9/11 - Part 1

So, here's the deal. It's been ten years, we all know that. These ten years have been incredibly defining in my lifetime. We all have our stories, and we all know where we were. I feel like I have something to say, so here goes. To be fair, much of this is meant to be cathartic. If you choose to read it all, thank you.

I find it IMPOSSIBLE to be cynical about 9/11. There are so many people who rant and rave about people being "superficially patriotic" and "exploitatively sympathetic" about 9/11. To those folks, screw you. No, really, shut up.  I have absolutely no patience and even less desire to deal with these sorts of comments. We were all affected, in our own ways. Who are you to determine whether someone is being "fake" by posting on Facebook, or "feigning patriotism" by flying a flag on this day, rather than everyday? We all have our own crosses to bear. We all respond differently. We all hurt. We ALL hurt.

I'll never forget this morning, as every moment seems to be burned into my brain. I don't feel like I've even healed from it. I feel like our nation has a bit of PTSD, myself included.

I was 19. To preface this, let it be known that I was not a naive 19. I had experienced personal loss. At 15, I lost a close friend to a house fire, which still stands as the second most devastating day of my life, after 9/11. At 17, three friends were murdered in cold blood. I was not a stranger to death, but I was not jaded. I believed that our country was safe, as we all did. My generation had not, heretofore, experienced a truly heart-stopping incident. We didn't have a Pearl Harbor, as my grandmother did. There hadn't been an assassination of a President, like my mother had known. The Gulf War hadn't been a Vietnam. My generation had floated on by, without having had the "I remember exactly where I was when" kind of moment.

I was in my third semester of college at Florida State University. As a rule, I had tried to schedule every class after noon. The one exception was my Meteorology Lab class, which was at 11. Anyone who has attended Florida State knows that finding parking on the campus is virtually impossible. I usually allotted myself almost two hours to drive around for parking. Because of this, I had set my alarm for 8:45 am. My alarm was set on my television, which I always left on MTV.  I was usually awoken by a song. (This was before everything on MTV had to do with pregnant teenagers and drunken coeds. Strangely, they used to actually play music videos!) I hit snooze when it first came on, being a lazy college girl, I wanted another five minutes of beautiful sleep. When the snooze was over, I was surprised by my television talking at me, rapidly, about a breaking news story.

A plane had hit the World Trade Center. I jumped out of bed. I had visited New York for the first time, with my aunt, just two years before this, and had taken some incredible photos of the skyline, WTC included. I was absolutely enthralled with what I was watching, and horrified at the idea that thousands of people were likely dead. As I watched, a second plane came into the frame and hit the second building. I jumped. I screamed. I cried. I had no control over my reaction. I was watching the United States being attacked. The television anchors were responding with absolute horror in their voices. At that moment, I knew the world would never be the same.

Both of my roommates were asleep. They didn't have classes until later. When the first plane had hit, I decided to let them sleep. They'd wake up, hear the news, be surprised, and move on. When the second hit, I knew it was intentional, and we were watching a national tragedy unfold. I ran to April's room, where she was sleeping peacefully, opened the door, and said, "April, get up. New York has been attacked." She looked at me through sleepy eyes, and said, "What are you talking about? I'm sleeping. Tell me later." I said, with more force, "April. Get out of bed, now. You need to see this. The United States has been attacked on our own soil. I am not kidding." I think it was my tone, rather than my words, that got her out of bed. She realized I had tear streaked cheeks, and knew that I was not overreacting to something minor.  I, then, woke up Jenny, the roommate who never really liked me. She was a bit ruder when I woke her up. I was more curt. I may have yelled. Whatever. All feeling aside, I knew she needed to be awake for this.

I turned on the TV in our living room. Until then, I had been holed up in my room, feeling more alone than I'd ever felt. Once I knew the girls were aware of what was happening, I knew I needed to call my family. My grandmother is an avid news watcher. She has a ridiculous internal clock that wakes her up at ridiculously early times. Although it was only 6 or 7 in the morning where she was, I knew she was watching. I called her, and she answered, saying, "I was just about to call you. Are you seeing this?" She and I have a strange connection. We always have. I could tell she had been crying too. As we were talking, the first building collapsed. Without realizing it, I let out a scream. I could not believe what I was seeing. My grandmother and I, silently, stayed on the line together. Never in my life have I wanted to be with her more. Without actually forming the thoughts, running solely on emotion, I wished I wasn't 2000 miles away from my family. Why had I chosen to go to college as far away as possible?

