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If you can tell me the best place you came up with to source the previously mentioned color PVC, I’m all ears!
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Lol This makes me giggle...I am secretely building a new tank (60 gallons-hopefully for seahorses) in our garage (entire first floor of the house so I have my own "workshop" area (I like power tools)) I was recently trying to build a sump (as I don't want to use my boyfriends credit card to buy anything so he doesn't know until it is built and beautiful), at which point I plan on convincing him it belongs upstairs with the 90 gallon tank.... So i find a large piece of glass (6-8 feet by 3-4 feet) sitting beside a dumpster literally just outside my neighborhood. It has drill holes in it so i figure its likely not tempered and load it into my jeep. I get it home in one piece and remove it from the back to place it on the floor close to my shop. I don't know how the thing lasted my loading (wasn't very gentle) the ride home and unloading (again not very gentle) but as soon as that piece of glass touched the floor (very gently) it shattered into a million pieces...Thankfully the significant other was out of town so i had a whole night to clean it up. The standard poodle on the other hand was very annoyed to be sequestered over 5 feet away from me while the clean up was in progress... I have quit a few cuts all over from the shatter but only a couple I have had to try to explain (again poor poodle is getting blamed...)
Beautiful and sweet !!Dear husband,
You may notice I’ve been a little high-strung these past few weeks. On edge. Titchy, even. I’m sorry, I really am. There’s a certain frantic energy about me that I am trying desperately to keep in check, but I could swear it’s radiating off of me. The frenzy is palpable. This is not a great time for the kid to be teething. Please allow me to try and explain myself.
I have been consumed by plumbing. All are become PVC. The most crucial component of my first tank, my first venture into reefing, and somehow, cruelly, the least comprehensible. My inner monologue is frightfully repetitive and I’m nearing exhaustion. Unions. I must use them. But HOW do they work? And WHY won’t my usual compulsive YouTube research elucidate the mechanism?
Perhaps I would pardon you for presuming that this particular preoccupation is not particularly practical at this point in the project.
We don’t even have a tank, you might argue. And you’re right—the prospect of reassembling the 30 gallon now-rimless aquarium was daunting. But I would argue that, really, part of this is your fault. You’re the one who said I “might as well just get a different tank.” And when I casually mentioned that maybe I could go bigger than the 30 gallons I had planned initially, you gave an affirming grunt. I take back my previous statement—I am comfortable placing blame for the state of my browser tabs squarely on your shoulders.
For you see, dear husband: I have found myself The New Tank. And it is a steal. Not free, not by any means, and nothing rimless or fancy, but a 90 gallon reef-ready is a major upgrade from meager setup I’d been planning. Factor in a motivated seller and the included sump, skimmer, stand, and canopy, and please understand that THIS is this tank I was meant to have. THIS tank I will not break. And THIS tank I will plumb beautifully and expertly and you will be ever-so-proud of how cleverly I assemble this whole system—the moment I make myself understand unions.
PLEASE say yes. As a Mother’s Day gift. All I ask is that you let me adopt this tank. I promise I will clean it and make it brand new again. And I promise that once I have this tank, I will relax a little bit and give the plumbing talk a break. No, you can’t look at the pictures the seller sent, that’s not the way it’s going to look once I’m done with it. Also I will probably need your help picking it up. This is one tank I won’t be able to stroll home.
Part I: Adventure Calls
I’ll preface this by telling you what I told my husband: At least I decided against the crocodile skinks.
And in my defense, you WERE out of town and therefore unable to stop me.
Although I’ll admit it was perhaps not the most well-thought-out plan, FREE was altogether too good of a deal to pass up. And consider the fortuitous circumstances: A 30 gallon tank popped up on a Curb Alert in my “general area;” 36” happened to fit my lonely tank stand perfectly; it was a beautiful day; you and our toddler were up North at the cabin—and to cap it all, I was emboldened by the Youtube playlist of “how to de-rim an aquarium” videos that had been autoplaying as I compulsively researched gate valves and comparison-shopped colored PVC pipe.
Here it was: My opportunity to prove to you, my skeptical husband, that I could ABSOLUTELY scavenge together a beautiful, modern, sleek-looking nano reef tank for my home office.
Yes, I realize you explicitly told me not to buy another tank. Yes, I know you’ve just left your job to become a stay-at-home dad to our 13 month old son, and that now the burden of financially providing for our family falls on my shoulders. Yes, I am keenly aware that my company works primarily with startups on a per-contract basis. But you must understand—I was going to spend no money on this ludicrous adventure. This was A Free Tank.
So I messaged the Curb Alerter to find out his address, to see whether I could even feasibly get to what had immediately become—in my mind—my new aquarium. After all, you were hundreds of miles away with the toddler and the truck. And oh, what luck—the tank was curbed a mere two miles away, in a neighborhood I’ve driven through many times. It was destiny.
All that remained was to get there. Simple. Were I one of those totally-got-my-****-together moms who, thirteen months postpartum, had resumed their daily jogs and yerba mates with Gal Pals in yoga pants, that two mile walk would have been a piece of gluten-free cake. I’m confident enough in myself to share that I, however, am testing the tensile strength of my sweatpants as I type this.
Undaunted, I unfolded my son’s stroller and flopped a couple of towels into the seat (I had A Plan). I put on my very best sneakers and my least stained sweatpants. I even put on a sports bra. And off I sauntered down the street, pushing an empty stroller and secure in my knowledge that this was a voyage I was meant to take, that this was a tank I was meant to have, and that you would be charmed by just how quirky and impulsive—and thrifty!—your wife can be.
Three hours later I returned home, delighted with myself and my new tank. This was going to look SO cool as a nano reef. We even have a tank in the basement to use as a sump, and another to cannibalize for baffles and bracing for the display—because seriously, that pale faux wood grain trim has to go.
Horrifying trim aside, it looks pretty good. And when it’s sitting on the stand, I can take off my glasses and imagine the final setup, with suspended lights and beautiful plumbing and a thriving garden of soft corals. It will be just the thing to kickstart productivity during my workday and will make me seem like a Very Interesting Individual during video calls with clients.
This is a good idea, Kelsey. Good job today.