Tool time

As I've mentioned before, when it comes to home improvement, I'm more Tim Taylor than Al Borland. You know the old saying, "Measure twice, cut once"? I was always more, "Cut four times, measure once and then, maybe, look at the instructions." The handymen I saw most frequently when I was growing up were Moe, Larry and Curly.

I managed to get by as a bachelor living on my own. But once Belle and I moved in together, I realized my days of slightly-crooked pictures on the wall would be coming to an end.

But who knew a marriage license also was a contractor's license? Perhaps it's pride in home ownership or the fact I now possess a level, but I've become quite handy around the house.

It started the day we moved in and Belle wanted me to hang several boards on the wall, including a dry-erase board for our weekly dinner menu. (If you don't keep a weekly dinner menu, you should start immediately. It takes the suspense out of what's for dinner and replaces it with anticipation. Plus, you always know when it's going to be pancakes night and can plan the rest of your day accordingly.)

Don't let the snazzy design fool you -- the two chairs on the left are deadly

Anyways, the boards required two things I was not good at: anchor screws and straight lines. Anchor screws always meant to me "a drilling accident waiting to happen." And even with the aforementioned level, my decorating style could be described as "cockeyed."

Nevertheless,the first project in our new house was a chance for a fresh start I was eager to have. After a few stud-finder jokes (those never get old), I got down to work. I was a little nervous, envisioning our wall pockmarked with small holes as if we lived in a war zone.

But I successfully got the boards on the wall on the first try, much to the shock of myself, Belle, my mother-in-law and probably the construction crews working outside. Whoever invented the anchor screws that you screw, rather than drill, into the wall deserves sainthood.

Alas, there have been some construction hiccups along the way -- and by "hiccups," I mean "the small but noticeable crack on the side of our kitchen table." There also were times I thought Belle bought things just to challenge me, such as the TV stand with more pieces that fit together at right angles than a game of Tetris.

But everything has been built, hanged or installed, often with the help of my father-in-law, who is the best measure-er I have ever met. Some people take life one day at a time; he takes it by the sixteenth of an inch.

Then there were our barstools, which are pictured above. We initially bought two and I thought they looked off after the final turn of my Allen wrench. One of my proudest moments was when a professional handyman, who did in a day what would have taken me 52 years, agreed with me that one of the bar stools was structurally flawed. Finally, it wouldn't be my fault! The online reviews noted the stools were "sturdy but wobbly," which they were, but it got to the point I required guests to sign a waiver before sitting on the chairs.

We ordered new stools recently and, so far, they have remained upright and sturdy. Granted, no one has sat in them, but at least they don't look like death traps.

In the most telling sign of my growing confidence as Mr. Fix-It, I asked for a toolbox for my birthday this year, and not one made by Playskool. The only problem is, there are no more projects left to do. All of the major work required during our moving-and-settling-in phase is complete. I am a hammer looking for a nail.

I can hear some people close to me reading this and thinking, "There is plenty to assemble when you're getting ready for a baby." To which I say, "I wonder when the next pancakes night will be?"

In the shower, on the lamb

The following conversation with myself took place in the shower the other day.

Q. You look great.

A. Thanks, so do you.

Q. Is that a tan?

Photo: Eric Stocklin

A. Yes, yes it is. I just came back from my honeymoon in Cancun.

Q. Please share an unusual observation you made about the staff of the resort you stayed at. 

A. All of the men had great, slicked back hair that stayed perfect all day despite any heat or wind. We left Cancun with some ceramics and a few sunburns, but I would have liked to have taken back some of their hair products.

Q. A honeymoon means there must have been a wedding. How'd that go? 

A. If there weren't 53,981,421 photos from the evening, I wouldn't have believed it happened. I recommend everyone get married if only for the food tasting.

Q. I understand the food was a hit.

A. Specifically, a lamb chop appetizer. I insisted at the tasting we needed to serve hunks of meat, so it filled my heart with joy to hear people were stalking the servers carrying the lamb chops.


Q. And by "people," you mean "men", of course.

A. Of course. I know my audience.


Q. So how involved were you with the wedding planning?

A. You know how politicians will vote "present" sometimes to indicate they were there for the vote when they don't want to vote? I was "present" for almost all of our wedding appointments.