Florida State is in the capital of Florida. If you remember correctly, President Bush was in Florida when this occurred. The local radio stations believed that Air Force One might come to Tallahassee. Suddenly, I felt like anything could happen, right in front of me. Hadn't I just been a voyeur of a genuine act of war? There was so much horror and pure terror when the plane hit the Pentagon. If they can hit us at our top military office, and two building full of civilians, how much more is there? Who knew how many planes would hit, and where? We look back and remember NYC, DC, and Pennsylvania....but at the time, we had no idea. We all felt vulnerable. Our President could be killed if a plane hit his plane. It was mindless terror. These are the moments I think people forget.

When the plane hit in Pennsylvania, my mother called me. She simply said, "Elizabeth. If one more plane hits anywhere, you get in your car and start driving west. We will start driving east, and we will meet somewhere in a remote part of Texas." She said this with pure conviction. She meant every word. New Mexico, my home, is also home to Los Alamos National Laboratories, Sandia National Laboratories, and, at the time, three Air Force Bases. Any place, could be a target, including my home town.

I feel like the rest of the morning was a bit of a jumble. Planes were being grounded. I was thinking about any and all friends who might in New York, or on a plane in Boston or LA. My grandfather is an Air Force Brigadier who once worked in the Pentagon. These were people just like him. My aunt, uncle, and cousins were in Pennsylvania. I wondered how far this was from their small town.

When I heard reports about people jumping from the buildings, I wanted to vomit.

Whatever Lola wants....

So... if you're wondering where I've been... I've been in and out of the hospital, and now recovering from a serious bit of bronchitis. I found this old post of mine, and found it extremely relevant:


Lola

Lola is a lounge singer. She’s not the type of lounge singer who wears long, draped red dresses while laying seductively across a piano. Lola wears gold lamé tops and ornamental decorations on the temples of her face-sized glasses. Lola smokes a pack of menthols a day, between swigs of whatever dark liquor she can get her hands on first. She smells of Opium perfume and gefilte fish. Lola makes the most G-rated of Disney songs sound like something out of an adult film. Lola has spent more time in the Sands than Humphrey, Frank, Sammy and Dean combined. “Child’s play,” she says, in her deep, throaty voice.

Lola is my sexy, blues voice. By sexy, I mean, my hacking, coughing, sickly and completely unappealing man-voice. Thanks to my latest cold, Lola’s come back around for a visit.

Much like Lola’s lounge days, I’m hoping that she’ll only be here til Friday.

Oh, and try the veal.

Holy Smokes!

No, really, Holy Smokes.

New Mexico is currently under siege. We are being assaulted by the smoke from the Arizona "Wallow" Fire. As much as I'm about to complain about it, let it be known that I am much more worried for the people being truly affected by the fire than I am for the safety of my weak, little lungy-poos. With that said, for the last week, I feel like I've been living in the middle of a campfire.

The first night the smoke came over Albuquerque, I hadn't even heard that there was a fire. I started smelling smoke, so much that I thought there was a fire in my neighborhood. I walked outside to find that there was smoke surrounding my house. In high school, I lost a friend to a house fire, so I don't take smoke lightly. My grandmother, who lost a family member in an eerily similar incident (granted about 75 years previous to my friend's), actually began feeling the walls in her house to see if they were hot.  I immediately checked the news websites, and couldn't find anything, so what's the next logical move? Facebook, of course. Sounds ridiculous, but our society has become so accustomed to immediacy, Facebook and Twitter are the easiest way to find out current affairs. You don't agree? I found out about Osama bin Laden's death via Facebook long before I saw it on CNN.

What do you know... my inquiry about whether there was a fire in our neighborhood was met with responses from friends all over the city. Smoke was EVERYWHERE. The idea that smoke from another state (one that takes a good 3 to 4 hours to get to from Albuquerque) is insane to me. The smoke is almost as intense as it was when I lived in San Diego during the fires in 2003 (which is really saying something).

Here's an unedited shot from my backyard.  The camera doesn't
capture how thick the smoke was right in front of me. 

Suffice it to say, the last couple weeks in Albuquerque looked like something out of a sci-fi flick. Anyone who has been to Albuquerque knows that we have the beautiful 12,000 ft. Sandia Mountains to the east, which can be seen from anywhere in town. The smoke covered the mountains so completely, you'd never be able to tell they even existed.

With all the natural disasters going around, I hope that those of us who are only affected indirectly remember to think about all the people displaced, injured and killed.

Here's to a week with better air quality.

Aqua Destruction....

I came home from a night over at my mom's house, this weekend, to find my aqua mirror on the floor....along with everything on the bookcase below it. Frame is broken, not sure if I can glue it.... le sigh.

I'm just glad the mirror didn't break because I need seven years bad luck about as much as I need a Nickelback song playing on repeat.

I need a new idea.... got anything in mind?

