Smurftastic

The dirty little secret that no one tells you about painting is that it is not as easy as it looks. Sure it is only so difficult to paint a small ceramic figurine at those little paint and fire clay shops, keepsake box or some other trinket. But when you attempt to actually paint something that is life size and not easy to maneuver. The tables are turned.

I thought it would be brilliant to buy some unfinished furniture and finish it myself. After reading several blogs on painting, I ought to be an expert. Everything looks so glossy and blemish free, that what could be easier? Spray a couple of coats of paint, followed by a clear glaze, and voila, you have a gorgeous finished product.  Well clearly these step by step videos and blogs do not show how long it took the demonstrators to become adapt at the art of painting.

First there is the whole act of getting the  furniture to a location where the paint will not get on anything worth damaging, and a place where the fumes will not kill your brain cells. Moving furniture from one location to another is not that complicated when there are at least two people doing the moving. Or if you are not easily beaten by five year olds in arm wrestling. My upper body strength or lack thereof, is embarrassing. This complicates moving furniture from one place to another. I am constantly having to place the piece of furniture down, to give my arms a rest. Or risk dropping it on my feet and crushing my toes. So after about 15 minutes I  finally get the furniture to a safe location : my back deck.  My rationale for risking getting spray paint all over the deck is that the wood needs to be re-sealed anyways….this will just prompt me to speed up the process. All though after this painting debacle, I am not sure I ever want to touch anything that requires brushing, spraying or sealing a wooden surface again.

I am finally at the stage where I can shake my paint cans and start spraying. Now I have diligently read the direction that are in size .10 font on the back of the spray can. And I have come to the conclusion that it is probably really not necessary to “vigorously” shake the canister for two minutes.  So I shake the spray paint for a good thirty seconds or until I get bored. Whichever came first. Big mistake. I start to coat the furniture with the paint only to be greeted by a beautiful watery black color. Perhaps I should have followed the suggested time for mixing the paint a bit more closely.

What I thought would take an afternoon has now turned into a two weekend project. And during this time I have gotten to look like a splotchy smurf. I even managed to coat my hair a gorgeous shade of blue. All of this has taught me that when something is expensive to have done by a professional, it is probably because it involves a good bit of attention to detail, and skill. And honestly I don’t have the attention span to become a skilled painter. One coat of paint is about all the interest I have in painting something. When that item requires four to five coats, I start getting pissed off.  Why didn’t anyone prepare me for this?

Also, anytime I see someone use painter’s tape on a commercial. It looks ridiculously easy. How hard can it be to stick some blue tape on a flat surface? The answer is incredibly hard – to get the tape to stick in a straight line anyways.

I am really not all that handy around the house.  Don’t get me wrong, I can clean, cook and fold laundry like the best of them, but when it comes to actual home repairs or improvements, I usually run for the internet and it’s wise recommendations of service providers.

But I do realize that paying someone to do basic tasks gets expensive and makes me feel helpless. However if you looked at my track record with household duties, you could see why hiring a professional might be worth it in more than one way.  I have recently become addicted to blogging (I was trying to replace my trashy reality TV addiction). And while perusing all the sordid details of suburbia on various blogs, I came across many blogs dedicated to DIY home improvement. Considering I only owned a hammer and didn’t even own a screwdriver, DIY home improvement seems incredibly daunting. But I succumbed to the old thought: “If they can do it, so can I.” So I advise staying tuned this year to see if I burn down the house, destroy any walls, or fall through the roof. Any of these are sadly probably pretty realistic possibilities when I am left to my own DIY devices.

There are several scenarios that cause Clinton to shudder at the thought of me picking up a hammer or a paintbrush. Or god forbid a power drill.  There was time I put a plastic cutting board inside the oven and couldn’t figure out why I smelled plastic burning.  I also learned that if you wash an ink pen with a load of white dress shirts, those white dress shirts will come out of the wash sporting gorgeous new black patches.  Our walls also sport several scars for misguided attempts at the art of hanging pictures.  I can never seem to get a picture to hang with the first attempt of putting a nail through the wall.

