All the way back in March, possibly even February, Henry agreed to help me make a marquee sign. And by help, I mean that I picked out the slogan and sent him off to do the rest. He got as far as buying all of the supplies and spray-painting the letters, and finally putting all of the bulbs in…when he realized he was one bulb short.

He was so pissed off that he abandoned the project. Until Sunday. I finally got him to pick it back up again and he restrung all of the bulbs and then glued down the letters and then I was like CAN WE HANG IT NOW?! And he was like NO THE GLUE IS DRYING, IDIOT. (I am really hyper right now.)

Finally tonight, he performed the final steps which included messing around with the wires in the back and IT TURNED ME ON, OK. I like it when Henry does masculine things with electricity and tools. (Preferably while wearing nubby gloves.)

YEAH, DRILL THAT SHIT.

Yay it worked! I was like “HURRY LET’S GO HANG IT!” but then it took like another hour because he had to go all Ty Pennington with a level and pencil markings on the wall.

I think it’s safe to say that this is the last marquee sign Henry will be making in this lifetime. I got on his nerves big time. Even more than usual. Breathing down his neck, texting him “TODAY CAN WE HANG IT?!” and constantly asking, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Men REALLY love hearing that.

I was completely impatient, but it was so worth it. Now I get to have my favorite motivational slogan all lit up Broadway-style in my dining room and what a great way to shake the sads. Now I can think of Warped Tour and amusement parks every time I flip that switch.

(I just hugged myself.)

Also? This motherfucker radiates some HEAT.

We might not have to turn on the furnace at all this winter.

Marciples  von “Could Give a Shit” Schlugenhusen.

#getstoked #blessed

Um, please don’t ask me how to make this. Because I honestly don’t know! Henry knows electrician-y things so he made sure it won’t burn down our house. If I had made it, I’d probably have just pasted a parade of tea lights up in the bitch and then set it on fire.

OK, goodbye. I’m going to roast some marshmallows on the lightbulbs now. GET STOKED, BITCHES.