What's that, you say, mr. paleo? "electronic cyr-yada yada etc."
A bit of an explanation is in order. The general contractor we hired has a very good reputation, BBB and Angie's List-wise, and are coming in at a good price. Peachy. However, rather unexpectedly, they are all Russian, primarily from Belarus (as what has been said to me). They were not completely thrilled that sweetie was running around with a camera, and she had to explain she was documenting the basement work, not writing an episode of 'This Is Your Life' of the gentlemen. The foreman speaks very correct english, but not so much with the idiom, and heavily accented, and a couple of his workers speak english like I speak german - Where's the beer, is your daughter eighteen, that sorta thing. Otherwise, nope, and the only russian word I know is tovarisch, which makes for good fellowship yet not so much with the conversation until drink is added and mixed well.
Teh bajzouki music seems to be in primarily to drive paleo bugnuts. Working.
Over the course of three days, my basement has been demolished to the molecular level, or at least block and concrete floor. Sweetie is suitably impressed:
Wednesday night, after half the basement was gone, we talked, a lot, and realized, its good and on. I'm not about to bring the shit outta the dumpster and reassemble the space. We then celebrated. Me especially. I have to do that once in a while to remind me not to do that. Ugh.
By Friday, the basement was thoroughly eviscerated, evaporated, defenestrated (well, we opened the windows to get stuff out, but I'm going for poetry here. Fuck off.) Sweetie noted that it actually seemed smaller with no anything than it did with the existing footprint - and she was right, a weird effect. We were then able to look at it again with fresh eyes. We knew we were going to have to pay the piper for some of the gains we were going to make, and we determined where that price was to be. For example, we had hopes, I had some doubts, that we would be able to do some tricks with the center steel to avoid a 8" soffit in the middle of the living room area. Ain't gonna happen, but we decided we could live. Poop anyhow.
Sweetheart made design decisions, design changes, design updates, design deletions. She has bought and returned tile at every tile shop in town, and is on a first name BFF basis with every salesperson in town except for a couple bastards.
Just remember, Sweetie, I love you, very much and stuff, so deal with the fact that I am trying to run my own banana republic right now! AAAIIIIEEEEEEE! Or something.