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prance_legolasThis post is picture heavy and dial-uppers should beware. Also warning for more nekkidness ahead. Sorry to have skipped a week--PP has been keeping me so busy I clean out forgot I hadn't posted last Thursday!!!
Remember this from last chapter???
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY!!!!”
Chapter 19 Tool Time
“I said HOLD STILL!”
“I kin’t! It HUERTZ!”
“I can’t very well fix it if you don’t stop fighting! This is a damned fine bloody mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, you know.”
“OOOOOOeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww! al!”
“I thought you were a warrior. Warriors are tougher than that,” says Lil’ Pip, clearly not impressed with the Prance’s pain tolerance.
“OOOEEEWWWW!!! Tampa tanya, al!”
“Geez, he squeals like a girl,” complains Lil’ Pip. “And who’s Tonya?”
“Shued uep!”
“Don’t say shut up,” lectures Yes Dear from the floor where he’s working hard to restrain the Prance to keep him from doing any more damage to himself. “It’s not nice.”
I take advantage of the distraction of their arguing to stand up and try to find something to get us out of this situation. Moving to the bathroom closet, I grab the first aid kit and a couple of towels and hurry back to the kitchen. Kneeling by the Prance’s head, I open the kit and take out some antibiotic cream, some gauze pads, some cotton-tipped applicators, and the little needle-nosed pinchers called hemostats.
“NOE! NOE! NOET DA SEEEZZIRZ!!” wails Prance Helpful.
“Hold still. You’re only making things worse with all this struggling,” I say, whispering so he’ll have to listen closely as I squeeze some of the greasy antibiotic cream onto a gauze pad and hold the pad to the sawblade where it’s so firmly embedded. As I work the cream in with my right hand, I start to stroke his cheek with the back of my left, hoping the gesture will reassure and comfort him. “I’m not going to cut you. I’m going to work some of this antibiotic cream in here and then see if I can get you loose from this blade, okay?”
“Okae,” he whimpers. His baby blue eyes are locked on mine.
Once I’ve got every millimeter covered in the oily cream, I lay out a couple more of the gauze squares where I can reach them easily, and then I pick up the hemostats. Pulling gently with tiny tugs, I start to separate him from the circular saw.
After about ten minutes, I make eye contact with Yes Dear.
“This is really bad, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure I can do this.”
“I know.”
Another ten minutes passes. Legolas is lying very still flat on his back there between us with his eyes closed, concentrating on breathing with little shallow inhales and exhales, trying incredibly hard to be patient and cooperative.
“Iz it gitteng eni bedder?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I lie. “I appreciate how quiet you’re being. It’s a lot of help, sweetie. Hang in there for just a little bit longer.”
Yes Dear wipes his hand across his forehead. “You want me to try?”
“Sure.”
“Trade places with me.”
He takes the hemostats and the gauze pads from me and, as he starts to pick and pull, says softly, “You said to make him wear the safety goggles.”
“I know,” I reply. “And I see he’s still wearing them, though they’re not much good in a situation like this.”
Yes Dear bristles at me. “Well, neither one of us really expects a medal. I vote we bag him into the van and haul him down to the ER and see what they can do.”
“What a wuss...,” mumbles Lil’ Pip from the recliner where she’s reading her latest Nancy Drew mystery.
“You know we can’t do that. We’ll just have to handle this ourselves.” I stop to consider my alternatives, and the only thing I can come up with is the same thing I’ve been avoiding for the past half hour. “I don’t want to do this, but if I use the scissors to sever just that one little place there, I think I can work him loose without hurting him any more....”
“Might as well get on with it then,” decides the Man of the House.
“Noe, puhleese! Noet da seezirs!” whines the Prance, watching me reach to pick them up from the first aid kit.
“I have to, baby. I’m sorry,” I say reassuringly as I use the curved bandage scissors to make a tiny cut by reaching down in between the sawblade and the metal handle.
A yelp and three more tugs with the hemostats later, the Prance pops free. He’s off the floor in a flash and halfway to the bathroom even before I can stand back up to follow him.
I find him staring at himself in the mirror, his face a mask of despair. In his hand he cradles his left warrior braid, or at least, what’s left of it.
“Oeh, al! Jest luuk at my hare!” he cries.
“It’s only an inch, Legolas. We can trim it all the way around, and it will all match again. If you don’t say anything, no one will know any better.”
He lets out a humongous sigh.