Urgent Care, Birthday Parties and Candlesticks...

OH MY.

Well, my dear readers... the last week has been a crazy one. I apologize for my lack of posts. I have a small project to show you, and some stories to tell.

"We are unattractive, oui?"

I'll start off with the candlesticks, I suppose. While on a search for furniture at thrift stores, I decided to visit the Animal Humane Thrift Store. Not only do I love good prices, and finding little treasures, but I'm a huge nonprofit fan. I like knowing that my money is going to a good cause. I adopted my little beasty, Bailey, from a similar place. I bought a couple things.... a frame or two, because I can't help myself, a cute (actually, it was really ugly before I painted it) wall hook and a pair of ugly, dark wood candlesticks. I had a plan to make these candlesticks worthy of Lumiere's attention, feather dusters be damned. Honestly, these sat in the garage for a long time. I go through phases of wanting to do things, and not wanting to do anything at all. I decided not to prime them, because I wanted to make them look very aged. I had a little bit of Rustoleum Heirloom White leftover from El Table de Chevron. I gave them a couple of coats, since I wanted to make that ugly brown wood disappear. I gave them both a good sand down, considered glazing them, but didn't.  I think they turned out beachy and cute. A nice, little addition to our new dining room table. Don't you think? I bought the two blue printed damask candles from The Shabby Chic Cottage. Love them. They're a bit too small, so they look a little wonky, but I'm considering using the hot glue gun to get them to stand upright. That's how I roll. You look at me crooked, I hot glue you. Mess with me, I dare you.

Lumiere would totally have a creepy French affair with these babes.

As for the birthday party story... don't worry, you didn't miss out on telling me Happy Birthday.... Mine was in April. Wait, so maybe you did miss out. JERKS!

My friend from Up with People, Anthony, had his birthday last week, and I offered up my house as a location. I think I feel obligated to open up my home at all times, because I spent so many nights in host families homes. His mom bought pizza, cake and ice cream, and he invited about 10 or 15 of his friends and coworkers. Good times. Any night that involves pizza and the book, All My Friends Are Dead, is a good night. If you haven't seen this book before, and you enjoy my sense of humor, you will love this book. I think it's absolutely hilarious. If you have no sense of humor at all, you might think this book is depressing and morbid. You would be so wrong. HI-LARIOUS. I want to hug the people who wrote and illustrated this book.

So the Urgent Care story is nowhere near as interesting as I wanted it to be. The last time I went to the Emergency Room with my grandmother, it was amazing. I'm talking crazy people and yelling. In fact, a man who was VERY drunk decided it was a good time to run around outside while stripping naked. He got entirely naked before the police arrived. My grandmother was completely entertained, as was I. Unfortunately, this trip to Urgent Care was not even close to that awesome. I woke up with stabbing pains in my ear, throat and where my wisdom tooth used to be, all on the left side of my face. I've been having what I figured was really bad allergies for a while now... apparently, it was more serious. I went online, as I have a new insurance provider, to find an Urgent Care. I drove across town, and picked up my grandmother on the way. (She insists on going to the doctor with me, just like I insist on going with her)...I walked in to find that even though the website had it listed, and it still had signs throughout the hallways, there was no Urgent Care. I used my handy dandy iPhone (aka the love of my life) to find another location. I had to call two before I found one that was open on the weekend. Drove BACK across town, it was, literally, two minutes or less from my home.... le sigh. Waited for three hours, while my grandmother and I got to watch the ENTIRE movie, 102 Dalmations AND some college gymnastics. Her commentary included judgments about two different mothers in the room, and how they treated their children. Mine included winces of pain, groans, comments about Glenn Close being in Up with People, and cries of horror when I realized that all the gymnasts were covered in dancer makeup and glitter. All I know is that my gymnastics coaches would have smacked me upside the head for that. When did gymnasts start looking like pageant toddlers? Turns out, I've got a sinus infection, which pretty much feels like I'm being punched in the face 90% of the time. Pleasant. The doctor wasn't sure during the five minutes he actually saw me, which sort of "cillin" to give me. I'm fairly certain I changed his mind to Amoxicillin. He also prescribed me some sort of nasal spray, which I find horrible. I can barely swim underwater without plugging my nose. This spray feels like Old Faithful erupting up my nostrils. Whatever. I just want this sinus business DONE with. 

I still have the tables I bought sitting in the garage looking like a drippy mess, and I hope to get to those soon. When I have the energy to get nuts on those tables, you, my friends, will know. 

<3 Liz

Ow, my eyeball.

Hello, my dears. I want you to know that I haven't forgotten about my blog. This week has been pure insanity... and I'm in the middle of a killer migraine. You know the kind that make you want to pluck out your eye right out of your head with a spork? I promise to update you when my computer screen light isn't shooting fireballs into my peepers.

