How To Do A Terrible Job Refinishing Furniture

The first time I decided to write about taking on a home improvement project around the house I chronicled the natural disaster that was attempting to fix a leaking sink drain in a post entitled I Suck at Home Repairs.

Never one to admit defeat after being resoundingly ineffective at man-type handy work, I recently took up my latest project: Refinishing a piece of furniture. The reason I am refinishing this table certainly has an explanation; And that explanation is some whole thing about furniture having to match the color scheme of our den instead of looking like we plucked a random assortment of home furnishings out of a dumpster and then put them inside for lamps and stuff to go on. However, I think we can all agree that nobody gives a shit about that and we just want to get to the part where I do a really bad job on a table and take pictures of it.

Bottom line, I have a table, and I want that table to be a different color than the color that it currently is so I am going to do a bunch of stuff and make it the color I want.

*This is literally my favorite joke in the entire post

What makes me think I can take on and successfully complete a task of this nature having never attempted it before and generally ruining everything I put my hands on around the house? Two things. One: I read a blog by a lady who said it was super easy and I believe everything I read on internet blogs. Two: Since the last time I attempted and failed miserably at a home project I have grown a beard.

Having a beard adds a skill modifier of at least +4 to all of my manliness rolls, which means I should easily be able to tackle this project despite the fact that I just made a Dungeons and Dragons reference like an enormous nerd.

*mANLINESS GREATLY EXAGGERATED FOR EFFECT, Actual Moustache Fanciness may Vary. Manliness aLSO oFFSET BY wIZARD rOBE.

Anyway, what is always the first step on any burgeoning home improvement project in my household? TO LOWE'S!

Phase One Prep

The second step is of course getting to Lowe's and realizing I don't have any idea what materials I need for this project and desperately googling "How to refinish furniture" on my phone in the paint aisle like an asshole.

I had dragged Emily with me on the quest for stuff to science a table into a different colored table, so after a considerable amount of arguing about what stuff I would need I left with the following in hand:

• 1qt- Paint (Some kind of olive green-ish color that probably has a specific name which I don't care to learn.)
• 1 container Wipe on Polyurethane
• 1 baby size roller
• 1 paintbrush
• 1 roll blue tape
• 1 package of dust masks (which I know I'm not going to wear but bought anyway)
• 150 grit and 80 grit sandpaper (as if I understand what the difference will be) 

With all of my treasures acquired we headed home and I lugged the thing out into the garage to start working.

Approximately 1 hour later I had accomplished an amount of sanding so negligible that I didn't even bother to take a picture of it, worked up a gross amount of sweat for how little progress I made, and decided that I was going to purchase an orbital sander and power tool this b!%$h. 

One day, one trip to Lowe's, and $39.98 later, my new sander and I were ready to sand us a table.   

After spending an hour making the paint on one square inch of table leg a slightly lighter shade of blue when I was trying sand the table by hand I expected I would come home with my orbital sander, and melt the paint off the table with the precision and expertise of a master craftsman; paint vaporizing instantly beneath every pass of my sander leaving clean, bare wood exposed beneath. This was not the case. Twenty minutes later and:

I succeeded in making a slightly shittier blue table.  Positive I was either doing it wrong, using the wrong grit of sandpaper or some other novice mistake, and concerned by the fact that even through it was technically working I was going through a sheet of sandpaper every five minutes I did the only thing that made sense. I Got stubborn and kept going. 

The process was a giant pain in the ass, but it was starting to come along. I sanded until I was really sick of sanding and then called it a day, deciding to come back and finish it off later so that I could get it painted.

That was the last time I touched that table for two entire months. There were a number of reasons I didn't get back to it: Later that initial week my wife and I went out of town for a few days while she went to visit vet schools for interviews, then there was a big snow-storm and the cars were in the garage, then there was a long period of time where it was cold and I didn't feel like it. Then I got the flu. Then there was some more time when I didn't feel like it.

Some of you might be asking, 'Hey, what have you been doing for a table all this time that you've had this one out in the garage not working on it?' 

