though. > > Anyway, it is done, sort of, and now I have to deal with patching up the > walls a bit, and finishing the trim work on the closet. > > SHEESH! > > -- > Blue skies. > Dan Rossi > Carnegie Mellon University. > E-Mail: [email protected] > Tel: (412) 268-9081 -- While vacationing last summer in the North Woods, a young fellow thought it might be a good idea to write his girl. He had brought no stationery with him, however; so he had to walk into town for some. Entering the one and only general store, he discovered that the clerk was a young, full-blown farm girl with languorous eyes. "Do you keep stationery?" he asked. "Well," she giggled, "I do until the last few seconds, and then I just go wild." .