Poor baby.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(((Wednesday afternoon, my kitchen looked like THIS:)))
(((When we tipped over the bottom cabinets all the way across the room, next to where the den starts, we found mold all the way over there under the stove as well!)))
We managed somehow to get all of the old cabinets out of the kitchen, and put up the bank of new upper cabinets by late Wednesday night. The last thing Yes Dear took out before bedtime was the cabinet that holds up the kitchen sink.
I never realized how many times a day Legolas washes his hands. No sooner had he deposited the old moldy cabinet outside in the pile we had ready to go to the landfill when here he came ready to wash his hands. He stopped there where the cabinet once stood, realized his error, and giggled out loud before trotting off to the bathroom sink instead.
That was the FIRST time.
By midnight, exasperated sighs of frustration were occurring on an average of every ten minutes or so. In the next two hours, the sighs increased not only in intensity of frustration, but intensity of volume as well. Here’s what it sounded like:
*sound of footsteps crinkling along on the plastic sheeting covering wet, moldy plywood*
“AAAUUURRRGGGHHH!!!”
*sounds of footsteps first crinkling on plastic, then padding on carpet, then slapping on tile*
*sound of water running in the sink*
*sounds of water stopping*
*sounds of padded footsteps on carpet again*
Legolas is a night owl like myself. Both of us can stay up and wide awake as long as the stars are shining in the heavens. That’s often when we get our best work done. Unfortunately for me, daybreak means the rest of the humans in our household and all over the world are expecting me to be alert and capable during sunlit hours as well. Legolas, being an elf, sneaks in those “waking dreams” and can get away with not lying in bed for days if he wants to.
Thus, the sounds of elven frustration and distress about cleanliness are not particularly welcome at 3:00 am in this particular household. It also happens that being awake and dressed before 8:00 am when Joe is expected to arrive to start repairing the floor is a problem for me. Bleary eyed and squinting in the early morning sunlight, I stand at the back door and peer out, waiting for him to drive up.
At 8:30 am, I get a phone call from Joe. He’s going to be a little late because there wasn’t enough (fill in the blank with the name of some random piece of construction equipment yourself – I already said I was bleary) and he needed to go to Greenville to get more.
I don’t have enough time for a quick nap, so I put a CD on to keep me awake. Soon Legolas is sashaying about in the den, rocking to Billy Idol. Half an hour later, he’s doing the Conga with Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine. Soon he’s showing me some Middle-earth moves, and I’m teaching him The Electric Slide. That’s about the time Joe knocks on the carport screen door. When I open it, he and Lou are giggling like schoolgirls.
Didn’t I say before I can’t dance?
Legolas abandons Gloria like she’s a hot Latin-baked tamale. In a flash, he’s outside directing Joe how to park his trailer in the yard without hitting the flowerpots or bogging down in the low spots out by the laundry line. He totes two-by-fours, drags plastic tarp material, sweeps off the carport, and generally waits on Joe hand and foot.
Joe comes inside, admires Yes Dear’s work on the new upper cabinets, and then pulls me aside. “Is it okay if he does all this? The price I quoted you didn’t include having him help me with the labor.”
“It’s fine with me, as long as it’s okay with you.”
“Okay, then....”
Hmmmm. I wonder if he would have quoted me a higher or a lower price, figuring in an elven princeling as a carpenter’s helper. Oh, well.
Joe takes his new apprentice out to the truck and fits him with a toolbelt, showing him how to hang a hammer off his hip so he can draw it like one of those Western six-shooters. After half a dozen false starts, they rehang the belt a bit crooked so it sits more like a sword in a sheath instead. That seems to solve the Prance’s problem, and he’s soon drawing quicker than Joe or Lou can.
I head back to the computer room and leave them alone to do their work. I’ve found that hanging over competent workmen is just a waste of time, and I certainly think highly of Joe and Lou. Joe’s wife works at the same place where Yes Dear used to work, and she and I have also done some local charity things together. Her granddaughter is in the same school program as Lil’ Pip. It seems our whole family hangs out together at company picnics and local gatherings, so having Joe bang a nail in my kitchen doesn’t concern me in the least.
After about half an hour, I head out to refill my tea glass from the pitcher in the refrigerator. I find the refrigerator sitting dead center in front of the sliding glass door in the den. Joe’s hung plastic sheeting over the doorway to keep the smell from wafting down the hall, but the odor when I push through and enter the den is enough to knock a buzzard off a... uhm... a high tree branch.