Good question, friend. I'll tell you. We've been using a sweet red and green plastic tub full of the Christmas ornaments as a table.

Classy as f#@k. The candle really complements accents of the red and green plastic tub and it just goes so well with the crooked lamp shade. Someone get a hold of  Martha Stewart's people, I think I'm really on to something here.

Anyway, the guilt and shame of having left this project half finished for so long finally caught up to me and I decided it was time to get down to business. 

Full disclosure; It still took me two weeks between the "Its time to get down to business" motivational decision and actually doing anything with the table.

Once I -did- start, I was not going to be stopped, that table was going to get sanded until there was no more blue paint to be found! NOTHING WOULD STAND IN MY WAY! Except that I used up my last piece of  sand paper about fifteen minutes in and had to stop.

Two days later I found myself once more in Lowe's looking for some more sandpaper. This time however, I made a discovery that would prove critical.

Apparently THIS:

Is not intended to strip paint off of wood. It's only supposed to be used on drywall. This certainly explains why I was going through a sheet every ten minutes and used an entire pack while only managing to sand a third of the table. You know what though? How was I supposed to know it was the wrong stuff? I mean, sure it was in the section with the drywall stuff, and sure it says 'DRYWALL' on the package in all capital bold letters right at the top but anyone could have made that mistake. 

So, not wanting to repeat my mistake, I went on over to the section with the power tools and on the wall literally two feet away from where I bought the sander was the heavy duty stuff actually intended for the job I was trying to do:

You can tell it's the right stuff because of the picture of those rugged man hands sanding a deck or whatever.

Now equipped with my power sander and proper bits of sandpaper it was go-time for real.

 It was glorious. The paint came off like... paint being sanded off by a sander. After spending hours laboriously attacking this table, gnashing my teeth and cursing every time I ruined another sheet of that drywall sandpaper to get jack-all done this was like heaven. 

I sanded, and sanded some more. I may have gone a little power mad for a bit, swept up in the ecstasy of conquering the shit out of that piece of furniture. I was like "Yeah, coarse grit for paint removal!" as I buzzed away the blue paint which had been taunting me for months. Then I was all "Whammo! Medium finishing grit! Fine finishing Grit! Suck it table, I'm the human here! My opposable thumbs and not being an inanimate object make me the goddamn boss!"

I sanded until I was happy with the result and then I sanded a little bit more because I was kind of into using the sander and I got carried away.

After three months I had finally succeeded in turning that table from blue to not blue.

I was pretty pleased with myself at this point. Sanding was done, so all that was left to do was to scuff, prime, scuff again, paint three coats scuffing between each, stain the top, stain drawers and cabinets, apply the polyurethane finish put all the hardware back on and then reassemble everything. Piece of cake.

Phase 2: Prime and Paint

After a refresher Google search for how to refinish furniture I learned that if I wanted my coats of primer and paint to go on nicely without a bunch of crap stuck to the table I needed to get tack cloth to wipe everything down between sandings.

I didn't know what tack cloth was, though I guess I really should have put two and two together based on the name. It's basically just a piece of cheese cloth that is sort of sticky that you wipe over the furniture to pull off any stray dust or hairs or whatever.

Off to Lowe's again I guess.

Tack cloth acquired, I went home wiped everything down, taped off the parts I didn't want painted and applied a coat of primer.

Next day, on went the first Coat of Paint.

Then a second coat of Paint.

The thing I read said to do three coats of paint but... meh. Close enough. ON TO PHASE THREE!

Phase 3: Stain and Protect

Almost done now. The end is in sight. Just gotta sand down those cabinets and drawers, re-stain it all and put on the polyurethane I got to finish it all off.

Looks like I get to go to town with my sander again.

(note: I somehow lost the photo I took of the sanded down cabinets, so please enjoy this stock photo of a grapefruit instead

After I finished the sanding I realized two things. First, two of the knobs from the drawers and cabinets were wrecked up, so I was going to have to replace them. Second, I have no idea what I did with the wood stain I bought three months ago and was going to have to go buy more.

Guess where I had to go, again?