This was the chaos of moving (never again)

Unfortunately for Clinton’s sanity I hate measuring or doing prep work. For example, if you are going to hang curtains, you should probably measure where each end of the curtain rod needs to be and mark that spot with pencil. I preferred the less meticulous and less time consuming method of simply guestimating where each end should be. The problem with this method is that sometimes it would work and sometimes it wouldn’t, and when it didn’t, the process became more time consuming then if I had just measured out the right distance.  But I prefer to think of my guestimating as an art, and if there is chance that it will cut down on the amount of time required to complete a task then even better.

Clinton is afraid that I will carry over my disdain for being meticulous into the painting arena and our walls will give off the impression that we turned a five year old loose in our house with a bucket of paint.  Apparently before you can paint, you have to take everything off the walls and then tape all the edges. Well at first this didn’t sound so bad. Taking everything off the walls is certainly easy enough. And how hard can it be to stuff some tape on the walls. Clearly I had no idea. You have to get the tape right up on the edge, and make sure it is in a straight line, and that is securely stuck to the wall.  This sounds exhausting. You literately have to tape every edge in the room. Talk about time consuming and tedious. It is really necessary??  According to anybody who has ever painted, yes it is. So I can see why Clinton might be a little apprehensive about my painting techniques.?

And I picked hanging blinds as a relatively easy project. However upon closer examination, blinds are deceptively tricky to manipulate. First of all the directions are written in a way only an engineer would understand. Which is the first problem. They are assuming that I can read and hang at the same time. That is a pretty big assumption. Why can’t they just draw me a picture of the steps? It doesn’t have to be a fancy picture. It can be stick people. Just draw me a stinking picture. And while you are at it, explain to me how in the world you get them into the correct position and get them to stay there.

Do they offer master’s degrees in home improvement because I might need one?

 

Say Yes to the Dress!

So I think I am finally able to say “yes to the dress.” This comes after I probably tried on over 100 gowns in almost ten different bridal shops. And let me tell you, there is nothing fun or magical when you are trying on your 95^th gown.

During this whole process I learned that I listened to others way to much. Everyone felt entitled to give me their opinion and then they expected to follow their expert advice. Of course the members of my bridal entourage had an opinion. But so did the sales clerk, and the random other dress shoppers, and casual acquaintances in my life.  Everybody had an opinion and advice. And I actually welcome their opinions and certainly their advice, because sometimes it helps me re-evaluate a decision. But what I can’t stand is that most people think that their expert opinions are ironclad and I am a damn fool not to follow them.  I am sorry that is horribly offensive to you that I am not getting married in a church. And I know you think I am going to look back and curse this decision, but if we want to get married outside under some trees like a bunch of heathens then so be it. It isn’t your soul that is going to be sent to damnation. 

And people like to scare you into following their opinions by promising that you will regret not heeding their advice.  But at the end of the day, I am getting married to my bestfriend. And there is no way I can control every little detail, so I ought to just enjoy the day and bigger meaning behind it.  Everyone says you don’t remember your wedding day because it passes in such a blur. So why would I obsess over which white wine to offer. 

I am too nice to tell people to politely back the **** off. So I just smile and nod and act extremely grateful for them forcing their opinions down my throat.  But in the back of my mind I am getting more and more nervous and anxious about my wedding. There is no way I can please everyone, and frankly I am not that interested in catering to every single whim some of my more eccentric guests might have. So I ask Clint, can’t we just run away and get married with just us and immediate family?!!

                                           My gorgeous ring! 

I can see he is trying to be ok with that, because he wants to make me happy. But I know he would like to have a semi-traditional wedding. So I decide to grow a backbone. I am going to get married and have a modest ceremony. And I will probably have to invite a few guests I don’t know. But I will be the one making the decisions and if anyone has any problems with that, I will show them where they can sign on the bill, because Clinton and I are paying for this ourselves. So if you don’t like how we are spending our hard earned money, feel free to contribute your money to whatever detail doesn’t meet your standards.

