Pride Of Ownership Or Royal Pain?

Let me start by saying I am not handy. I don't know if it's a genetic malfunction, lack of desire, or plain old fashioned laziness, but household repairs fill me with a feeling of inadequacy unparalleled even in the sack. So with that in mind, you can imagine my delight when I was told recently that some of my windows were rotting and I needed to replace them.

It all started simple enough. One of the crank out (probably not the technically correct term) windows in my family room wouldn't crank any more. Since we haven't been in this house too long, I thought something like this would be covered by our warranty. I must be drunk when I do my thinking because it wasn't. Having never repaired crank out windows, and knowing that in the past every job that I estimated would take about twenty minutes, turned into a three day project involving many trips to the hardware store and excessive cursing, I called a professional. After fixing my crank ( I'm doing all I can not to make a dirty crank joke) the repair man told me my sashes were rotting. Let's ignore for a second the fact that I had no idea what he was talking about. I know rotting is never a good thing. He told me they could replace the sashes. He then asked if I wanted them to install the windows or if I wanted to do it myself. I'll wait while you figure out my answer. Ready? Let's move on.

I hate being at the mercy of a repairman. I always think they're laughing at my lack of manual dexterity and knowledge of all things mechanical. Yesterday the guys brought the new sashes and installed the windows. It was then that they told me the windows would need to be painted, but I would have to wait a day. Great. Thankfully, I'm naturally curious, so I watched them put my windows in and today I was able to remove them. I hate painting. There., I said it. I don't have the patience for it nor do I ever care to learn said patience. I always end up completely covered in paint. I look like an arts and crafts room exploded on me. I hate the prep, I hate the cleanup, and I hate the silly white painter's pants, even though they hug my sweet behind and I can hang things from the loop. My theory is, there are people who make their living painting, why should I deprive their kids of Christmas by painting myself?

I'm waiting for my brother to come back and help me put the windows back in. Have I mentioned that they are six feet high? These are big windows. The better for me to look out and survey my kingdom. I have to figure out a way to make this blog pay off so I never have to do any sort of home repair again. Later...Brian