As I believe I have already mentioned, our basement is partway to being a nice space. The final product will have a large, carpeted (new, clean carpet that will hopefully never see moisture) area, with a special spot for the Bowflex and the treadmill. (I should also take this opportunity to point out that the exercise gear isn’t even on the same floor as the laundry room, and in many years has never been used as a clothesline.) There will be an open area in front of the repositioned television, so we can do yoga (also known as the “congor eel flop”) along with a DVD, and dance/jump/humiliate ourselves further with our x-box 360 Kinect. The small storage room will continue as a library-type spot (after we weed out all our old textbooks), and the bathroom will sport a new light fixture, shower and a tap in the sink that will accommodate my new portable washing machine that I am saving for to be used only for felting. The large bedroom is now being called Judy’s Playroom, and should be the funnest room I have ever planned.
Progress on this project, while past the stage where we can turn back, seems to be stalled. We are waiting for a miracle. The miracle we are waiting for is related to the electrician. To summarize:
Electricians never answer their phones. They pick up their voice mail only slightly more often than never.
If you can get an electrician to come to your house and look around, pat yourself on the back. If you can get his office to actually email you a quote, pat yourself on the back twice. If you can read the quote without succumbing to a fit of apoplexy, you may now treat yourself with a beverage of your choice, and I don’t care what time of day it is. In the words of Jimmy Buffett, it’s five o’clock somewhere.
I had Mike on the phone when he opened the email with the quote. (insert loud bad word here) Now, I like to think I’m fairly up-to-date when it comes to how much stuff costs in the home improvement game, having been through an extensive reno last year, but this estimate was about 25% more than what I was anticipating. My poor dear husband is somewhat delusional when it comes to how much the trades cost, so he thought the estimate was about 500% more than it should be.
Where we’re at: We are expecting a second opinion sometime this weekend. (It’s the classic “I know a guy” thing.) I vote for let’s bite the bullet and get the work done, Mike says do nothing because we’ve already got lights downstairs. All I know is we can’t have the carpet installed until the electrical issue is settled one way or the other, and I am getting anxious to get into my playroom. So, I am going to do what I do best.
I’m going to Buckeye.
ETA: Well, isn’t this disjointed. The miracle we’re hoping for (and this connection was very clear in my mind, but I sort of forgot that you can’t read my mind. For your sake, it’s just as well.) is that we can find an electrician who a) will show up, b) give us a reasonable estimate, and c) actually do the work.