Determined that this would be my last visit to Lowe's for this god-forsaken table, I made sure I got everything I needed.

Apparently reading the labels on stuff helps when you don't know what you are doing. I left the store with my stain, something called pre-stain which I suspected might be a scam to make me spend an additional 8 bucks on a product that doesn't actually do anything, some rags, a bunch of foam brushes and four new knobs for the drawers. 

I went home, followed the instructions on my various wood treating products, and got down to business. First was the pre-stain and then stain fifteen minutes later.

Then after another fifteen minutes or so the polyurethane went on. Two coats with a few hours apart to let it dry as recommended by the good people at Minwax.

I let it air dry for a day, put all the doors and cabinets back in place and hauled my completed table outside to admire my manly achievement.

Besides one of the cabinet doors being weirdly darker than everything else and there being a few spots where you can see I did a shitty job with the sander if you look close enough it all turned out passable. In the end, we no longer have to use the Christmas ornament box in the den and that is what really matters.

Five tips to Lowe's and three months to complete, but I have conquered this table. I am the manliest of men.

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P.S.

Griff photobombing my first attempt at taking that last picture

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Also P.S.

As promised. The dust masks that I didn't use.

I'm probably going to die of breathing in lead paint dust.

I Suck at Home Repairs

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As I may have mentioned a time or two, I am a failure at making minor home repairs.

Let me be clear, I 'm not entirely incompetent. If I were the perfect caricature of a bumbling dolt; hammering his thumb, spilling the paint bucket, and generally making a clusterf*@k out of everything I touched it would almost be forgivable. 

My problem is that I'm the perfect combination of just competent enough to understand what to do and how when it comes to most basic fixes around the house, but insufficient skilled to effectively make said repair.

This in and of itself wouldn't be too bad if it were not for the fact that I also possess the glorious man-need be handy around the house in order to validate my Y-chromosome. 

Inevitably I get into a simple repair, and it takes three times as long and six more trips to the hardware store than it would if I knew what I was doing. I like to imagine my bearded, lumberjack shirt wearing heavily muscled man ancestors (or mancestors), watching over me as I flail ineffectually underneath the kitchen sink. They would probably stand, arms folded, shaking their rugged heads in shame and disappointment as they slowly choke the life out of grizzly bears with nothing but their blue jean clad quadriceps. 

I thought I'd keep a running log of a home repair as I start, and inevitably screw it up, eventually either fixing it or giving up and calling someone to come fix it for me thus bringing great dishonor upon myself. 

The Job 

In this particular instance the very simple home repair in question is a leaky sink faucet coupled with a reoccurring clogged drain in one of the bathrooms. 

Periodically the sink in the downstairs bathroom becomes clogged. This probably happens once a month on average.

Depending on who in our household you ask, the reason the sink clogs so frequently varies.

So that we're all on the same page here, the downstairs bathroom is my wife's bathroom. It has a a countertop with space for all her lady stuff like makeup and lotions and that assorted pile of bobby pins, loose earrings, hair ties and bracelets that have taken over the soap tray.

 The upstairs bathroom is unfinished, and has nothing but a two inch rim around a free standing sink upon which items may be placed. It's literally one step above a pale of water in the middle of the floor. Naturally that is the one I use.  

With the appropriate bathroom assignment situation's clarified, you can see where my wife's claim that the clogged sink is a result of the one or two times I have shaved my neck down there falls apart pretty quickly. 

Clearly the clogged sink is from a tangled clod of hair that made it's way from her head, to her hairbrush, into the sink where it slithered down the drain, and unionized or something and is now blockading the drain in protest preparing a list of demands for things like fancier conditioner.

Fresh from the rousing success of just having repaired a leaky kitchen sink, (a project that took three days instead of the twenty five minutes it should have) when my wife informed me the sink was leaking in her bathroom I decided I'd fix that and try to take care of that pesky recurring clog while I was at it.

Naturally after bumbling your way through one plumbing task, you should jump right into a second one, right?

