Door-ible! Door-ida!
Nothing like alluding to your own post titles. With a spike to 4 views yesterday, we thought it was time to reward our consistent readers.
In the books, a smiling Lowes employee helps you load the custom-fitted door into the back of your sparkling Lincoln Navigator; two minutes later, your well-behaved children are running through the swinging door while you beam with pride. In real life, you have to cut the bottom of the jamb with a jigsaw and the door itself with some crafty circular-saw action. Your kid tries to run through the door, it sticks because you didn't install it properly, and they blame their drug problem on the incidident, as told in the tell-all "Daddy Loved His Doors--More Than Me."The deading room. Welcome to Mor-door, Frodo. The deading room, aka Mor-Door.
The doors, or course, had to be painted to match the trim. We bought cheap platic trim–it still cuts and mitres cleanly, and when given a coat of the same high-gloss white as the doors, it matched nicely.
M'lady most fair chooseth pink as the hue of her most effeminite "room de paux laundrex." Not that this easel of the clotheswasher's paint must be the sole room of m'lady's dwelling--O no! These are outmoded chauvinistic ideals. However...if it pleaseth m'ladyship...mine trousers have effected a fair odour among the room...
Painting the doors was simple, yet painstaking. We used Bullseye primer (a stainblocker/bare wood primer) and then high gloss white.
My Sistine Chapel. ("More like Sistine Crap-el"). Brush is used for the routed edges, mini-roller for the flat parts, sponge around the hinges.
Wait–you installed trim?
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This entry was posted on May 11, 2010 at 1:49 am and is filed under Construction, humor, Remodeling. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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