Legolas is in the kitchen gleefully scooping the particle board up off the plywood subfloor with a huge shovel like those that you find in a horsebarn for cleaning stalls. The rot has gotten so bad that he doesn’t even have to work to break it apart. It’s literally just scooping right up.
(((The green linoleum is the stuff that used to be under the brown floor you saw in the earlier pictures. This is the side of the kitchen directly ACROSS from the sink and the dishwasher where the whole thing started. The subflooring looked like THIS:)))
What’s really funny is that his T-shirt is now draped over the back of the recliner, and he’s managed to drag his jeans down his lean hips until he’s got about 6 inches of green plaid boxer shorts hanging out of the top of his pants. The toolbelt is slung at a cockeyed angle across his pelvis, and the hammer rests there in front where he has to push at it every time he bends over to keep from skewering his belly on it. He’s also managed to finagle a 25-foot tape measure, a roll of black electrical tape, and a Phillips head screwdriver to attach to the belt as well.
The only problem I see with this picture should be readily apparent to those of you who can get your eyeballs back inside your skull.
*Snaps fingers* Come on! Work with me here!
What’s so wrong with this picture? That’s easy. The long blond locks are hanging freely about his shoulders, swaying in time with the movement of those hips hanging out of the top of his boxers.
He turns around to start a new row of scooping, and when he bends over to slide the blade of the shovel under the mess of mold and particle board, sure enough, there’s the plumber’s crack. Or is that carpenter’s crack? I’ll let you be the judge of that one.
I head over to where he’s standing, trying not to sneeze from the smell of all the mold.I have no idea why he's not sneezing his head off as well. Tapping him on the shoulder, I wait until he rises and looks at me before taking his silky hair in my hands and beginning to braid.
“You’ve earned Carpenter’s Braids today, nin mel. Let me bestow them upon you.”
He positively glows as he stands and lets me wind his hair into a single braid down the back of his head, securing it with one of the rubber bands taken from my own warrior braids that his lightning fingers so carefully put in for me this morning.
“There. Now you’re truly a Carpenter’s Apprentice.”
“Due I reely luuk like a Caerpintur’z Apraentise, al?”
“You most certainly do.”
He looks down at himself, admiring the toolbelt I’m sure. “Due u like my owtfeat? Joe maed it fur me.” He pauses for a moment, considering something, then adds, ”I hoep u doen’t miend dat I tuuk oeff my shurt.”
Without thinking, I respond, “Nin caun, as long as this gets done today, I wouldn’t care if you did it completely naked.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see his lightning fast hand dart to his waist, his nimble fingers working at the buckle of his belt.
“NO! NO! It was a--”
His chortling outburst could probably be heard clear to town. “I noe, al. It wuz a feegur of speaech. I wuz jest teezeeng u.”
(((What would this story be without a nekkid picture, huh? Here is the whole nasty nekkid mess, same view as the first picture up there:)))
Remember this from last chapter???
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY!!!!”
Chapter 19 Tool Time
“I said HOLD STILL!”
“I kin’t! It HUERTZ!”
“I can’t very well fix it if you don’t stop fighting! This is a damned fine bloody mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, you know.”
“OOOOOOeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww! al!”
“I thought you were a warrior. Warriors are tougher than that,” says Lil’ Pip, clearly not impressed with the Prance’s pain tolerance.
“OOOEEEWWWW!!! Tampa tanya, al!”
“Geez, he squeals like a girl,” complains Lil’ Pip. “And who’s Tonya?”
“Shued uep!”
“Don’t say shut up,” lectures Yes Dear from the floor where he’s working hard to restrain the Prance to keep him from doing any more damage to himself. “It’s not nice.”
I take advantage of the distraction of their arguing to stand up and try to find something to get us out of this situation. Moving to the bathroom closet, I grab the first aid kit and a couple of towels and hurry back to the kitchen. Kneeling by the Prance’s head, I open the kit and take out some antibiotic cream, some gauze pads, some cotton-tipped applicators, and the little needle-nosed pinchers called hemostats.
“NOE! NOE! NOET DA SEEEZZIRZ!!” wails Prance Helpful.
“Hold still. You’re only making things worse with all this struggling,” I say, whispering so he’ll have to listen closely as I squeeze some of the greasy antibiotic cream onto a gauze pad and hold the pad to the sawblade where it’s so firmly embedded. As I work the cream in with my right hand, I start to stroke his cheek with the back of my left, hoping the gesture will reassure and comfort him. “I’m not going to cut you. I’m going to work some of this antibiotic cream in here and then see if I can get you loose from this blade, okay?”
