Murphy's Law At Its Best

Murphy is an asshole. And his law just plain sucks.

When I began my basement renovation I did what Batman does. I "be prepared." I have to admit something - I hate looking like the court jester. I hate making a mistake and having someone else arrogantly claim, "Oh, I knew that would happen."

So, when I demo'd my basement a year and a half ago, I prepared by watching the walls. With each thunderstorm, April shower or minor drizzle I monitored the walls for dampness. Every time there was a spring thaw, I slapped on my Sherlock-style cap and vigilantly poked and prodded, looking for a sign of water.

The wettest months, March and April 2007 passed without a hint of moisture. March and April 2008 were virtual carbon copies. Based on three years of dry basement life, I was confident the north-facing wall was safe. But that wasn't enough for me.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Overkill is cool.

Considering our house was built in 1939 with spongecrete er, concrete block foundation, I decided to waterproof the walls for that sleep-soundly-at-night-knowing-my-sugar-collection-won't-be-ruined confident feeling.

It only took me a day to waterproof the wall with Blue Seal, an environmentally friendly, no VOC polymer. During the month it took to cure, it survived 3 major thunderstorms. I confidently erected (tee hee) the framing, insulated, and began the tile work.

Having remarkable trouble with our tile installer (imagine a professional who says it's impossible to tile around a floor drain, who tells me he "hates this bullshit job", looks at our tile and says "you gotta be kidding me! I can't tile the floor with these!" then suddenly changes his mind, who randomly mixes up the order things need to be completed in, breaks my marble, milks my goat and does something even worse to my donkey, just to name a few of the problems) I didn't think things could get worse.

But they did.

Today the tile installer finally started. Today he laid most of the floor and even brought a friend to assist him. It was the first day I didn't have an arguement with him about something. It was the first day I felt good about the whole tile situation.

And today, of all the days in all the years anybody's ever lived here, for the first time ever and in spite of the waterproofing, a 10 minute thunderstorm unloaded half an inch of water into the bathroom, over the freshly laid tile, through the new framing, and right into my neatly propped up drywall.

This mini-flood invoked both curses and an unfathomable amount of anger which revealed my superhero powers - strength - as I valiantly moved the washer and dryer which, the day before, required my dad's help; as I brutally hoisted three full sheets of drywall up and quickly jammed a towel under the bottom edge; and as I punched a hole through Murphy's (of Murphy's Law fame) head.