Three entire days of a holiday weekend. Twenty thousand climbs up m’stepstool. Five trips to the paint store. Nineteen inappropriate advances made on young paint salesboy.
My back room looks the same.
Yes, I DO realize I need to fix that chair. IT’S ON MY LIST, OKAY? It’s on m’list. Meanwhile, makes a great scratching post.
Every time I come back here, I fall all over myself giggling at how it looks the same.
But you’re not HERE (are you?), so you don’t SEE that this room is, okay, THE SAME COLOR and it’s still KIND OF BEIGE, okay? It’s
but it’s fresher. It’s Freshen Up Gum, man. If Freshen Up had a new beige flavor.
I mean, I tried yellow back there, but from the blue living room, looking through the brown dining room, I was all, DO I LIVE IN THE BIG TOP? And then I LOVED the green, but it clashed with the floor, so the cute salesman and I agreed on the cream, and trust me, that salesman. I’d have agreed to a Dirty Sanchez. So.
I put that cover on the dresser, by the way, because the cats did nothing but lounge on it all weekend, and also sleep in the drawers,
so I left it there for safety for now, but I plan to get something smaller and prettier, and that also goes for my ass. In fact–and do you ever do this?–I thought, oooooo, my futon cover from 1992 would be PERFECT there. And that also goes for my ass.
And I love how IN MY MIND, I still have that 1992 Seattle futon cover folded up just somewhere. I always love love loved that cover. I purchased it at Urban Outfitters. It was so 20/60s Art Deco, even though Urban Outfitters was neither. Horkie loved it too, although there he seems to be giving it the cold haunch.
Speaking of always having gray cats, yesterday was my one-year anniversary of owning–and I use that term loosely–Steely Dan.
We celebrated it by me saying, “Happy kitty anniversary, sweet kitty muffin tin!” and by him ignoring me. So.
And also this weekend, while I was obsessively changing my back room into the same room it had always been, I was in the hallway. Perhaps this was while I was waiting for a coat of the exotic new paint color to dry. I thought again how much I hate the beige wallpaper in the hall. There’s just one half a wall that inexplicably has a strip of beige wallpaper on it that exactly matches the beige paint on the rest of the hall. It matches my back room. …Heh.
Anyway, right then I got inspired to RIP OFF that wallpaper, maybe eventually paint my hallway Quietude, the same green I love that I am going to paint the spare room instead of the back room, because it was important the back room stay exactly the same.
Honest to god. It looks exactly the same back here, just fresher. It’s like my back room got really good Botox. Has my back room lost weight? Did my back room go on vacation?
Say “back room” one more time.
So I ripped off that wallpaper (“Are you having some kind of manic episode?” my mother asked me).
And here’s what happened.
WHAT THE HELL, even? So now Alf has to come, and I have to spend eleven thousand dollars and have him prime and sand and Alf the wall, and fix the, PARTICLE BOARD or whatever the fuck. I knew–I KNEW!!–that in the olden days, when you walked into my house, you used to be able to see the bathroom from the front door, which is what you want in all your finer homes, so I guess I shoulda known this wouldn’t be a real wall, here.
I wasn’t thinking. Which could maybe be my epitaph.
So that was my weekend, and approximately 72 people mentioned on Facebook this weekend that they hoped things went well with Edsel’s new trainer, and that they hoped the trainer taught Edsel not to be a psychopath, and that they hoped to hear about the trainer, and also, trainer.
But the problem is, we had a two-hour appointment Friday afternoon to go to the park and walk around the other dogs, a thing that did not at all make me break out in 70 cold sweats of PTSD at all, and an hour before the appointment, we started having a thunderstorm with the lightning and so forth, so now she’s returning next week.
Meanwhile, Edsel and I are having extremely rousing games of fetch Blu in the back yard, in order to exhaust him, and he seems to fekking love that, but I also know he’s jonesing to walk and frankly so am I, as I loved our walks, but now of course I’m also terrified to walk with him ever again. So therein lies our conundrum.
My pineapple hair and I will talk to you later. Tis what I do to keep the curls afloat in the night. It’s an insane-hair-woman thing. Also, my skin is not filthy–it’s 16 layers of night cream. It’s an ancient-crone-woman thing. Is “crone woman” redundant? I guess it is.
Okay, talk at you. Let me know if you want to hire me to come paint any of your rooms exactly the same colors they already were.