<3

Randomosity

I apologize in advance for my lack of wit. I'm a sleepy bunny.

This week has been so insane. I've been staring at the blog, trying to think about what to write... but sometimes my head gets so full of things.... I can't sort through it all enough to put it down... So....it's gonna be random, folks.

Sunday was interesting. We were having a ridiculous cold spell, because snow in May makes sense..... UGH. Turns out it was the same morning my roommate, my friend (her boyfriend), her sister and her coworkers were heading out to do the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk. 5 miles... in the cold, windy weather. I woke up feeling frustrated with my hair... it's at that weird length where it wants to grow out....but won't. It's curly, naturally....but not those super great tight curls...it's big ol' wavy curls that have now been cut to the point where all it'll do in the back is flip out. Not cute.

Cut to the last mile of the walk, where I wanted to smack myself for complaining about my hair, while I'm walking with women who have lost their hair due to chemo. Not only that, I cut my hair to donate to Locks of Love. So there I was, walking with a sore back (from the furniture adventures the night before) and a blister on my left heel. I felt like a selfish jerk.... and decided to push through those 5 miles, and was inspired to push harder every time a woman walked past me with a survivor sash. Get over yourself, Liz.

As for the furniture I attempted to work on this weekend.... Frustration abounds. I bought two ugly-ish tables from a nice, kinda nerdy guy via Craigslist. They're a gross dark, laminate looking wood. I attempted to paint them, and it was disastrous. A drippy, icky mess. I'll chronicle this disaster once I fix them and post the whole story.

In the meantime, here's an interesting thing I keep running into. I call it "The Invisi-Train." Twice, now, I've gotten caught at this railroad crossing, taking the back roads to my house. TWICE... there was no train. Everyone else figured out a way to show their infinite impatience by peeling out into a u-turn or literally driving through and around the tracks. I am of the belief that the day I decide to do something that illegal and risky, is the day I get smooshed by a commuter train (and what dignity is there in that?), so I end up waiting in a parked car for 20 minutes.

Curse you, GHOST TRAIN!

They like me, they really like me!

First off, I'd like to say thank you to two ladies who wrote to me this weekend with some recognition for my new blog!

Pam from Radical Ramblings and Thoughts of a Southern Girl awarded me with The Versatile Blogger Award.

Here are the rules:
1.) Winners- Put the above image in your blog.
2.) Include a link back to the person who gave it to you.
3.) Tell 10 things about yourself
4.) Award 3 other bloggers
5.) Contact the bloggers you awarded and let them know they won.

Ten Things about me: 
1. Sometimes I wish I hadn't had Lasik because I miss my funky glasses.
2. The book, "All my friends are dead," never ceases to make me laugh.
3. I once had pink streaks in my hair, and I loved it.
4. I traveled for almost two years with Up with People.
5. When I was 10, I won the school spelling bee.
6. I just recently finished the Hunger Games series, and loved it!
7. I know more about pop culture than I probably should.
8. I adore Audrey Hepburn.
9. I was a gymnast, and it left me with some fun injuries.
10. The first person I called when I got my tattoo was my grandmother. She was not thrilled.

Award three other bloggers, eh?

1. Simplicity Eats - I really wish I could cook.
2. Beneath my Heart - I applaud anyone who values creativity.
3. El Blog de Steve - Lots of random, fun stuff.

And up next.... from Joy at Catharsis. She put me on her list for Shine a Light Sunday.

Thank you to both of you ladies for making this a great Sunday as a blogger.

Excitement

Oh my dear readers, I hope you don't think that I've left you hanging. Today was an incredible day to find and begin new projects. I have six of them to show you! I have so much to share, and I will do that.... soon. At the moment, thanks to those six projects, my back feels much like how I imagine Quasimodo's did. Also, my little surgeon style paint mask did not stop my nostrils from inhaling as much spray paint as humanly possible. I suppose I'll have to resort to buying one of those Apocalypse looking gas mask contraptions. I'll take some nice, deep breaths of oxygen, and post more in the coming days!

How was your Saturday?

El Table de Chevron

This project happened on a Thursday. I work from home, which sometimes drives me stark, raving mad. I was having a particularly busy and frustrating day, so by 4pm.... I was DONE. By done, I mean DOOOOOONE. I could not stare at the computer screen any longer.

