Lemonade, Maxi Pads and Roofing Nails:

(Do these gray pants make my ass look fat?)

Thought for the Day:
We are alone, absolutely alone on this chance planet: and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us.
Maurice Maeterlinck

JQP’s Garage Roof Part III:
When last I left you the reader, I was facing a rather pissed off Raccoon that had designs on my well shaped toes, all while 16 feet in the air, balanced on rotten rafters. I will continue…

There I stood, sweat dripping from my brow and pitchfork in hand, angry raccoon on the attack. I quickly ran through my possible courses of action, I could go on the attack, which as you all know is what Clausewitz would recommend. My chief weapon, my pitchfork was full of shingles, useless in this onslaught. I then thought to that sage of battlefield wisdom Sun Tu, what would he do? Well, he would un-ass the area, which dear reader was the course of action I took.

However, it was not without risk. Your see I pushed myself up from my semi crouched position using said pitchfork, full of old shingles. In doing so I lost grip of it, dear reader, it slid off the roof, I should however note, not before knocking down my ladder with it.

Picture if you will, yours truly on a 90 degree day, 16 feet in the air, standing balanced on two rotten 2 by 8’s set at a 60 degree angle, wearing sandals, with a rather pissed off mother raccoon lunging for my feet. With both my primary weapon and my point of egress unavailable to me.

It was at this point my Olympic gymnast like abilities failed me.

Fell and fell hard, I did. Not to the ground as many had expected (Mrs. JQP over the course of this adventure in home restoration, brought up double indemnity life insurance on more than one occasion) but instead my round shapely ass fell onto the rafters. Now something that those of you how have never done roofing before might not be aware of, is that when you take off an old roof, there are literally thousands of exposed nails sticking up in the rafters. I dear friend somehow managed to land on most of them.

One nail however in particular had my undivided attention, since the risk off raccoon attack was greatly diminished. It was the nail that somehow managed to carve a grove starting at the top of my ass and ending somewhere close to my taint.

I slowly pulled myself off the rafter.

At this time I heard the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric, as you the attentive reader recall, I was wearing only sandals and a pair of shorts, commando on a hot summer day. I felt behind me and realized that the entire ass end of my shorts (British Army Chinos, Banana Republic 32.95 on sale) were missing, exposing my ass and a rather nasty looking flesh wound, which by this point was bleeding freely.

Thus my problem, you see dear reader, I had no way down, my ladder lost in the sneak coon attack. My ass bloody and nude, and my deadmans knee already telling me (hey, fucker don’t even think about jumping this 16 feet to the ground, unless you want to pay for surgery # 6) that dropping to the ground using my paratroop training would not be a wise course of action.

Working alone, no phone, what to you do, yell for help from a passer-by? Um, Hi, Hello, um, could you help me; I seem to have lost my ladder in a coon attack and also sodomised myself with a nail, be a dear and help me down, please? Pride, yes that’s where pride jumped in, if I don’t stop and ask for directions, no fucking way was I going to call for help. I looked around, taking note of the resources available to me which was when I was able to formulate a plan.

You see dear friends, in my back yard there is an old gas street light, about 6 feet away from the garage roof, I thought that if jumped just right I would be able to grab the light post and using my extreme upper body strength climb down that pole. Which is exactly what I did…and it worked.

However it was at this time that the neighbor lady decided to enjoy some lemonade on her porch with few friends, 50 feet from where I was hanging bare assed from a light pole. I heard one member of her party cry out in shock with “Oh my what is that!?”, At this point I had established eye contact with them and my neighbor lady said without a pause, “Oh, that, that’s just JQP, he’s our neighbor.” And with out further mention when on about the business of serving lemonade to her guests (what can I say, after a year or two people become accustom to me).

Firmly on the ground, I went indoors and tended to my wounds, calling my Pretty Flower. You see, no matter how you hold a mirror, looking at your ass is hard. She came home from work on her lunch hour, and between laughing hysterically put 19 stitches in my ass (one of the things I looked for in a prospective wife was strong working knowledge of advanced first aid, and friends it has paid off for me).

Now a wound in this area presents a special problem, mainly in so much as there is no good way to bandage one’s ass crack. After applying enough first aid cream to the wound that I felt like a white collar criminal on his first over nighter on Cell Block D, my Loving bride came up with a inventive solution.

Maxi pads...

Now, dear readers, I know what your thinking, but my ass was still bleeding rather freely and if there is one thing that is more embarrassing than a wet spot on the front of your slacks it’s a blood spot on the back. Hey, talk about thinking outside of the box, it worked.

Not being a quitter, I changed into clothing more suitable for the job, tightey whiteys (with what I would soon come to call “ass pads” in place) Carhart pants and an old pair of Jump Boots. Ladder back in place, I went back to work. By the end of the day, I had torn off two sides of the roof (all but one corner, where the coon family lived, trusting in the fact that they would be moving that night). It was at this time, as I readied for a shower and a new dressing, followed by icing my knee, my wife took it upon herself to call everyone we knew and tell them the story of my day of roofing.

While I wish she would have been more discreet about certain details it did have a pleasant side effect, it made people want to come and help a poor disabled veteran, roof his garage and get a few belly laughs in while they were at it. I am told she said something like “Fuck, this happened on day one, can you imagine what kind of shit he will get himself into before it’s over?”

Dear reader, nothing of this scale happened for the rest of the project, but I am assured, that for many years to come anytime the subject of roofing comes up, this tale will be passed around the camp fire. As of 9:00pm last night the job that was to only take a weekend, is finally finished. Five full days of hard labor, in what was really a skill building activity for myself and others. I left with a new found respect for roofers, raccoons and menstruating women (those things are uncomfortable as all hell) and a well developed understanding on appropriate foot wear and clothing on to the job site. In case you wondering my ass is all better now and I have a new scar to show everyone.

I would like to take a moment and thank all those who made this project possible, bask in glory you noble souls:

The Cigar Man, who with out his largess this whole project never would have gotten underway.

The Giant Irish Man, a man whose strength and steady hand are the things the bards sang about.

Matt the Cop, who brought his children along, so they to could laugh at Uncle JQP

Pete the Fireman, who we had to talk out of using a fire ax to steady himself on the roof (“Well, damnit, that’s how we do it at work”).

My neighbors who helped and brought supplies.

My Flower, I am after all nothing without this fine woman (she reads this blog) Semper Fi!

Her Aunt and Uncle, the real skill behind the project and also the people who brought a nail gun.

M. Chamberlain, who took time from researching his upcoming novel to experience a moment of male bonding.

And last but not least, Sky-Captain & his Pretty Blond Headed Wife, he dear friends is truly a Renaissance Man and a good friend.

I am glad to count myself in their company.

Today’s Bill:

SONNET 154
The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Quote of the Day:
If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

I remain, growing weeds in garden of your sub-conscience:

JQP esq.