This is Floyd trying to look tough:
He couldn't keep it going for very long:
So, we bought this pseudo stacking stone (it's really colored cement that's been poured into a mold) and some fake-stone-looking ceramic tile for the fireplace surround and hearth. Floyd agreed to install them for us after work one day. So far, so good. Then slowly it dawned on us that we had bought the tile and the stone at different places without having collected a sample of either one, relying on our collective visual memory and our charming naivete, then hopping on one foot and clapping our hands to wake up Tinkerbell, who would surely make sure that they would look great together:
Well, hey! They looked like shit together. I'm not sure if my photo does justice to the life-threatening incompatibility of our fake stone and tile. Floyd obviously could only stand to put in so much of our ill-considered materials before he had to stop, overcome by a wave of aesthetic disgust.
So the next day he took the tile hearth out and we took a sample of the stacking stone to Tileco so we could match it with a new color of hearth tile. Yeah. Good idea, huh? I've never done this before, can you tell? I don't know what Jack's excuse is.
Well, let's move on. Did I mention I'll soon be having an affair with our closets?
Holy Mother of God, look at Jackson's closet. I was never so happy in this whole renovation process as the morning I sat on a park bench with the woman from California Closets and let her have her way with our storage.
Can you conceive of the possibilities? You can't. They're infinite. INFINITE, I tell you. Whaddaya got, wax in your ears? I SAID INFINITE.
Except in the laundry closet. That closet lacks infinity; it is oh so very finite, especially when you make your measurements without having the new water heater in there. Tinkerbell can't help you then, I'm sorry. We have to rip out your California Closet because we need twelve inches of clearance for the water heater and you, my Closet Queen, have only given us six.
I shed some bitter tears over this one, let me tell you. But it's all good, because it was easier for the guys to tile the laundry floor without the shelving in there. See? Everything happens for a reason. Redoing a condo is making me FUCKING MYSTICAL, MAN, so don't mess with me! I'm turning into fucking YODA right before your EYES.
UP NEXT: The kitchen! The bathrooms!! The crown molding!!!