Later that evening, my roommate and I were expecting company for dinner, although, at this time we didn't yet have a dinner table. Thankfully, our friends are willing to sit on kitchen counters. I could have gotten dressed up for them. I could have. Instead, I put on my number 5 (a term we used in the community service group I traveled with for almost 2 years for the worst clothes you own... the kind you don't mind ruining with paint, sweat and whatever other gross things come your way). To give you a description... I was wearing a hoodie I found a few years ago in a lost and found bin where I worked. The hood was so tight I assume it originally fit a girl with a toothpick for a neck, so I ripped that sucker. The pants were a pair of tights I used for dancing in the show I was a part of with the community service group. One day, while on tour, I was too tired to do laundry, so I wore my dance tights to a service project where we painted a house. They became painting clothes after that. My hair, as usual (because I'm a tomboy who doesn't like to blow dry) was in a frizzy bun on top of my head. I'm not sure why I felt the need to describe my clothing, but there you go. As my roommate would say, I looked like an orphan.

I have these two tables in the living room that have traveled with me across states, and I can't bear to get rid of them. I'm not even sure why I love them.... probably because they were free. I can't pass up a good deal. FREE?! Yes. Free. I literally pulled them out of the dumpster when I was working for Bath and Body Works about seven years ago. There was also a ridiculously cute hutch, but there's no way I could have gotten that sucker into the Ford Focus (thanks to the 2 transmissions I had replaced, it was also known as, "THE WORST CAR EVER.") The tables had been taking up residence in my little brother's room at my mom's house for the last couple of years. I'm surprised they weren't dented/burned/demolished/broken/smooshed/slammed/stained. He is 17, after all... that's all that 17 year old boys know how to do....destroy things. When I moved into this new house, I immediately confiscated the tables, like a thief in the night....along with my stool (from the baby sister) and desk. Sorry kids, get your own furniture! :P

The tables are an ugly beige color. See below.

Ugly, and you ain't got no alibi.

I forgot to take a before picture of the little table, and now that I think of it.... I forgot to take an after... so that'll have to come another day... It's a story in itself, anyway.

This time around, I was a smart girl, and bought myself a mask from Home Depot, along with Kilz primer (thought I'd give it a whirl), and some Rustoleum Heirloom White (apparently, in the blog world, Rustoleum is the new pink).... I was on the fence about if I wanted it to be white and aqua (because I'm Aqua Obsessed) or if I should use a darker blue (as seen on the ugly owl here). My roommate decided aqua (Krylon's Ocean Breeze), so I obliged.



Because I've spent the better part of a month drooling over Twice Lovely's Chevron Dresser, I knew it was time to try my hand at it. Because I'm impatient, I decided to eyeball the pattern with painter's tape. It took awhile, but it was good mind-numbing fun. I think it turned out pretty well. I wanted it to have a non-chalant, hand-painted attitude.

Look into the table, you're getting sleeeeepier....

I then went for the aqua, while my poor friend, Anthony, watched and told me his latest girl stories. At this point, everyone was at our house, but I was determined to finish this project, dinner party or not. Worst hostess ever, right?

Taking my lead from All Things Thrifty's Glazing Tutorial, I knew that it was time to glaze away. Glazing is interesting. I had no idea if I was doing it correctly. You basically put on a bunch of tinted paint, try to get it in all of the nooks and crannies, and then, in my case, take an old ratty t-shirt to wipe it off. You can adjust the amount of glaze you slop on, and adjust how many coats of glaze, to give it a different look. It took a little trial and error. (Probably more error.) I put on several coats of glaze until I really felt like it was staying on the table, rather than completely wiping off. I do think it'd be easier to glaze if the piece had been more aged, carved or even somewhat less smooth than a baby's butt. Regardless, I really love how the piece turned out. I did later decide to attempt some sanding to give it a more aged, beachy look. I wish I had thought to do it before glazing, as I think that would have looked better. 

Check her out... what do you think? 

Hey, girl, hey!

I heart you, aqua chevron table.

I do need to take some better photos of it in the house. The lighting here just makes it look dirty. It really is adorable and brings some funk into our living room.

Update: I couldn't stand looking at those gloomy pictures, but my awesome camera is dead. These iPhone pics are going to have to suffice:

My grandmother hacked up my Hyacinth plant because, apparently, I was killing it. EEK. 

Linking this baby up here:

• Furniture Feature Friday
• Centsational Girl
• Transformation Thursday
• Frugal Friday
• Bass Giraffe
• Fab Friends Thursday
• Keepin' Company Thursday
• Stumble Through Thursday
• Terrific Thursday Blog Hop
• Thirsty for Comments Thursday
• Thrifty Thursday
• Thrilling Thursday
• Traveling Through Thursday
• Show and Tell Friday
• Social Parade Follow
• Remodelaholic Friday
• Boost my Blog Friday
• Weekend Blog Hop
• Buzz on By Thursday
• Best DIY Project of April

"Look, I even colored eggs for you!"