So the job would be simple: Fix the leak, take the J-bend out and see if there is a pseudo-sentient hair amalgamation to extract, put it back together, stand back and stroke my glorious moustachio and beard in stoic approval of my own good work.   

Assuming that everything would go disastrously wrong I decided to chronicle the job. Below is the running diary of said task:

Day 1- Friday

4:00 PM

I decide to tackle the bathroom sink right after Emily leaves for work. Figuring I'd do it while she was out and have it leak free and draining like a champ by the time she came home. Thoroughly impressed with my rugged sink fixing man skills, there would proceed to be gallons of making out.

 4:05 PM

In my zeal for home repairing, at no point do I bother to run some water through the sink to locate the initial leak which had been reported to me. I have no idea what joint was actually leaking.

Figuring I'd have to take everything apart anyway in order to clean out wherever the clog is, I launch right into trying to take the pipes apart with a wrench. My assumption is that once the clog is dealt with, the leak will be sorted out when I put everything back together and tighten it.

I begin the process of attempting to disassemble the drain with the tools I have collected:

• Adjustable wrench x1
• Roll of paper towels x1

At no point does it occur to me that I have possibly under-prepared.

4:06 PM

I am unable to budge the joints holding the various pieces of pipe together with my single wrench. I probably need to get a second wrench to apply some force in opposite directions.

I own a second wrench.

Aforementioned wrench is in the basement.

I am not in the basement, I am in the bathroom.

That wrench can go f*@k itself. I'll make it work with the one.

Update 4:08 PM

Due to an unforeseeable complication involving inadequate wrenches the pop up drain breaks off of the bottom of the sink.

This project has now escalated to require a trip to Lowe's. I'll need some plumbers putty or something to glue the thing back together.

Now in a towering sink drain related rage, I do the responsible thing and procrastinate on returning to the task for the rest of the afternoon. I hang out with the dogs instead.

Day 2- Saturday

5:00 PM

Armed with a bright eyed and bushy tailed enthusiasm for sink repair as well as an extensive font of knowledge obtained via searching "How to replace a sink drain" on Google and reading a single article I am now prepared to re-tackle this job.

5:15 PM

My first step is to remove this bad boy from the sink so I can see what I'm dealing with. After the application of a bit of tactfully applied smacking the crap out of the pipe and wrenching it free I get the drain out of the sink.

I am met with this sight.

Well that's Gross.

I then look at the actual drain piece I've pulled out.

 Aaaand also gross. If you have a particularly weak gag reflex, I apologize for not having prepared you for that.

Now thoroughly aware that I have been washing my hands in a bacterial ooze filled basin of filth I set off for Lowe's to purchase all of the materials I'll need.

As I, prepare to leave, old drain in hand, I realize the threaded part of the thing is cracked. This displeases me. The piece was either already cracked, or I cracked it manhandling it out of the sink like a toothless rock gumming barbarian. 

I elect to presume the former.

I insinuate that the drain's mother was a lady of ill repute who conjugated with many foreign made pipe wrenches.

I leave for the hardware store.

6:00 PM

I arrive at Lowes.

Because I am well versed in the location of plumbing supplies in Lowes from the previously mentioned kitchen sink fiasco, I get right down to business and start looking for the parts I'll need.

From this point on, you may feel free to imagine the theme song from Jeopardy playing on a loop in the background as I stare at the wall of drain pieces attempting to match the old bits that I've brought with me to shiny new counterparts which don't smell like a four day old bag of vomit.

One would imagine that simply taking a piece, finding the one on the shelves that looks like it, and grabbing it would be a relatively simple task which should require no more than a few minutes of time and minimal brain power, right?

6:45 PM

I have been standing in this plumbing aisle for so long that I begin to forget what my life was like before I walked into this Lowes.

Much like a goldfish in captivity, my understanding of the world narrows to this single fourteen foot wide, hundred foot long prison of gaskets, flanges and union joints. The outside world is but a distant memory, lost to the all consuming task of picking out the proper replacement parts for this god forsaken sink.

I grab parts that I think are correct at first, only to realize they are slightly incorrect on some way or another a few minutes later. The signs, describing the dimensions of each individual part might as well be written in hieroglyphics for all the good they are doing me.

