Big Love

I thought you should be the first to know.

I have a new boyfriend. And it's serious.

Don't worry. My husband knows all about us. In fact, he introduced us. And he completely understands my attraction.

Meet Paulo.





He's beautiful, no?

You must understand, this is no casual affair. It's destiny. Our new house has forty pairs of shutters, you see.

FORTY!

I spent three weeks painting the first pair by hand one day.



muthashuttas


At that rate, it was painfully clear that the house would be finished just in time for us to move into assisted living. So my husband invited Paulo home for a threesome.

It was love at first spray.



Me and Paulo, getting it on


It didn't surprise me much to discover that Paulo, in the end, turned out to be quite high maintenance. All the great beauties are.





But I don't mind taking good care of him. He's totally worth it. I have a feeling we're going to be very happy together.




Den, before



Den, happily ever after

Smoke and Mirrors

Remember when I told you how much I love the new paint color I chose for my office? Well, I'm not so sold on the paint I chose for the dining room. The color is so safe it hardly even counts as a color. Because I'm too lazy and cheap to just pick another color and paint again, I'm trying to make it work by adding so many extra colors to the space that people become too confused to notice the walls. Smart, right?

So I found this fabric remnant at an estate sale today. I think it may have come from circus folk.





I decided to use it to cover these bland old dining room chairs of ours.





The first step in this process was to gently pop the seats out. Once that was done, my next step was to break my stapler. Because breaking an essential tool is ALWAYS step 2 in my DIY instructions.





After trying every tool I could think of to fix the jammed stapler, I came back to my old standby—cussing. Why I don't try it sooner I don't know, because it always works like a charm.





Voilà!

Boring walls? Where?

Don't Try This At Home

Remember that old ad campaign, Take the Nestea® Plunge?





The premise is that if you're lucky enough to have a cold, quenching glass of Nestea Iced Tea in your hand, even the harshest environment magically transforms into cool, refreshing water.

My husband decided to try the plunge in our pool a couple of days ago.



Our pool, a couple of days ago


Unfortunately, he wasn't lucky enough to have the tea. In which case, even the harshest environment just stays harsh, and instead of getting refreshed, you get a broken shoulder.

Oh sure, you can all lavish sympathy all over him—poooooor baby—but I'm the one you should be feeling sorry for. All he has to worry about is a lousy six to eight week recovery period, constant pain, almost complete loss of the use of his dominant hand, and an awkward, hot, uncomfortable sling for two months.

Whatever. The garbage isn't going to take itself out for two months.

Man. This really sucks for me.

The Office

With the exception of the kitchen and dining room, which fell victim to the tragic wallpaper plague of the '70s, every wall in our new house is white. And not hip, modern white, either. Dingy, old lady white.

Like this—




We've lived here nine months. While some women piss away nine months making people, I used my time to make something really important—my first paint decision.



Morning Fog—Blue and Gray's Beautiful Love Child

I was so happy to finally have a can of paint in my hand that I sprinted to the checkout before that temptress Martha Stewart could lure me back down the aisle with her siren song of samples. I was halfway home before I realized that I might need some way to actually apply my beautiful new color to the walls. Details. I figured I must have some crusty old brush lying around a closet floor somewhere, maybe a roller that didn't have too many chunky bits.

And then I found this—


♫ Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah! ♫

I'd forgotten all about it. My husband's sweet nephew drew my name for the Christmas gift exchange. He knows me well enough to understand what my idea of a perfect present is. He also knows me well enough to anticipate that I'd be too cheap and/or flaky to remember to buy this kind of stuff myself.

Thanks for a great present, Joe. I love my new office. And now that the old lady white is gone, I swear my husband looks ten years younger in there.

A Fourth of July Miracle

I'm not exactly what you would call an especially rational person. I'm more of what you might call a recreational worrier. When things go wrong, only the worst possible ending seems plausible. I find a wet spot on the floor, and I'm SURE the roof not only has a leak and needs to be replaced immediately, but probably is in fact dripping some highly toxic poison into our home which will kill us all by dinner. It could happen. My seven-year-old gets a strange bump on his genitals, I'm convinced it's fatal scrotum cancer. Even after my husband shows me the tick writhing in the tweezers. Ticks can cause fatal scrotum cancer, you know.

I have a word for this kind of thinking. That word is "pragmatic."

My husband has a different word.

So this morning, when we woke to a hot house, dread began swirling in the pit of my stomach. We'd need a new unit for sure, maybe two. Certainly all new duct work. Probably months of expensive labor. We'd have to find somewhere to stay. It was going to be a nightmare. There'd probably be locusts!

But then, something crazy happened. Not two hours after we noticed the house was hot, it was cool again. My responsible husband called our reliable AC guy and he fixed it. Just like that. All it was was this little old part.





A part which cost $41.00.





Then he stayed and tuned our son's guitar.

I'm sure we'll have a disaster for me to worry about soon enough. But it looks like today's not the day.