Feeling Kinda Tarred...

It's been two weeks since our last post. Two very long weeks. When we last left off in October, the house looked like this: 

Then, after some handy dandy work by the concrete men, the house looked like this: 

And then after we wrote a check to said concrete men, our wallets looked like this: 

But fortunately, labor is free at the new house and P.C. and I decided to continue with the next step: tarring the walls. Saturday morning came bright and early (with a freeze warning, mind you) and we clothed ourselves in as many layers as we could and stepped out into the frozen tundra that had become our property. 

Note: I want to take a moment to explain what tar is. Think of really thick chocolate gravy that smells like burnt rubber and sticks to anything it touches. Remember this: it sticks to anything it touches. 

I began the morning by painting the tar on the concrete walls with a roller brush while P.C. dug some holes for some important drainage system that I didn't (and still don't) understand .  

(Note the black smear on my left cheek approximately 6 minutes after I had began painting)

P.C. joined in on the fun and pretty soon we were both hot, sweaty, and tarred pretty much from head to toe. By the time early afternoon had rolled around, we had tarred the east wall...

And all....

the way...

 around....

the house.

I make coveralls look sexy. I'm thinking of bringing them back. And the bulky mid-80's sweater.

After we finished tarring the walls (and attempted to wash our hands off with lacquer thinner because tar sticks to anything it touches), P.C. put pipes around the walls and began filling them in with gravel and dirt, while I stood around and watched and tried to look busy.

At 3:30 we called it quits and headed home. P.C. ran off to do some more manly man stuff around the house. I was hoping to catch a quick cat-nap and first decided to throw a load of laundry in the washer. More specific, I decided to wash the clothes from that morning.

Anybody know where this is going? 

(Clue: tar sticks to anything it touches)

This is a picture of what tar looks like on the inside of a washing machine. 

Needless to say, that nap never came.