Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


Asbestos Ceiling Tiles Don't Kill People, People Who Have To Hear Incessant Whining About Asbestos Ceiling Tiles Kill People

Friday, 6/24.

Short post. Have to go to work in a few minutes. BB is freaking out because our creepy construction guy thinks the ceiling tiles we knocked down have asbestos in them. (Highly unlikely, given the date of the previous remodel, which we can pinpoint to October of 1983.)She has declared Hell's Half Acre a no-entry zone till she gets the tile tested. Great. But for all her freaking out, we have already inhaled the fibers (if they are in the air) so the damage has been done. And, if they do find asbestos in the house, she's going to have to hire someone else to clean it up, at great cost to her.

Had she not dragged Papa Sauce in the fray, I'd probably not be so pissed. However, when she asked Monkey "Why didn't Papa Sauce TELL us there was asbestos in the tile?" When he wasn't in the house till it was taken down, I got a little irritated. (And if I have to hear today, about her friends with asbestosis just one more time, I'm going on an asbestos induced strangling rampage.)

Honestly, I think the jackass contractor we hired is just trying to pad his bill. He's a condescending creep, and I have a hard time with anyone who tries to get all "oh, look at what you GIRRRRRRRRRRLS did..." in that, "oh, next you'll want unicorns and rainbows, and a special place to put your Scott Baio shrine" tone of voice. Thanks to Papa Sauce, I am reasonably knowledgeable when it comes to construction, and so is G. Monkey. We're not "dumb girls" about construction. (car repair, yes, but construction, no.) Even after I did my walk through with him, and explained what we needed done, (and he saw how much of the demo work Monkey and I already did!) I swear this jerk was going to pat my head and ask "oh, and what MAN told you this needed done?" Grr. The electrician, however, treated us like we had brains in our heads, which was a refreshing change.

Lesson here: Just because I have breasts doesn't mean I don't have a brain. In fact, I have a spare in a jar under my desk.

Work beckons.


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