I had enough parts to have built two and a half of the section of drain I wanted to build at one point, all sprawled out on the floor like some sort of Beautiful Mind style web of madness.   

That picture is the tidy, sane version of the mess I made on the floor of this establishment, once I had narrowed things down quite a bit. Also, I'm not sure where that mystery liquid on the floor came from. Lets just presume they are the countless tears I shed during my imprisonment in aisle 14.

  I have a feeling if anyone else walked into that aisle looking to pick up a few things for their own home and saw me steadily building a rat-man style den for myself on the middle of the floor they quietly turned around, went home to hug their wife and children and are proceeding to live out the remainder of their life with new-found appreciation for their sanity.

Eventually I do get things under control and collect all the supplies I will be needing to make my repair. 

6:50 PM

I leave Lowes.

I am surprised to find that the world has not progressed to a futuristic state of utopia during the time I was inside the building. I locate my car and head home.

7:00 PM

Returned home with my goods, I set to work putting the new drain in the sink.

I follow the instructions provided on the packaging that the new drain came in and manage to replace it in a fairly successful and uneventful manner. Plumbers putty on the underside of the bit that goes into the bowl of the sink, and screw it all together. 

With the new drain in place, I begin to get all the other pieces of pipe ready to put everything back together when it occurs to me that I really never found the reason the drain has been backing up. All the pipes I took off were pretty clear.

I notice that I might be able to take off that tiny, unsuspecting little bit of pipe that you can see coming from the wall in the picture above.

Could it be?

I will say this. The things that I have seen cannot be unseen. Should you chose to continue reading beyond this point, you do so with the understanding that I cannot be held responsible for the psychological trauma that may be inflicted upon you by what is to come. You have been warned.

I remove the pipe and shine the flashlight of my phone into the opening in the wall. 

I was not prepared.

Oh dear sweet virgin Mary what am I looking at? What foul vortex of pure evil could be responsible for regurgitating this twisted clod of concentrated hate?

As I reached into the drain with whatever would serve to dislodge and pull free any portion of this fetid wad of sludge I swear to you it began whispering to me in a dead tongue. I saw visions of the end of days and my nose began to bleed. Whatever hell-pit this thing had come from, it was loathe to be extracted from my bathroom drain, and it would destroy me and all that I hold dear given the chance.

Calling upon every ounce of inner strength in my body, I removed as much as I could reach. In the end, I wound up with a golf ball sized wad of horrible filth. They should have cast this thing as the piece of Voldemort's soul that get's blasted off of Harry in the last movie. It was that foul.

To help put the size of that abomination in perspective. If you look closely you can see a q-tip lodged in there. A poor unfortunate casualty, absorbed into the elder hive mind before being destroyed along with it. 

In order to ensure that it could never hurt anyone again I had to walk this thing to Mordor and throw it into a f*@king volcano.

7:30 PM

After performing a cleansing ritual and scrubbing the topmost layer of skin off my hands with steel wool I get back to work putting the sink back together.

It all seems to be going well, and I get everything put back together.

I test the sink.

It leaks profusely.

Son of a parasite ridden three toed sloth, why is this thing leaking?

I isolate the leak to the nut that holds the stopper mechanism in place. Wishing a pestilence upon the nut, the company that manufactures the nut, and the first born children of all of the employees who work in the factory where they produce that nut I remove it to find that it's cracked.

..... balls.

Day 3-Sunday

8:00 AM

Guess where I am again?

Don't let the heavenly rays of light shining down from above on the front of this store fool you. This is a place of sadness and misfortune.

I've got every square inch of the plumbing aisle eternally etched onto the insides of my eyelids, it does not take me long to get in, locate the replacement nut and get back out. 

8:30 AM

I arrive back at home with the nut, quickly swap it for the cracked one, give everything one last tightening, and fire that baby up.

Nailed it.

I stand back and bask in the glory of my handiwork. I am the master of my domain. My mancestors are slightly less ashamed of me this day. Tonight I will feast.

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