I realize I might sound a bit pyscho. Like put that lady in a padded room and that her throw a fit. But I finally had enough and I am going to put a stop to the foolishness.  And I promptly started this new attitude by going and trying on dresses by myself (this was mainly because where I was going was not convenient to anyone else on that day). But I found a dress that I truly loved and at a price I loved even more. And I got a chance to enjoy it before I shared it with a few people. And even if they had some critiques it didn’t matter because this is my dress. I realized that if I listened to every single person’s critique I would never find a dress I like. So I just have to hope that the dress I pick is able to appeal to the majority.

I will have to say, the members of my bridal party (and Kip) did keep me from purchasing some dresses that could only qualify as a hot messes. Because in addition to being unable to say no to opinionated acquaintances, I am also unable to say no to pushy sales people who stuff me in whatever dress they think they can sucker me into buying.  “Oh no that dress is top of the line. I know it looks like a nine year old went crazy with a bedazzler and some glitter glue, but it is just so hot.” You know if I wanted my dress to look like a creation by an elementary school student, I would probably just go pick out a dress at the local thrift store and drop it off at the elementary school down the street from my house.  But I still had a hard time turning the sales woman down. What is wrong with me?? I need to learn the word no.

But all that aside, I have found the dress that I can see myself getting married in. It doesn’t break the bank. And it is traditional enough to keep Clinton happy.  Even though he told me I could spend as much as I need on the dress, I can tell he is pleased that I kept it to a reasonable amount. Maybe we can use the extra money to purchase my basset hound………

Basset Hounds, Tongs, and bluntcard oh my!

Christmas still makes me so excited that I have trouble sleeping on Christmas eve. I also tend to wake up at some ridiculous hour on Christmas day so that I can be sure to encourage Clinton to participate in the enjoyment of Christmas with me.

This year was no exception as I was wide awake at 445 am and bouncing on the bed. I used my eager energy to run a brisk eight miles before arriving back to finally waken the sleeping beast. Clinton of course realizes that he is no match for me on Christmas and rolls out of bed without much fight. He shows what he considers an acceptable level of excitement in that he acknowledges the fact that it is Christmas morning and the fact that it is early.  He wants a shower and breakfast and then we can get the show on the road.

It nearly kills me though waiting for him to get ready. This man has never heard of a five minute shower. He could easily spend thirty minutes in the shower actively cleaning himself because he is so meticulous. He is very through and uses half a bottle of soap each time. We buy our soap in bulk at Costco and on the bottle it says “use quarter sized amount, should last for 75 uses.” However after three weeks we are out of soap again. So I am going to start monitoring his soap usage and become a soap Nazi. If he can’t make do with one quarter sized allotment of soap at a time then tough. I am tired of being in the middle of a shower and realizing we don’t have any soap, even though we just bought some two weeks ago. Clint likes to be clean. In fact if he could dip himself in a vat of sanitizing liquid he would. And I would have no objection to installing a giant sanitary vat in our bathroom if it meant I got more hot water and longer showers myself.

After Clinton finally exits the shower he decides he has to shave in order to be presentable. Here comes painstakingly slow routine number two of the morning. Clinton insists that if he shaves to fast he will cut himself and die. I insist he is being dramatic and shave slowly because he has a meticulous pattern he follows and wants to make sure that he does not miss any stubble.

Finally his bathroom routine is done and it is present time. I would prefer to tear through my gifts like a ravenous wolf but Clinton thinks It is more civilized to take turns. So we painstaking take turns. And as I work my way through my gifts. I got a lot of lovely presents. And although Clinton refused to buy me “Humphrey” my basset hound. My sister did buy me a basset hound charm. And that charm is proudly displayed on my charm bracelet. I show it off to anyone that happens to be near me. Most people give me a puzzled look as to why in the world I would be so excited over a charm shaped like a basset hound. But it’s ok. They just don’t realize the beauty that is a basset.  But my favorite present of all was a set of tongs to use in the kitchen. I will not be just reserving these tongs for the kitchen though. They will become my personal number one Clinton annoyer. I will be amused for hours on end thinking of ways to annoy Clinton with these.

I also got this marvelous collection of postcards for Christmas that are known as bluntcards. Now if you have never had a chance to check these suckers out.  You need to go Google them right now. I have spent copious amounts of time clicking through all the different bluntcards that are out there on the internet. And let me tell you, each one is funnier than the last.

There is one particular bluntcard that I received that I will be photocopying so I can use it over and over. It says: “I am sorry you are feeling like such a pussy.”  I will be reserving that card for every hypochondriac I know. And for every person that whines to me. I hate whiners. I am sorry you stubbed your toe and it hurts. But I am pretty sure it is not going to fall off. Though if it does be sure to call me because it would be cool to see that. I am sorry you are nauseous and feel the need to discuss everything that you just regurgitated but let me remind you, you are the one who wanted to get pregnant so don’t expect sympathy over here. If you managed to get pregnant without realizing all the wonderful things that are going to happen to your body then you deserve a major kudos because this is the 21st century and the internet is everywhere and it is full of facts. I also would like to know how the people on “I didn’t know I was pregnant” managed to carry a fetus for nine months without every the slightest idea they were knocked up.  And for my last sick rant, if you get a head cold, it does not mean you are dying of tuberculosis.  I don’t want to listen to your cough. It sounds no different than anyone else’s cough with a cold.

So I would say all in all I got some pretty useful presents this Christmas. And Clinton even got me an electric mixer so my days of mixing everything with a spoon by hand are over. Looks like I am finally moving on up in the world. Good-bye pioneer days with nothing but a wooden spoon and bowl. Hello 21st century with electric mixer and cooking appliances.

Let there be light!

I love tacky Christmas lights. I love them a lot.  If I could cover my whole house and yard with Christmas lights I would. However there are several problems that prevent me from being able to accomplish this. The biggest problem is overcoming Clinton’s objections. He does not see buying Christmas lights and paying for the electricity to use them as the best use of our money. Something about paying for enough electricity to power our house for a year. Personally I just think he is being over dramatic. You only light up the displays at night. So at most that is only 12 hours a day, and that is only for one month. I think he just doesn’t want to be involved in the labor of getting the lights strung up. I am pretty sure I can hear him mumbling something about how being stuck up on a ladder for 8 hours is a surefire way for me to collect on that life insurance payout.

You see it is not enough just to throw some lights on your bushes and trees and call it a day. Oh no you have to actually come up with a design and theme to your light display.  And you need to cover every square inch of you house and  yard. Every visible inch needs to be flashing, blinking or lighting up with Christmas cheer. And don’t think you can scrape by with just doing the front of your house and ignoring the sides. The sides are some prime real estate.  There is also pressure to do it bigger and better then the year before. All this pressure can

In case you were wondering this is how we celebrate Christmas in my neck of the woods.

Your neighbors also contribute to the Christmas light debacle. Because if your neighbors do a big elaborate display, you do not want to be outdone. There is competition and no one likes to lose. And if you don’t decorate at all you look like a Grinch. And no one wants to be known as the Grinch. None of these arguments work on Clinton though. He would rather be known as a Grinch then have an electric bill with three zeros. So in the meantime I have to be content to gawk at other people’s fabulous display and going to target to caress all the many light displays I am not allowed to buy.

This makes me almost as sad as not being able to get my basset hound. I would love to cover every inch of my house and yard in tacky blinking, flashing and mutli-color lights. But sadly Clinton does not view this as the best way to show holiday cheer.

Is it tax time yet?

Generally I don’t get that excited about taxes. I know that Clinton always ends up paying the government a nice chunk of change, and I usually try to avoid getting paid in a way that will be taxed. But this year it was unavoidable. I have a job that provides me with taxable income, and taxable it is.

I am still astonished at how much already comes out of my meager paycheck. Oh yes, please let me fund social welfare programs that I will never get to use. And the reason I won’t get to use them is not because I will never qualify  for them. No it is because they will be depleted of any funding.

You see the government has never learned a basic skill that every adult with a checkbook has to learn. How to balance a budget. I would have to say that for myself, and I assume for most normal people in America, that if you make one amount then once that amount is spent, you have no other money left to spend. Some of us might have a credit card or two that would let us have a little fun, but if we didn’t pay the bills, I can guarantee you those credit cards would be cut off. So how in the world is the government able to get away without balancing a budget and with a blank check to spend as much as they want? Because in my house we have to account for every cent we spend.  So if you subscribe to the idea that the government is supposed to be a role model, then it is time to start maxing out your credit cards and let your bills become delinquent. Before if your debt gets high enough someone will bail you out.

Thank you VCU for allowing me to graduate with an undisclosed amount of student loans. 

Sorry for getting on my soapbox. This is a hot topic for me. But anyways, for the first time in a long time I will be getting money back come tax time. And I will be getting back a decent amount. For a couple of reasons. First of all, I don’t make much so I definitely will not owe. And then I have a huge amount of medical bills so I can deduct all of them. And finally I can deduct the interest from my student loans. Cue the praise the lords. Most of my payments have been all interest so that will be another deduction coming my way. Cha ching.

Now with the amount that I will be getting back, I can think of a dozen fun ways to spend it. A vacation. Shopping. Down payment on a car. The list goes on. But what will I be doing like a sensible little girl? Contributing the max amount to my Roth IRA. Talk about a fun time. I will basically get a check in an amount of money that doesn’t ordinarily touch my hands and turn around and plunk that glorious check into an account I can’t touch until I am 59 and a half. How in the world is that fair? Do you know how many pair of shoes I could buy with that? But instead I will be doing the responsible thing. Thank you Clinton for rubbing off on me.

 

You get paid to fondle me?

Wedding dress shopping is a very intimate experience. I was not adequately prepared for the amount of touching that goes on. There is no such thing as privacy once you step into the dressing room. I really don’t consider myself a prude but I also don’t go looking for opportunities to walk around naked in front of strangers.  Also there was a fair amount of fondling going on. And no one said “Oh I am sorry for fondling your right breast, or for sticking my hand down your dress.” Oh no, the bridal attendants just acted like this was a matter of fact normal part of their day.  Apparently fondling the bride to be is part of the job description.

I had been expecting the experience to be little bit more laid back. I thought that I would have a bridal attendant there to help me if I needed it, but that the whole reason I brought a girlfriend was so that I would have someone to help me zip up.  It was so much fun to pull dresses off the rack. It was one of the few times that I got to buy something that is truly impractical and I was buying it just for the sole purpose of looking pretty. So I pulled every dress that I thought looked gorgeous.  I want my dress to be fun and pretty. I want to wear something I would never normally wear.

Once I have the dresses pulled, I have to begin the infamous strip in front of strangers routine.  At this point they inquire as to whether or not I am already wearing a strapless bra. Now I don’t know about you, but I find strapless bras to be uncomfortable. Mainly because it constantly feels like something is going to slip out and I am going to have a nipplegate scandal. So no I do not walk around Richmond wearing a strapless bra under my t-shirt. The attendant brings you the strapless bra and then helps you put it on. Thanks. Never put on a bra before you know. After the bra is on they put the dress on you. It is much like dressing a doll if I had to guess. They swoosh the dress over your head and then stick their hands down in the dress to re-arrange your body parts so that the dress fits. During this process I turn a particularly gorgeous shade of burnt lobster.  I would rush to get out of the dress room as soon as I was dressed so that I could get away from that loony that I didn’t even take the time to see what I looked like.

When I finally got to escape the dress room torture, I still have the attendant by my side. They assume that I cannot step up on a pedestal that is six inches off the ground without them clutching my arm in a death grip. And heaven forbid if this dress isn’t the one for me. Every possible negative comment I might have about a dress becomes their mission to make me see why this dress is actually really the perfect one for me. Please accept the fact that I do not like this dress. There are 100s of other ones to choose from. Please let me go begin the humiliating process of getting dressed all over again.

In the end I found my perfect dress. Actually I found several perfect dresses. I thought that if I tried on more dresses it would help me narrow down my favorites but it has actually only left me with more favorite dresses. What can I say? I thoroughly enjoy putting on gorgeous dress and playing princess for a day. Although Clint might tell you that I act like a princess every day (not sure if he means that as a compliment).