You may be wondering how I got to be so quirky. You may not care at all, which is cool too.

You should know, my grandmother, who wanted you to know that I'm a loving individual and NOT a cynic (as mentioned on the right side of the blog), made me this way.

The day before Easter, she calls me to tell me that she's on her way to my house. "I have some Easter things to give you, and I even colored eggs for you!" In my head, I laughed a little at the idea of my grandma at home in her kitchen playing with egg dye. When she showed up with my Easter basket, it was full of TREASURES.

Behold:

Best Easter basket, ever.

Let's take a moment to break this bad boy down.
The items in the basket include:

1. A can of Green Chili (a staple in New Mexico. We kick you out of the state if you don't like it.)
2. Easter-y socks. I should mention that they were child-size socks. Thankfully, I have child-sized feet.
3. Lifesaver Jelly Beans, DE-LICIOUS. Later in the day, my mom literally tackled me to get me to stop eating them. She's like the fat/sugar police. I did not relinquish said jellybeans.
4. Four bunny Peeps, in a sandwich bag. My grandmother loves her sandwich bags.
5. Behind the Peeps, unable to be seen, is one of those AM/FM mini-radios you receive from participating in things like..... Publisher's Clearing House. I'm almost certain that's where she got it.........in 1985.
6. Next up, a Triple A card..... with her name on it.
7. A sleep mask. The sleep mask I gave her two weeks ago when she was incredibly sick. I asked her if she washed it since she had been sick. She did not.
8. A garlic jar full of Sour Patch Kids. The jar stills smells strongly of garlic. The Sour Patch kids taste as if they've been garlic-infused. Not delicious.
9. The red box contains some gorgeous silver necklaces of hers, that she's giving me. Love. Love. Love. This is the part of the basket that screams, "I am not a cynic, I'm a loving individual who cares about people."
10. Last, but absolutely not least..... the "colored" eggs. Let's take a closer look, shall we?

That's right. She "colored" them with Post It Tabs. If I hadn't understood that, she wrote the color as well. It probably took her a good 30 minutes to do this, as its become difficult for her to write (usually once her hand starts moving, it doesn't stop and she twirls off of the page).



This, amongst many reasons, is why I love my grandmother. No one else on Earth got an Easter basket like this one.

Now I'm off to enjoy some Sour Patch Kids. First, they're sour. Then, they're sweet. Then, they're garlic-y?


     

What's a Chevron?

So sometimes I feel like I'm giving myself a crash course in home decor trends and furniture restyling via the blogosphere. I wish I could say that I knew anything about any of this before now, but I'd be a big, fat liar. I read blogs, stroke my chin and say things like, "Ah yes, that's a lovely damask pattern on her valances." Then, I snap out of my trance and wonder where I am.

I've collected quite a long list of home/decor/furniture painting/glazing/crafts/vintage stuff/everything in between blogs on my Safari toolbar. So many that I've started organizing them into folders. This is how I learned the term, "Chevron." Chevron, to me, is a gas station. I'm still trying to figure out what the gas station across from my grandmother's house has to do with fabric patterns. I'm sure, someday, via the Inter-web-net Information Highway, all will be revealed. In the mean time, I'm jumping on the "OMG CHEVRON IS WAY CUTE" bandwagon.

For those who still have no idea what I'm talking about... Chevron, is a fancy way of saying "zig zag." Whenever a simple idea is replaced with an SAT-style word, it reminds me of my Film Theory classes in college. I was a total film geek, but not a film theory geek. Film Theory kids say things like, "I believe the red lighting of the fern alluded to the protagonist, who was a self-loathing misanthrope representing an anthropomorphic realization of the true nature of humanity, much like an Afro-Japanese electro-jazz song," rather than saying, "I really liked Mariah Carey in Glitter." When they would start throwing out words they could neither spell nor define, I would have minor rage blackouts and stare at them with disgust. Thus, my changed major.

I was beginning to see how adorable Chevron patterns were being used on curtains, throw pillows and rugs... until the heavens opened up... and a light shone down upon:

This beautiful hunk of burning love from Twice Lovely.

Be still, my heart. Look, I'm a practical kind of girl. I'm not sure I believe in love at first sight.... but I adore this dresser. Something about the colors, the pattern, whatever.... I'm in love. If I had the means and time, I would drive to Phoenix and buy this from her. Because I have a job, and I'm pretty sure this wouldn't fit in my sweet Corolla, I decided to make something of my own.

Tomorrow, or possible the day after, I will reveal my own Chevron adventure, inspired by Twice Lovely.

BEHOLD:

The..
Aqua...
Chevron...
side...
table.