“Okae,” he whimpers. His baby blue eyes are locked on mine.
Once I’ve got every millimeter covered in the oily cream, I lay out a couple more of the gauze squares where I can reach them easily, and then I pick up the hemostats. Pulling gently with tiny tugs, I start to separate him from the circular saw.
After about ten minutes, I make eye contact with Yes Dear.
“This is really bad, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure I can do this.”
“I know.”
Another ten minutes passes. Legolas is lying very still flat on his back there between us with his eyes closed, concentrating on breathing with little shallow inhales and exhales, trying incredibly hard to be patient and cooperative.
“Iz it gitteng eni bedder?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I lie. “I appreciate how quiet you’re being. It’s a lot of help, sweetie. Hang in there for just a little bit longer.”
Yes Dear wipes his hand across his forehead. “You want me to try?”
“Sure.”
“Trade places with me.”
He takes the hemostats and the gauze pads from me and, as he starts to pick and pull, says softly, “You said to make him wear the safety goggles.”
“I know,” I reply. “And I see he’s still wearing them, though they’re not much good in a situation like this.”
Yes Dear bristles at me. “Well, neither one of us really expects a medal. I vote we bag him into the van and haul him down to the ER and see what they can do.”
“What a wuss...,” mumbles Lil’ Pip from the recliner where she’s reading her latest Nancy Drew mystery.
“You know we can’t do that. We’ll just have to handle this ourselves.” I stop to consider my alternatives, and the only thing I can come up with is the same thing I’ve been avoiding for the past half hour. “I don’t want to do this, but if I use the scissors to sever just that one little place there, I think I can work him loose without hurting him any more....”
“Might as well get on with it then,” decides the Man of the House.
“Noe, puhleese! Noet da seezirs!” whines the Prance, watching me reach to pick them up from the first aid kit.
“I have to, baby. I’m sorry,” I say reassuringly as I use the curved bandage scissors to make a tiny cut by reaching down in between the sawblade and the metal handle.
A yelp and three more tugs with the hemostats later, the Prance pops free. He’s off the floor in a flash and halfway to the bathroom even before I can stand back up to follow him.
I find him staring at himself in the mirror, his face a mask of despair. In his hand he cradles his left warrior braid, or at least, what’s left of it.
“Oeh, al! Jest luuk at my hare!” he cries.
“It’s only an inch, Legolas. We can trim it all the way around, and it will all match again. If you don’t say anything, no one will know any better.”
He lets out a humongous sigh.
Poor baby.
(((Wednesday afternoon, my kitchen looked like THIS:)))
(((When we tipped over the bottom cabinets all the way across the room, next to where the den starts, we found mold all the way over there under the stove as well!)))
We managed somehow to get all of the old cabinets out of the kitchen, and put up the bank of new upper cabinets by late Wednesday night. The last thing Yes Dear took out before bedtime was the cabinet that holds up the kitchen sink.
I never realized how many times a day Legolas washes his hands. No sooner had he deposited the old moldy cabinet outside in the pile we had ready to go to the landfill when here he came ready to wash his hands. He stopped there where the cabinet once stood, realized his error, and giggled out loud before trotting off to the bathroom sink instead.
That was the FIRST time.
By midnight, exasperated sighs of frustration were occurring on an average of every ten minutes or so. In the next two hours, the sighs increased not only in intensity of frustration, but intensity of volume as well. Here’s what it sounded like:
*sound of footsteps crinkling along on the plastic sheeting covering wet, moldy plywood*
“AAAUUURRRGGGHHH!!!”
*sounds of footsteps first crinkling on plastic, then padding on carpet, then slapping on tile*
*sound of water running in the sink*
*sounds of water stopping*
*sounds of padded footsteps on carpet again*
Legolas is a night owl like myself. Both of us can stay up and wide awake as long as the stars are shining in the heavens. That’s often when we get our best work done. Unfortunately for me, daybreak means the rest of the humans in our household and all over the world are expecting me to be alert and capable during sunlit hours as well. Legolas, being an elf, sneaks in those “waking dreams” and can get away with not lying in bed for days if he wants to.
Thus, the sounds of elven frustration and distress about cleanliness are not particularly welcome at 3:00 am in this particular household. It also happens that being awake and dressed before 8:00 am when Joe is expected to arrive to start repairing the floor is a problem for me. Bleary eyed and squinting in the early morning sunlight, I stand at the back door and peer out, waiting for him to drive up.
