Ye Olde Sandwich Shoppe: Shocking News: Local Girl Electrocutes Self

Zing!!

Consequently, her hair looks even more awesomely frizzy than before! Or is that because of the ridiculous humidity we're experiencing at the end of September?!?!?

Smokin'!

Who knows. It's a mystery that keeps me up at night. The mystery of the electric-humidifying hair frizz. Science might eventually explain what it all means using petri dishes, satellites, extraterrestrials, and such.

We can only hope.

In other electricity related news (and even more exciting than hair frizz):

The Sandwich Shoppe has power! Phenomenal cosmic power!! Itty bitty living space. (Name that movie.)

How could that possibly be more exciting than hair frizz??

This is a sight that (I assume) no on has seen in decades. Bright light streaming through our brand new windows. Isn't it purrrty? (Please ignore ancient computer monitors. They were randomly stored in the Sandwich Shoppe and need to be recycled.)

Now we'll have real light to work by at 2:30 am! Yahoo! No more sad single spot light to work by. We've got POW-ER! (I am serious about the 2:30 am thing. Our neighbors hate us. They may smile and wave, but secretly they are plotting our demise. I can tell.)

We actually finished wiring the whole front area last Saturday. I was roped in to run wires.

And somehow got tricked into learning how to wire an electrical outlet by my husband. He's tricksy. Don't let that smile fool you. It's a "Gosh I hope I don't end up burning down the house and I can't believe I got talked into this, I'll kill him!" kind of smile.

And before you ask, the power is totally shut down. I swear.

When we first started working on the house, I seem to recall saying something along the lines of, "I'm game. I'll do pretty much anything but plumbing and electrical."

Ha. Yeah. Sure. Right. Look where I am today.

I made sure my husband understood (several times over) that I will not be held responsible when the house burns down. I will place the blame firmly in his hands. I'm good at that. "I didn't do it!" is my favorite phrase.

This is how I really feel about being responsible for wiring the Sandwich Shoppe. That, my friends, is the face of fear. Or indigestion. You'll never know.

All kidding and electricity related fears aside, Stephen double checked my work and the house is probably safe. Probably. The sockets work without shooting sparks everywhere. That's a good sign. Right??

I would explain how to wire a socket to you, if I understood any of it. You're better off googling!

While I wired the electrical sockets...

Stephen installed and wired the recessed lighting. We decided to go this route since we're putting in new ceilings and it's a long and narrow room (20ft X 8ft). Awkward for central lighting.

Theresa screwed in the bulbs and Stephen flipped the power back on. VICTORY!!!

Then we went around nailing all of the electrical outlets in place. That's when I temporarily forgot about the whole live wire aspect of this particular renovation adventure and grabbed the box wrong. Because I'm an IDIOT. I got a nice little shock. Just a little one. Or 3. Very buzz like. I'd call it a bazinga.

Idiot Logic Tip #1 - Don't grab an outlet box with your thumb overlapping over the side of the plug.

Idiot Logic Tip #2 - Turn the power back off to nail the boxes in place, even if all of the wires were already inside the boxes. Seriously.

Idiot Logic Tip #3 - Don't ever emulate Caroline. Ever. Disregard everything she says. She's clearly a bad renovation safety role model. (Just consider her usual demo and reno attire of dresses and flip flops and I'm sure you will agree!)

Whatevs. Life is good. Especially when it has spark. (No really. Turn the power off.)

***

And finally, I would like to close with the following scrap of wood that I found lying on the floor the other day:

I love it. Do you know why?? BECAUSE Theresa IS awesomely cool.

She's my sister-in-law. She's my friend. She gives up her weekends to hang with us. She helps us work on our house. She plays with her nephew. She goofs around.

Oh. And one other thing. She strangles my husband for me whenever he needs it.

For this alone, I will love her forever.

Then I flipped the scrap wood over and discovered this:

In case you can't make it out, it says, "Stephen smells like roses that have been pooped on."

This is a common phrase in our family. You should know that Stephen and Theresa have some really great sibling rivalry going and they enjoy insulting each other. Lovingly.

It all started one day when Theresa said, "Stephen smells!"

Stephen responded, "Like roses!!"

And Theresa said, "THAT HAVE BEEN POOPED ON!!"
(I think it's a Conan O'Brien reference.)

OOOoooOOOH! You just got served. Bazinga!! (Sorry. I watched Big Bang tonight. It's on the brain.)

It may be odd, but it's a fitting phrase... Here's a picture to illustrate what I mean: