So then I saw a painting on Etsy. It called to me. I loved it. It loved me. It clearly needed a home. A home with me. Only I could love it so. So I did what any rational person with a possible shopping addiction who is really good at hiding purchases would do. I bought it. It was a fucking bargain, people because it came FRAMED. (Go to this blog: http://mikejoosart.blogspot.com for a link to his Etsy shop and you can see variations of MY painting.)
But then I saw on a fellow blogger's blog a picture. I loved it. It loved me. It clearly needed a home. A home with me. Only I could love it so. So again, I did what any rational person with a possible shopping addiction who is really good at hiding purchases would do. I bought it. And it wasn't as a good of a fucking deal because I had to frame it. But whatever. I wanted it. I came, I saw, I fucking conquered both bitches. (Go to this blog: http://blog.mrseb.co.uk/ to see Seb and his blog, art, smarty pants brain ooze every where and if you scroll down enough you can find sound bits. English accents. Yummy.) (SEBBY-- Here is your shout out. I told you it was coming and god dammit I always come through.)
So after making two large art purchases I realize my Mr. Potato Head wall would not do. I need to paint it. My other walls are a really pretty calming barely there blue so I had a lot of range. So I ended up going with a steely/gray blue color. But because we had never actually finished the trim (shocker) I had Matt do that while I was out having a fun time with a Red Beast in bars. Before I leave I noticed that the color he's using in no way matches the wall. It isn't even close.
And then the arguing begins. Let's just all remind ourselves that I am always right. And I really am. He really has a predictable track record for being wrong and I swear to god I hope some day he just gives it up. Anyways. So as he's telling me it's "drying" I go and find the color we need. Right on top of the million paint cans next to our furnace in the laundry room. Yes, I know we could go up like Hiroshima. Yes, I've explained this to him. No, he disagrees and thinks I'm paranoid. So after he gets almost all the way around the room I tell him to shut the fuck up and use the right paint.
Well when I get back the house is STINKY. Like my eyes were burning. I had to sleep in that. I had instant migraine, was dizzy and I swear to god the cats had halos. It was fucking me up may-jah.
Day two. Touch up on trim and final coat on new dark wall. Holy fuck. So I thought the fumes from the day before were bad. No. Day two I decide to be dedicated. Get on the fuckmill even though I'm clearly high from the fumes. I had no business getting on the fuckmill and god knows I couldn't have driven. (No, I did not drive. It would have been bad). So I'm on the fuckmill. My eyes burn. I'm dizzy. I'm going roughly 3.3mph and at this point I've been going for 27 minutes. I go really fast for about 30 minutes and then taper off for another 10. At the 27 minute mark I don't know if my brain shut down or what the fuck happened but I flew off of the fuckmill, rammed my shoulder into the bookshelf knocking it forward into my bed, then land on that, skinned my knee on my non-carpeted floor, and proceeded to laugh. Yes lambs/goats. I was so high apparently that I laughed at my injury. And was clapping. Matt told me to stop it and was more pissed about the bookshelf than me. Nevermind I had a huge plywood chunk rammed into my knee with blood but let's save the $50 bookshelf. Asshat.
But after we touched up the dark wall (for the third time) we hung my painting up. Sorry, my flash is ghetto so that bright white blurb is not part of the painting nor is it a UFO. But the photo. Sebby, you are a tricky bastard, you. But in reality it is more likely that this is my fault than yours because I *assumed* that the print was actually going to be 8 inches by 10 inches. I mean, I haven't gone back to check or anything. And then I get it and it's not. It's 10 inches wide but like smaller than 8 inches. So I had to contemplate how was I going to deal with this? Huh. But since I'm a smart bitch, AND I happen to have a huge closet full of crafty stuff... I made do.
So what I did is basically paint a wood frame white, scuffed it up/sanded it down. Adhered the photo print to a black textured paper and trimmed it to fit the gray mat with white inner edging. I love it. I like anything water related (hello...I'm a Pisces!) and so my room is going to make me feel like I'm in a calming beach room. Which is funny because Matt is so fucking loud when he snores he wakes the kids up on the other end of the house on the second floor. With closed doors.
We also had to paint the ceiling AGAIN because Matt keeps missing parts and I can stare at the one fucked up spot. So yeah- fumes on/off for two weeks. What have we learned?
We learned to not get on fuckmill impaired.
We learned to read things before you purchase in order to save yourself from frustration or having to use a ruler. Which I can't read anyways. 2 1/2 inches is translated to "two with one big line". Which is why I'm not allowed to help with home improvement projects because apparently that's not how you do it. Whatever.
We learned to label paint cans just like I recommended in the first place with what room they are for.
We learned that again, Sara is always right.
We learned that Hello Kitty bandaids are awesome.
But now I'd like some carpet. Because walking on uninsulated plywood is kind of lame. So there. There is my art. A snippet of the Tour Of My Crib that is coming. You will get a window into my little piece of the world. ;)