The things I could do without this week.....

The following is a list of things that I could do without, this week:

1. Ink Mouth - Look. Generally I love my Pilot Pens. Pilot Pens are the only pens I use. I draw my crazy artwork with them. I write and rewrite notes with them. I have shown so much love to these pens, that I did not understand why one of them decided to fight me back during the middle of an important meeting this week. Why did this pen choose to start leaking from the top while I had it in my mouth? Why did this happen in front of my boss and my client? My boss who only comes into town once a month, and my client who is a natural skeptic of everything... Bam. Black ink. On. Your. Mouth. Ugh, Pilot Pens. Thanks for making me look like one of the chicks from The Craft. You owe me.

2. "Not to be a jerk but...." What is the point of starting a sentence with this phrase, and then immediately saying something jerk-like, jerk-ish, jerk-y? JERK.







3. The smell coming from my dog. So I'm trying to find the least vulgar way to say this. I feed my dog the same food, every day. I feed her the same amount of food, every day. Why then, today, does she smell like something has infected her bowels? One can only hope that it's because she ate the neighbors' cat.



4. The sinus headache I had on Tuesday. I felt like someone hit me in the face with a shovel. Pleasant.

5. Cottonwood trees - If you're not blessed enough to live in an area with these trees (planted by Satan himself), let me give you an idea of what they're like. Generally, they're beautiful. Tall, strong trees. They tend to be close to the river (the Rio Grande, in my case). They're rightfully named the Cottonwood because they produce TUFTS OF COTTON. This is where my love affair with Cottonwoods ends. New Mexico is plagued with extreme winds during Spring. Wind + Cotton = MISERY. These cotton balls FLY through the air, and wage war on your nostrils. These cotton balls trick your eyeballs into thinking it is SNOWING. When the winds kick up, they twirl around in little cotton tornadoes. When you're sitting at a cafe on the patio, they jump and flip and whirl into your food. Currently, the cotton has settled in the little alcove to my front door. Part of me wants to kick them, and the other part wants to knit a disgusting cottonwood blanket to smother the people who start sentences with, "Not to be a jerk but...."

6. The growly chick from American Idol. Hayley. Haley. Hailey. Whatever spelling she uses. Now, don't get me wrong. I LOVE THE BLUES. Blues and R&B are two of my absolute favorite genres of music. But, last I checked, annoying growling does not fall into either category.  No matter what anyone says, she absolutely BUTCHERED Adele's "Rolling in the Deep." I cannot forgive her for that. Please go home. Immediately. Do not pass go or collect $200. Send Pia back. Thanks in advance, Growly McGrowlerson.


Aside from those 6, it's been a good week. How you doin'?

Inspirational Sarcasm

I always wondered if there was someone out there who thought the way I did. My inner monologue is beyond sarcastic. Half of the time, I figure if I put it on paper, people will think I'm a huge jerk. I now know that there is someone who thinks the way I do.....

Just got back from seeing David Sedaris live. He was absolutely amazing. I was laughing hysterically.... crying actual tears. He has inspired me, not only to continue writing on a regular basis, but to stay true to my own sarcastic, cynical self.


Get these, RIGHT NOW....


Wait... THE BOOK OF LIZ?!@#! He even wrote a play about me. Amazing.

Aqua Obsession

I have an obsession with aqua lately. I'm surrounded by such intense colors in my room (red, black and white) that I felt the need to put something fun and colorful in there. Hence, aqua obsession. I'm slowly, but surely adding in bright aqua pieces.

I saw this Krylon Ocean Breeze at Walmart, and said, "She will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine." Not really. Although, I do quote Wayne's World a lot. Who can pass up a good, "psycho hose-beast?" I digress. This was the exact color I wanted to introduce to my room. Room meet Ocean Breeze. Ocean Breeze meet Room. Problem was, I didn't have anything to make aqua.

Ew. You's ugly.

Cue Flea Market Collectibles & Things, where I found a super gaudy, gold mirror. To anyone with spray paint, a gross, old mirror like this is a freaking jackpot find. Don't believe me? Check any of the blogs I read, they all want this crap. I have caved to blog peer pressure, and I wanted it too. So I got it, for a decent price. My mom looked at me like, "Seriously?" Yes, mother, seriously. My lovely grandmother would have kept it in this gold color, and it would match the other 231298274 gold frames and mirrors in her house. She knows how to make gold work. It works for her. Not my style. Homie don't play dat. Just like my aversion to browns, I have an aversion to golds. They assault my eyes and my general sense of happiness.

Apparently, that box was from a drugstore.

