Bad to the Bone

tommyrawblog@gmail.com

Hey, what can I say?
We ALL do stupid things right?
Right?
Right?
C'mon...

Bad to the Bone

Okay, let’s talk home improvement.

(Now this was all pre-condo.)

Personally, I’m sick of fixing things around the house. I’d rather pick up the phone and call someone, instead of doing it myself anymore.
You too right!?

But every once in awhile I get a bug up my ass, and take on a job that maybe, well, maybe I should’ve left to a professional.

Even though, most of the time when I decide to do something around the house, it usually works out pretty well on the whole.

But sometimes I truly just fly
by the seat of my pants,
and well, shit happens.

I’m a little kooky when I get my mind made up about something. Usually I take things to the extreme. Like when we moved into the
two-family house with my brother Michael,
and my sister-in-law Dawn.

I remember I got so nuts, that I was actually trying to shine the heads of tiny little screws with my electric drill, that had a round wire brush attachment connected.

Oh man, it was so stupid!

I would hold the screw in my left hand, real close to my body for support. Then, I would press down on the trigger of the drill, and yes,
actually "try" to shine the screw heads.

I know…… I know!

But wait, that’s not the end of it.

I only got to shine it for about

two seconds at a time.

Why you ask?

Because after about two seconds, the wire brush attachment would catch onto my heavy woven sweatshirt, and get all twisted up.


I looked like a real idiot, standing there with a drill all twisted up in my shirt just hanging off of me like an apple from the tree.


So, I had to reverse the direction of the drill, and untwist it from my shirt, only to have it happen all over again two seconds later.


It was so funny, and disturbing LoL, when it happened because all sorts of ominous sounds echoed out.


They began the very moment resistance hit causing the straining motor of the drill to whine and shrill, as the metal brush tangled in my shirt.


It was a vicious cycle dude.
Seams were ripping, tearing, and then there was me wailing out...


“Ouch… fuck!
Ouch... ouch… fuck!”


A pretty pathetic site to say the least.
Why didn’t I just go out and buy some new fucking screws?


Who the fuck knows man...
who the fuck knows... LoL


But, if you don’t think that that was a little bit over the edge, lemme give you just one more little shove.


Same house, same day, different tool!


This time, the weapon of choice was a hammer. You know what they say dont’cha……
when in doubt, use a hammer!


It happened upstairs in our big, walk-in attic. There was about fifty or so nails protruding through the roof, that I wanted
to hammer inward.


It was already dark outside by the time I decided to play hammer boy, so I had the attic lights turned on. There I was, hammering away in all my glory, and then, pop!


I hammered too close to one of the light bulbs, and it just burst. Hey, no big deal. I still had another light to work by, right? But not for long.


As I was still pounding away at those pesky nails, I accidentally hit the other light bulb with the claw end of the hammer, and, pop!


Fuck!


I was now standing in the dark, hammer in hand, and pretty pissed off about it too.


Now, at this point, most, if not all normal people would’ve called it a night and continued the next morning. Or at least run downstairs to grab a couple new light bulbs, right?


Well, by now you should know that you’re not dealing with a normal, ordinary, earthling. My brain waves are not of this realm. They are from a galaxy far far away.


So, there I was, hammer in hand,
standing in the dark. What did I do?


I just started feeling for the nails with my left hand, and whacking them down with the hammer in my right. Now, how utterly insane was this?


Man, I did this for about twenty minutes. I would’ve gone even longer too, only I couldn’t take the pain of the steel hammerhead smashing down upon my fingers any longer when I missed. What a whacko. LoL


But I have one more idiotic project to talk about, and it has to do with a small retaining wall in front of the house when I lived in
Sayreville, New Jersey.


The wall is only about three feet high. It had an old, worn out look to it, so I thought that it was time to spruce it up a bit. Oh, boy!


I began by chipping off the top layer of bricks. Once again, I got to use my hammer. In fact, I went out and bought a small sledgehammer especially for the occasion.


Hey, any excuse to visit the Home Depot.
Truly, a man’s paradise!


Anyway, this stage of the job went pretty smoothly. No broken fingers, light bulbs
or brick-chips in my eye.


Then, once this was completed, it was time to mix up some cement and replace those old weather-beaten bricks with some nice new ones.


So, I ripped open a bag of cement and began mixing it with some water until I had a perfect consistency. Then, brick by brick, I let my masonry skills take over.


Out of nowhere, all of the sudden,
I knew how to work with cement.


So I thought!


After mixing up several batches of gray cake mix, the brickwork was finally done. At this point, the only thing left to do was to spread a fresh layer of cement over the front portion of the wall.


Hey, no problem, for a skilled mason like myself, right?


I began slinging that slop from side to side, giving the wall a nice clean, stucco look. And, if I do say so myself, it came out pretty good!


Another job well done
on the home improvement front.


So, what’s the problem here?


Sounds like a pretty uneventful story to me.


Wait!
The nightmare was about to begin.


You see, later that day after I was all showered up, I began to feel tingling sensations in my hands and on all of my fingertips. Then,
that tingling was quickly turning to pain.


So, I finally took a good look down at my hands to see just what the hell was going on. And, what did I see when I did this?


Well, I saw everything but my fucking fingertips, that’s what!


In fact, each one of my fingers were red, raw, and bloodied. I had actually burned the prints right off. They were all smooth and flat.


All 10 fingers!
Not a fingerprint in sight.
Just drops of blood.


I guess I wasn’t such a good mason after all, because I didn’t know that I should’ve been wearing gloves the whole time I was working with the cement.


And, of course, there were no gloves to be found in this Mason’s tool bag. Hey, who the fuck knew!


But it was too late to worry about it, because the damage was already done. My fingertips were now disappearing right before my eyes,
like magic. And to this day I don't know why I didn't go to the emergency room or at least go see my own doctor??


It really hurt, and I couldn’t do anything with my hands for several days after that. No matter how lightly I tried to grab, touch, or pick up,
it caused me such pain!


You should’ve seen me trying to wipe my ass.
It was like a vaudeville act in there.
What a sight!


I didn’t know exactly why my fingertips were disintegrating right before my eyes, until I told my friend Gregg the story days later. He's a plumber and well versed in all sorts
of home improvement scenarios.


Well, after nearly laughing himself to death, he followed my story up by telling me that there was lye, lime, or some kind of chemical in the cement. And that it was like fucking acid!


You know, like the shit that a hitman would throw on his victim, right before he shoveled the dirt back into the hole over the body.


And here I was, rubbing my own self out, fingertip by bloody fingertip, without even knowing it!


The only thing I needed now was a shovel and a fucking hole to jump into. I was a hitman. And my first victim was myself!


Oh man, just when I thought I knew everything, I go and burn my fuckin' fingertips
down to the bone. WOW!


Where's Tim “the toolman” Taylor
when you need him?