At 8:30 am, I get a phone call from Joe. He’s going to be a little late because there wasn’t enough (fill in the blank with the name of some random piece of construction equipment yourself – I already said I was bleary) and he needed to go to Greenville to get more.
I don’t have enough time for a quick nap, so I put a CD on to keep me awake. Soon Legolas is sashaying about in the den, rocking to Billy Idol. Half an hour later, he’s doing the Conga with Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine. Soon he’s showing me some Middle-earth moves, and I’m teaching him The Electric Slide. That’s about the time Joe knocks on the carport screen door. When I open it, he and Lou are giggling like schoolgirls.
Didn’t I say before I can’t dance?
Legolas abandons Gloria like she’s a hot Latin-baked tamale. In a flash, he’s outside directing Joe how to park his trailer in the yard without hitting the flowerpots or bogging down in the low spots out by the laundry line. He totes two-by-fours, drags plastic tarp material, sweeps off the carport, and generally waits on Joe hand and foot.
Joe comes inside, admires Yes Dear’s work on the new upper cabinets, and then pulls me aside. “Is it okay if he does all this? The price I quoted you didn’t include having him help me with the labor.”
“It’s fine with me, as long as it’s okay with you.”
“Okay, then....”
Hmmmm. I wonder if he would have quoted me a higher or a lower price, figuring in an elven princeling as a carpenter’s helper. Oh, well.
Joe takes his new apprentice out to the truck and fits him with a toolbelt, showing him how to hang a hammer off his hip so he can draw it like one of those Western six-shooters. After half a dozen false starts, they rehang the belt a bit crooked so it sits more like a sword in a sheath instead. That seems to solve the Prance’s problem, and he’s soon drawing quicker than Joe or Lou can.
I head back to the computer room and leave them alone to do their work. I’ve found that hanging over competent workmen is just a waste of time, and I certainly think highly of Joe and Lou. Joe’s wife works at the same place where Yes Dear used to work, and she and I have also done some local charity things together. Her granddaughter is in the same school program as Lil’ Pip. It seems our whole family hangs out together at company picnics and local gatherings, so having Joe bang a nail in my kitchen doesn’t concern me in the least.
After about half an hour, I head out to refill my tea glass from the pitcher in the refrigerator. I find the refrigerator sitting dead center in front of the sliding glass door in the den. Joe’s hung plastic sheeting over the doorway to keep the smell from wafting down the hall, but the odor when I push through and enter the den is enough to knock a buzzard off a... uhm... a high tree branch.
Legolas is in the kitchen gleefully scooping the particle board up off the plywood subfloor with a huge shovel like those that you find in a horsebarn for cleaning stalls. The rot has gotten so bad that he doesn’t even have to work to break it apart. It’s literally just scooping right up.
(((The green linoleum is the stuff that used to be under the brown floor you saw in the earlier pictures. This is the side of the kitchen directly ACROSS from the sink and the dishwasher where the whole thing started. The subflooring looked like THIS:)))
What’s really funny is that his T-shirt is now draped over the back of the recliner, and he’s managed to drag his jeans down his lean hips until he’s got about 6 inches of green plaid boxer shorts hanging out of the top of his pants. The toolbelt is slung at a cockeyed angle across his pelvis, and the hammer rests there in front where he has to push at it every time he bends over to keep from skewering his belly on it. He’s also managed to finagle a 25-foot tape measure, a roll of black electrical tape, and a Phillips head screwdriver to attach to the belt as well.
The only problem I see with this picture should be readily apparent to those of you who can get your eyeballs back inside your skull.
*Snaps fingers* Come on! Work with me here!
What’s so wrong with this picture? That’s easy. The long blond locks are hanging freely about his shoulders, swaying in time with the movement of those hips hanging out of the top of his boxers.
He turns around to start a new row of scooping, and when he bends over to slide the blade of the shovel under the mess of mold and particle board, sure enough, there’s the plumber’s crack. Or is that carpenter’s crack? I’ll let you be the judge of that one.
I head over to where he’s standing, trying not to sneeze from the smell of all the mold.I have no idea why he's not sneezing his head off as well. Tapping him on the shoulder, I wait until he rises and looks at me before taking his silky hair in my hands and beginning to braid.
“You’ve earned Carpenter’s Braids today, nin mel. Let me bestow them upon you.”
