Hey, I have an idea! …fuck, shit, fuck, shit.

Hey…it’s Plonker.  In this Plonker Sez, you’ll be amazed…at how I leap from one train of thought to another to another.  I’m like that Discount Jennifer Lawrence chick in that ripoff of Hunger Games with the fat bitch from Titanic jumping around from trains to buildings and back.  That was worded terribly.  Fat Bitch wasn’t jumping around, Discount Jennifer Lawrence was.  Seriously, what the fuck was that all about?  Why were the kids allowed to CHOOSE their faction after they were given a test to determine to which one they belonged?  Of all the stupid…  Anyway, Jennifer Lawrence, if you’re reading this, I might consider my “don’t get married again” stance for you…CALL ME!

So Seasonal Affective Disorder is in full effect here, appropriately named “SAD”.  Yes, that’s right, it’s fall.  Time for pumpkin everything (seriously all of you basic white bitches need to stop with the pumpkin everything), hot apple cider, cold rain, and cleaning leaves out of the yard.  Son of a bitch, I hate this time of year.  Well fuck that shit!  All I’m doing this fall is watching what I hope is a LOT of baseball.  I’ve been an Indians fan my entire life, so almost 55 years now, and have never seen a world championship.  Some people count the Cavs in June but I’ve never been a basketball fan, so fuck that.  Plus, Lebron’s a prick.  Anyway, onward because I don’t want this to be a sports post.

When I bought my house (another collossal mistake – Fujupz.com: A lifetime of bad decisions), it came with an old POS riding lawnmower and two push mowers (one was self-propelled).  Of course, I said “Hey, I have an idea!” and quickly sold them all.  Subsequently, due to the fact that I was on the road 17+ days a month at the time and trying to spend time with my little mini-me offspring (yes folks, they let me reproduce…holy fucking shit!) I hired a lawn service.  Honestly, they did a great job, but it was a bit expensive.  You’d think “once a week no big deal, but $45/week adds up.  Add in leaf cleanup for a few hundred dollars and a big spring doohicky for $800 and it was pricey.  So this year, I’ve been protesting.  Oh, my grass has been cut.  The kid next door came over in the spring asking for work.  He offered to do the yard for $20-$25 (which turned into $30) per cut and I happily agreed.  It’s been nice, again.

He’s done a fine job and I really can’t complain.  But now that I’m full time employed and working a part time schedule, and the offspring is old enough to be left unsupervised in his playroom for an hour if necessary, I’m thinking about getting back into it myself.  Truth be told, I actually enjoy it.  I like cutting my grass as short as the mower can handle and leaving it that way for a few weeks at a time, even if it dies in the summer (that’s even better, actually).  I ran the numbers in my budget and it turns out I’m spending quite a bit of money.  Enough to buy a really nice riding mower, and maybe one with a snow plough attachment, which would be awfully convenient.  The problem now is that I don’t have a place to store it since my two car garage is now a golf studio and my one car garage barely holds my car and my “workbench” (that’s a mess…).  What to do, what to do…

Hey, I have an idea!

So Josh and I have been discussing moving my golf studio to a different part of the house and turning my golf studio back to a garage.  Easy enough, actually.  The garage door is still there.  I’d need another exterior door and I’d have to move the garage door opener to the two-car garage and…well, I’d have to remove the golf stuff from the golf room.  No big deal, if…  if we can knock out a load bearing wall without collapsing the back of my house.  I’m sure this is all expensive, which cuts further into my lawnmower budget.

Ironically, I wanted to do the golf studio this way in the first place but I opted not to.  Remember our slogan?  A lifetime of bad decisions.  Actually, that’s not even ironic.  Just like that fucking song “Ironic”.  Rain on your wedding day isn’t ironic, it’s good luck dipshit.  Anyway…

Moving the room really shouldn’t be too bad.  Remove the ceiling (and figure out what to do with the insulation during construction), remove wall paneling, throw in an electrical subpanel, rip up the old (hideous – some people like it, I don’t) carpet, figure out a way to take out a load bearing wall, wire for electrical outlets and overhead lights, add an exterior wall where the current garage door is, drywall (ugh), decide what to do with the ceiling (drywall is what I’d prefer, but I don’t prefer the taping/mud/finishing process involved in that), paint, new carpet (which will be putting green carpet mostly), install the projection screen/impact net for the simulator, screw in some lightbulbs and relax.  This should be reasonably easy, right?  …right?

Some things about Plonker:

  1. I ain’t never done this shit before,
  2. I don’t like enclosed spaces with spiders (like crawl spaces where I’d have to somehow run electrical wires and ductwork…),
  3. I’m not sure I even have the money for it,
  4. Even if I do, I’m not sure I want to spend it.

So while I’d like to do this project…now.  I’ll probably start it sometime around the time I’m ready to sell the house.  I’m just not much of a “project” kind of guy.  My idea of a good time involves food, alcohol, and pussy.  Not all at the same time.  In fact, they don’t all have to be involved.  Delicious food is always good and women (sorry, but…), y’all just screw it up.  If I had the rooms moved around, maybe I could relax and do more cooking but something tells me I wouldn’t.  I’d eat just as poorly and work out just as little as I already do and I’d still be a lazy fatass.  But fear not, because (say it with me)…

Hey, I have an idea!

About Plonker

Plonker is a balding, middle-aged, overweight male who hasn't exactly set the world on fire. In his "spare time", he can usually be found walking around his house completely stark naked, either eating something or touching himself. And, Ladies...he's single. Get at him! But not fat chicks. Okay, fat chicks.
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