That's not to say I wasn't for whatever Belle wanted; I just didn't say much during our meetings. Here's an actual transcript of what I said when we met with the florist the first time:

-- "Yes."
-- "Five."
-- "Purple, nice."
-- "Don't forget my grandfather."
-- "That's right, lamb chops."

A word of advice to all of you guys out there thinking about getting married. First, man up and ask her. It's the best thing you'll ever do. Second, go to all of the appointments. Don't even wait for her to ask. A lot of it is fun.

It's also a win-win. She gets to brag to all her girlfriends about how involved you are in the wedding planning, and you might get the chance to watch that football game you really wanted to see.

Q. There was as an eight-week span in the fall where you were at Kleinfeld in New York more times (three) than Ravens' home games (two).

A. That's a great line.


Q. Thanks. You thought of it.

A. I saw some things in that basement fitting area no man should see. I still have nightmares about ruching.

Q.  Suspenders?

A. Always. There are few times a man feels comfortable in suspenders. His wedding day is one.

Q. You're starting to prune a little bit. Any parting words?

A. I'm usually one of those people never at a loss for words. Twice in 2012 I have been a blubbering, speechless fool: first, when I proposed; second, when I got married. It's an incredibly humbling, awe-inspiring feeling to be in a room filled with love with the love of my life. All things wedding-related took up the majority of my free time last year and I wouldn't change anything.

Q. You're going to be a good husband.

A. I really, really want to watch the Ravens' playoff game this weekend.

Getting a handle(bar) on life

Belle and I were leaving dinner the other night as a mustachioed man was entering. As he held the door for us, I gazed admiringly at his face. He had almost two mustaches in one, handlebars growing from a bushy soup strainer, as if the facial hair of Grover Cleveland and Rollie Fingers were spooning.

"That is a great mustache," I said with a smile and a nod.

"Thanks," he replied with a smile and a nod.

What do you think Belle did as we turned to our car?

a) Smiled and nodded with us
b) Turned back to get another look
c) Hit me in the stomach
d) You foolish, foolish man

If you guessed "c", you're a woman. If you guessed "d", you're probably a married (and clean-shaven) man.

"I can't believe you said that," she said after hitting me. "That's disgusting."

Mustache disagreements aside, my life has been transformed for the way, way, WAY better since I last typed on these pages 11 months ago. It's been a journey of self-discovery and forced discovery with a lot of laughs, some tears and plenty of TLC. As in the television channel. HGTV, too.

I've learned that when it comes to home improvement, I'm more Tim Taylor than Al Borland. I've gone from a bachelor pad to "The Bachelorette."

(Incidentally, as I type this, Belle is in the other room watching Emily go on the "overnight dates" with the remaining guys. Where else can you find stilted dialogue and cooked-up scenarios that lead to an "overnight date"? Oh, right. Any adult movie ever made.)

It's hard to believe that less than six months from now I'll be a married man. I've never been happier. Yet I always thought that finding The One meant I would finally understand women. Instead, I feel like I beat a video game only to discover there are additional, secret levels to conquer.

Lest I get hit in the stomach again, this is not a bad thing. Like an anthropologist living with the local tribe, I feel like I've been able to see Woman up and close and personal, but finding one answer leads to five additional questions.

Case in point: We went to the bathroom during an intermission of a play we were attending earlier this year. The men's line, of course, was moving much faster than the women's. We got to talking about this on the way back to our seats and I learned something that shocked me: where men spread out and get in line behind a urinal/stall, women remain in a single-file line.

This means that, even though there are fewer stalls in a women's bathroom and, with the tickle fights, it obviously takes women a little longer than men, the line snaking out into the hallway is a bit of an exaggeration.

Our conversation led to my breakthrough discovery, however: I finally knew why women go to the bathroom in groups. Two guys might walk to the men's room in a conversation; once inside, each surveys the room and calculates which line will be the fastest.

But two women walk to the bathroom and see a long, single-file line, so what do they do? Continue their conversation as they wait. It's only natural.

Whether the single-file bathroom line led to the conversations or the conversations led to the single-file line is a chicken-and-egg conundrum that we'll never be able to conclusively answer.  

What I do know is, mustaches are disgusting.