Here's the mirror, mid-makeover. I don't love the color that it was looking like at that point. I started to freak out a little bit, thinking it was going to be that powder blue. NOT aqua. I do not have a powder blue obsession. Not cool, wet paint, not cool. Thankfully, it dried into a lovely aqua. I should probably wait to freak out until the paint is dry.

The thing that actually made me semi-freak out was that I clearly didn't do a great job taping the cardboard to the mirror, because little aqua particles were ALL over the mirror when I took them off. I had no idea if it would come off, or if I was doomed to look through grains of paint for eternity. Thankfully it scraped off.... albeit not easily. I spent a while scraping it off, and really didn't do a great job cleaning it before putting it on my wall. Someday, when I care enough, or get sick of the smears, I'll actually clean it. For now, it brings the right shade of aqua into the corner of the gigantor master bedroom. Good job, me! (Stay tuned, I might get nuts with some glaze to make it look more aged and antique-y.

Hey baby, lookin' good.

Next up, an aqua gun rack. "A gun rack? What am I gonna do with a gun rack? I don't even own A gun, let alone many to necessitate an entire rack? What am I gonna do with a gun rack?" Oh Wayne, you slay me.

How I gave myself carbon monoxide poisoning....AKA the Shutter Headboard Adventure

So I've found this store across town that has become my new heaven: Flea Market Things & Collectibles.  I stumbled upon it while trying to find the Habitat for Humanity ReStore. Best accidental discovery, EVER. It's basically an indoor flea market without a bunch of people hassling you. You can just shop through the different sections and pay for them at the front.

I found a ton of things that I scooped up, but this little story is about the ugly pink shutters I found.  I imagine the ugly, pink shutters I found lived a depressing life as a teenager's abused closet doors. They were absolutely HIDEOUS. I'm talking hot pink, sticky, glossy paint with additional paint splatters all over the place. INTENTIONAL paint splatters. GLITTERY paint splatters. Awful. It was like those poor, pathetic shutter doors fought in a puff paint war, and were declared a casualty.  So there they were, gaudy and horrible, sitting in what someone must have thought to be their final resting place. I saw them and had a vision. A moment of clarity.

Hello gorgeous! This picture really doesn't capture how awful this paint really was.

I had been searching Craigslist and everywhere in between for a queen size headboard. I've never had a headboard on any bed. It's a sad affair, being so headboardless. As I just moved into a new house, with a GIANT master bedroom, I knew it was time. Even my old vintage furniture doesn't fill this monstrosity of a room. (I know, I know... wah wah wah you have a big room.) I just don't have enough to fill this space. I did a little feng shui-ing (not really, I just moved things around til the room didn't look so ridiculously big)... and knew that I needed to do something big to make a statement in this room.

I had no desire to even attempt to strip the paint from these.... Too much work, and let's be honest, I'm still learning. I covered both sides with some Krylon Gray Primer, which took for-freaking-ever. I realized that I also had no desire to paint the back of the shutters since no one was ever going to see them if they were against the wall. The least amount of work sounded great to me.

Primed and ready to go.

Next up, layer upon layer of Krylon Flat Black Spray Paint. Thankfully, black is great for covering up imperfections (just ask any bloated woman). Although you can still see the drips of paint from the previous, bad paint job... I figure no one will be looking that closely... and if they do and actually say something, I'll smack them.

The final product. Yes, I probably could have made my bed. Clearly, I need to work on my staging for these big reveal pictures. Whatever.

So here's the ridiculous part of this adventure. I did all of this in my garage, with the garage door wide open. There was a nice breeze flowing through the garage. Silly ol' me didn't bother to wear a mask of any sort. Silly ol' me has had pneumonia in the last couple of years. Because there's nothing that says "spray paint without a mask" like respiratory problems. My friend, Ian, even said something about the fact that I shouldn't inhale all of those chemicals, which I brushed off nonchalantly. Worst plan ever.

So later that night, I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was a lovely shade of bright pink. I'm talking... princess pink. I had been hiking in the mountains earlier that day so I figured I had a nice, little sunburn. Usually when I'm sunburned, my skin feels hot to the touch.... this was different. I was just.... PINK. I ignored it, thinking I was being silly...until later that night when I was having a conversation with my roommate and suddenly became VERY dizzy... and immediately ran to my bathroom to throw up. This means a lot. I think that throwing up is the worst feeling on the planet, and will do anything to avoid doing it. I started thinking about all of my symptoms, and had a flash of an episode of CSI. I remembered an episode where the parents died of carbon monoxide poisoning, and when found were a lovely shade of bright pink. Yeah. After a little more self-diagnosis via the internet, I realized what was going on. I gave myself minor carbon monoxide poisoning.  Ridic.



Moral of the story: Wear a mask, moron.

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