help has arrived to the woodford project.

she hasn't been here a day and she's already looking for a way out.

scrape. mud. sand. repeat.

the proverbial light at the end of the wall.

scrape. mud. sand. repeat.

racing the storm.

measure. measure. measure. cut. shit, screwed up. try again. repeat.

again, a door would be easier, but too obvious.

they're baked chips.

allen-sanctioned break.

erradicated pink and purple from the house by painting the kitchen with three coats of appletini. patched three living room walls. sanded the ceiling. tore down old painted paneling. argued about whether the arch should stay or go (whether it is support or no), sealed several windows, talked wainscotting, roof leaked, tried to repair it with flashing and too little tar as a storm rolled in, cut/screwed/hung/began to tape drywall where the old paneling revealed glue, sanded and chipped away at lead-based paint (yes, I know), beet salad for dinner, high-fives all around for fitting the 4runner into the 'garage' in time for the predicted massive hail storm that never materialized, congratulated boan for winning the bet that the arch was once a wall separating the living from dining areas. wine.