Contractor Update

We're getting so damn close.  Yet it's taken so damn long.  My advice for quicker renovations results is to hire disabled monkeys.  With their able-bodied friends making rudimentary hand signals and humping at the zoo, they'll have much to prove. 

Today a man who claimed to be an Ikea expert came over to help assemble our kitchen.  Now I knew something was amiss, when standing over the hundreds of pieces that hopefully will one day become our culinary centerpiece, I told him he'd make a killing once Ikea caught on in Colorado.   And he glanced at me, frowned, then looked away.  Did I think I was saying one thing but instead said something else...maybe about his mother?  Was I gassy?  And then this guy, with his wiry, curly main in tow, turned to the general contractor and said, "I don't know these kitchens."  There was some conversation that ensued including the steady-but-wary-because-I-want-to-hit-you-with-a-claw-hammer, "But you said you did?"  And then he tromped out of our garage and our lives.  "Well you and your magician's mullet can piss off!"  Is at least one thing I now wish I would have said. 

So now our general contractor has comforted us by saying he can do it.  I'll give him credit.  He's the one who encouraged our Ikea aspirations by showing us his own massive shrine to Norwegian cabinetry.  His kitchen is impressive and he says he built it.

Or, who knows, maybe Ikea is the hot chick of construction projects.  She inspires all the men to exaggerate their accomplishments with her.  For now I just want her out of my garage and looking good in the kitchen.