Suck Like Sixty

I broke the vacuum – for good this time, I think.

Well, first I should say: I sanded the door – for good this time, I think. With the #60 sandpaper Johnny told me to buy. Once I saw what it was doing, I understood how it was supposed to work, and realized how stupid I was to have ever tried to do it with the dumb 150. The door actually looks pretty good, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d harbored a thought or two of stripping those last bits around the windows and trying it with a coat of stain. But I’m not that stupid.

Here is exactly how stupid I am:

That orbital sander makes a heck of a mess. You’re supposed to have a vacuum attachment, so that all the dust it makes gets sucked up through the little holes. Not me. I got mahogany-colored dust everywhere. I had pink tears and pink boogers and pink toes and pink underpants – not to mention pink windowsills and floors. At least Johnny’d had the wherewithal to shut the door to the back hallway I was working in, so at least I didn’t get pink dust in the kitchen. Since the furnace is in there and everything.

So I grabbed the vacuum, changed the bag, and set to.

Sometimes the vacuum makes this funny, squealy noise. I’ve never been able to figure out what it is. It doesn’t seem to affect the performance of the thing, but it’s annoying. I’ve discovered that if you lift the vacuum up a little bit at one end and let it drop back to the ground, the impact makes the noise stop. Sometimes you have to do it a couple times.

But Saturday I did it like three or four times, from increasingly greater heights, and I couldn’t make the damn noise go away. It was driving me insane. I’d been sanding for an hour and a half – for the second time – and, while the dust was settling, I’d been out (ahem) chopping up last year’s Christmas tree. I was tired. I wanted a beer. I had no patience. Stop squealing!

In the process of picking it up and dropping it a few times, I discovered that when it was off the ground it didn’t make the noise (I can’t explain it, but it’s true). Now the smart thing, I realize as I’m typing it, might have been to just carry the vacuum around with me as I worked (the smart thing, that is, other than just letting it make the noise for three freaking minutes until I was through). But what I did, since I had a step stool out there already for reaching the high parts of the door, was to put the vacuum on the stool.

I can’t explain why it didn’t make the squealy noise from atop the stool, okay?, but just trust me that it’s true. Why would I lie? I’m admitting all the stupid things I do, aren’t I? I hardly have to make shit up…

So the squealy noise stopped and I carried on vacuuming. Doo-de-doo, behind the door, under the radiator, all the little decorative bits… now all that’s left is the far end of the floor and we are finished! I gave the hose a tug to wheel the vacuum down the hall and reach those last few feet, and

CRASH

The vacuum, which was for some reason propped up on a stool, came flying straight out through the air and landed, nose first, on the porcelain tile.

Whoops.

I carried on anyway, running the wand all along the few square feet that were left, and somehow didn’t even notice that there wasn’t any suction till I pulled the endy piece off to get at the corner.

So now the wandless wonder’s broke for good. I forgot to mention when I wrote about this the last time that we do have a little Roomba robot that Mom gave us for Christmas a couple years ago, but it doesn’t do so well with area rugs and anyway, for a while now it’s mostly just been going “toot-de-toot-toot” and spinning around in circles (I swear to god I never dropped the Roomba thing from any height at all).

So now we’re down to just this sort of dustbuster thing Mom gave us for Christmas last year. And a broom. Oh, and the shopvac—

Which, now that I think of it, may have been the better choice for cleaning up construction dust in the first place…


PS I have to go to work today, and I think I am the only person on the planet. So I might could use a joke or something when I get home...

Holy Crap

I actually did it: I sanded the g-d door. Yesterday afternoon. I didn’t even know I was going to, but before I knew it, it was done. I cleaned up the mess and everything.

And now that I have, now that it’s over, let’s examine the particulars of spin-sanding – shall we? First off, you have to have the proper pads. Second, in a perfect world you’re wearing goggles so’s you don’t get door-bits in your eyes. Third – well, I don’t know what third base is because I’m a good girl.

I had four different kinds of pads, but none were exactly right: too big, too small, the holes don’t line up, not sticky. I chose the one that seemed most likely to stick to the spinner (too big). I couldn't find anything on the package to tell me what grade it was, but when I peeled the backing off, it said it was 150 – so way not anywhere close to the 60 Johnny gave me. But oh well.

I stuck on the pad and turned on the machine (goggles? I don’t need no stinking goggles!), put it to the door and—

Did someone say "spin-spun hypnotic vortices"?

…and then the pad went flying – ptew! – straight down the hall.

You know what? I was right. I’m just not cut out for this spin-sanding thing.

So, even though I wasted three days sitting around convincing myself I wouldn’t have to, I picked up the non-power #60 after all.

Scratch-scratch. Sand-sand. Rub-rub…

Yeah, no. This ain’t what’s gonna happen.

I tested out the other kinds of pads, but the 150s really were the only ones that stuck, so I just resolved to pushed harder and never let it come up off the door while it was spinning. I held on to the bucking thing for dear life – especially up around the top bits where the windows are – because I was convinced I’d lose control and send the damn thing through the glass.

The glass survived, but being so close to it reminded me that, even if I was the Spin-Sand Mistress of the Universe, I was still going to have to hand-do the edges by the windows and all the decorative panel corner crap.

God do I hate sanding!

And so on and so forth until I’m on my hands and knees with the vacuum cleaner, sucking up all the mess I made. Once I’ve got the dust off it, the lower right panel doesn’t look exactly sanded after all, so I hit it with the #60 and now it looks like crap, but who cares? It's getting painted!

And that’s it. I’m done. I considered carrying the door back to the kitchen, but screw it. I’ll move it if the Kid shows up, but otherwise I’m painting it right there.

After all, how many times should I have to haul the thing around?

PS Kid called. He’ll be here at 9:00.

Gotta Go!

I'm shutting down my computer now. Wanna know why? Ask me why!

Because Johnny's going to sand and j.c. the closet in my office and he told me to throw a sheet over the 'puter to protect it from the dust!

Gee, maybe I should have thought of that before I sanded last time...

Ta!