He positively glows as he stands and lets me wind his hair into a single braid down the back of his head, securing it with one of the rubber bands taken from my own warrior braids that his lightning fingers so carefully put in for me this morning.
“There. Now you’re truly a Carpenter’s Apprentice.”
“Due I reely luuk like a Caerpintur’z Apraentise, al?”
“You most certainly do.”
He looks down at himself, admiring the toolbelt I’m sure. “Due u like my owtfeat? Joe maed it fur me.” He pauses for a moment, considering something, then adds, ”I hoep u doen’t miend dat I tuuk oeff my shurt.”
Without thinking, I respond, “Nin caun, as long as this gets done today, I wouldn’t care if you did it completely naked.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see his lightning fast hand dart to his waist, his nimble fingers working at the buckle of his belt.
“NO! NO! It was a--”
His chortling outburst could probably be heard clear to town. “I noe, al. It wuz a feegur of speaech. I wuz jest teezeeng u.”
(((What would this story be without a nekkid picture, huh? Here is the whole nasty nekkid mess, same view as the first picture up there:)))
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: September 21st, 2006 04:29 am (UTC)Awwww... Carpenter’s Apprentice how cute.
no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:45 am (UTC)It's just a super long run, y'know?
no subject
Date: September 21st, 2006 06:18 am (UTC)As for the Prance... he's just too funny for words!
no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:47 am (UTC)It's left me with a ton of good memories to go with the bad, though, so I won't complain. *grins*
I'm never sure if I want to squeeze him or strangle him. He reminds me of Elmo--"Gotta love me!"
no subject
Date: September 21st, 2006 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:48 am (UTC)Wonder if Boromir and Aragorn have ever seen the Plumber's crack? I'll bet the Prance will have a thing or two to show when he gets back!
no subject
Date: September 21st, 2006 07:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:51 am (UTC)Can I just take this opportunity to say that there's nothing more pathetic than an immobile, insecure, helpless elfling? I wonder how many times his siblings and parents and caretakers found themselves in the same position I was in. Hundreds, I'm sure.
Makes you wonder what a trip to the barber shop was like. Probably never went to a barber...that's just to "barbaric", isn't it?
No wonder they call it a beauty salon....
no subject
Date: September 21st, 2006 12:07 pm (UTC)Oh! Have my own funny to tell you! My oldest son, Ian (15), was in with my nephew Zach this past weekend, and Zach dragged some toys out of the toychest. Zach made some comment about the spiderman toy being a doll, and Ian said "It's not a doll, it's an Akshun Feegur!" I swear I stopped and looked around the corner. Thought I was being visited by the Prance himself!
And he's never read your tales, though I'm beginning to think he should! LOL
I have a feeling that is what my flooring is going to look like when we have our kitchen remodeled... *sigh*
Nekkid Elf... *wishes*
no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:54 am (UTC)Just send him over there, or print 'em out so he doesn't wander up on my NC-17 stuff in my lj.... *snerk!*
Nasty, nasty floor. So glad it's gone....
no subject
Date: September 22nd, 2006 07:11 am (UTC)Eeeek - I can't believe how horrible that kitchen floor looks, especially in the last picture!!!
" 'Just luuk at my hare'." The ultimate disaster for a fastidious elf!!!
At least the work's progressing, thanks to the "carpenter's apprentice" (even with butt crack!) but it's been going on so long you must be desperate to complete now!
Another lovely episode chez Al & YD !!
no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:56 am (UTC)YD and I do a lot of repairing ourselves, and with working on sets at the theater we're used to having things sort of strewn about for long periods of time. It was nice finally getting everything back in working order though.
Glad you enjoyed it!
no subject
Date: September 23rd, 2006 11:14 am (UTC)Your nekkid wood is scary!
That picture is giving me nightmares thinking about that little leak I have in the bathroom because somebody keeps pulling the caulking up around the tub.
no subject
Date: September 29th, 2006 04:58 am (UTC)You'd better check on that caulking pretty soon. I haven't any idea how long we'd had a leak to cause this much damage, but I'll bet it wasn't all THAT long. I'm not sure I ever want to work with this much water damage again--it was really nasty stuff!!
no subject
Date: November 27th, 2006 11:00 pm (UTC)Love,
Shegollum
no subject
Date: November 30th, 2006 02:31 am (UTC)*giggles*
*thinks you might be under the influence of some severe carpenter's crack--chant with me here "Just say NO to drugs...Just say NO to drugs"*