You know how I kind of sort of have a nasty habit of starting projects and never — ever — finishing them?
I have news.
And try not to spit out your coffee when I tell you.
I’m actually making progress on two of those…
Valspar’s “Gypsy Teal”
Click photo for curtain panel source.
Click above photo for duvet cover source.
DIY Chalk Paint Dresser (tutorial coming soon)
Click above photo for reading lamp source.
Click above photo for more information about light fixture.
Closet and bedroom.
Also, I baked cookies. And I only ate like six. Or seven. The rest of these puppies are going to Afghanistan. Click photo for recipe.
Yep. That’s right. You only get the crappy Instagrammed sneak peek. Because between the painting and the decorating and the domesticating and the cold I’ve somehow managed to develop, I’m too tired and full of cookie dough to give you more.
Also, I still have some finishing touches I need to complete.
By the way — those of you all caught up in these various body cleansing diets that are currently all the rage, here’s a tip: Consuming exorbitant amounts of raw cookie dough will also do the trick.
Just so you know.
It feels a little intimate, this whole sharing of the bedroom.
I mean… when it looked like this, is was no big deal.
It was just a room. An uninteresting, plain yogurt, asexual cube of space.
It’s like she’s hiked her skirt up a little bit, and now I’m not sure how I feel about you looking at her.
Because you might judge her.
And you might not be into the kinds of things I’m into.
Like the charcoal gray walls or the S&M sex toy we’ve hung from the ceiling.
Oh, wait. That’s just my armillary antiqued silver chandelier.
You know, inspired by those awesome looking armillary spheres that depict the earth as the center of a cosmic system with various rings representing the circles of all of those floaty things up in the sky.
It’s kind of like this one from OurBoatHouse.com:
Except mine didn’t cost $1,080.
Except I didn’t spend $218, either.
I happened to luck upon finding an open item on their website, meaning someone else bought this beauty and returned it.
I can’t imagine why.
So, with Bellacor’s guarantee that the product had all of the pieces and was in brand new condition, I bit the non-returnable bullet and purchased this baby for $109.
Is it still more than I’d like to admit spending?
But I think I might be in love. And the pattern it splays across the ceiling when it’s turned on is phenomenal.
You’ll just have to wait to see that, though.
A girl can’t reveal all of her secrets in a single day.
So this is where my bedroom makeover is so far: Painted trim, painted ceiling, painted walls, and new light.
I warned you before, and I’ll say it again — the room might not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, but it’s my cup o’ Tanqueray and tonic with a squeeze of lime.
So far it’s sexy and sultry with a splash of celestial.
Oh, and Justin likes it too.
Last night I slept 35 inches off of the ground.
I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, so I’m going to give you a minute to go and grab your trusty tape measure (if you’re like me, you keep it in the laundry room because it makes perfect sense, according to people like me and not people like Justin, to keep oft-used tools in the laundry room) to see how high you sleep every night.
It’s okay — I’ll wait.
Okay, I’m bored. If you didn’t go and measure, I’m happy to inform you that it’s likely you slept closer to 24 inches off of the ground than 35 inches. Unless you sleep in one of those crazy expensive grown-up beds that you need a step stool to get into, in which case I’m not even sure why you’re reading this blog.
But I’m glad you’re here. It makes me feel less alone.
If you still sleep in the second-hand bed frame you bought from friends who were moving to Hawaii and didn’t want to take their guest bedroom furniture overseas, and that bed frame happens to position you a comfortable 24 inches off the ground with a box spring, mattress, and cushy foam mattress pad, then that extra 11 inches feels like the difference between Base Camp and the summit of Everest.
I needed climbing ropes and a pick axe to get up there.
And once there, I was petrified of even moving because — well, we all know now that I’m prone to falling out.
Which really explains a lot, if you know me.
But the reason, my friends — the reason I was sleeping in thinner oxygen last night is intriguing because I’ve finally gotten over my fear of commitment when it comes to certain design and decor decisions around the house. And no, it’s not because I bought a super tall bed. But it is because we’re finally — finally — doing something with the one and only room in this 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom, 1 kitchen, 1 living room, 1 hallway home that has literally remained untouched since we moved in 4 1/2 years ago: Our Bedroom.
That’s right — we’ve completely remodeled the kitchen, gotten well on our way to finishing the living room, polished off the hallway bathroom, have a guest bedroom I’ve never told you about, and are slowly wading our way through office progress, but we’ve never done anything with the room where we spend probably the majority of our time at home.
So. Even though the smart thing to do would be to let funds replenish and then… I don’t know… take a trip to the Philippines, instead we’re spending money on bedroom stuff. Call me crazy, but it may be nice to create a bit of a sanctuary — albeit a thrifty one — before we move from this house.
And as you can see, a sanctuary it was not:
Hand-me-down furniture and thrifted, mismatched nightstands.
Decrepit vertical blinds and a television that was probably made in the early ’90’s just screams romance, does it not?
I seriously can’t believe I’m showing you this.
But despite the mild embarrassment, it has to be done.
Like shock therapy for the decorating-impaired.
Must. Look. Away.
Okay, had enough? Yep, me too. We’ve been sleeping in blandness for the past 4 1/2 years.
College dorm rooms have more character than this.
Andy Dufresne’s prison cell had more character than this.
So yesterday we cleared out the room. Apparently the thing about decorating is you can’t just get right into the good stuff. There’s a certain amount of prep work involved if you want it to look right in the end. Since new carpeting isn’t really in the budget right now, we’re going to pretend the floors look fantastic and move right on up to the ceiling. Yep. Popcorn. Just like every other room in this house, it had to come down.
But of course, there’s prep work for the prep work:
I wasn’t sad to see these go.
Knowing this whole room decorating thing would be a bit of a process (c’mon, it’s us we’re talking about), we moved many of our worldly possessions — including the entire contents of our closet since that had popcorn too — to other locale’s around the house. And the guest bed, which isn’t designed to hold a box spring, got topped with our big ol’ box spring, plus our mattress, plus the foam pad, to form a veritable throne of a bed.
Hey. We live in 1,600 square feet. Compromises need to be made, and I can only tolerate one mattress (the old guest mattress) resting on the living room wall at a time, thankyouverymuch.
Then Justin got to work.
It’s a messy job, but somebody has to do it. Fortunately, that someone isn’t me. And no, I don’t know why the builders only partially vaulted our ceiling. Just one of our home’s many unintelligible quirks.
While Justin was on popcorn duty, I was assigned decor duty. The good news is that I was able to stay relatively focused because I knew I had a limited amount of time since we don’t want to be living in our guest room for the next 2 years.
That’s right, apparently I need boundaries in order to be functional.
First, I finally committed to a paint color. Sort-of. See, I was tired of having 8-million paint chips collecting dust on my dresser, so I finally just picked one, threw some splotches of it up on the walls, and said f*-it. Let’s get this puppy painted.
Of course, while Justin was off buying the full-size gallons the day before, I realized I didn’t care how my samples took on a taupey tone in the sunlight and would’ve switched something even more definitively gray, but the deed was already done and paint ain’t exactly cheap. I mean, when people talk about “liquid assets,” I’m pretty sure they’re not referring to Valspar’s Mountain Smoke in an Eggshell finish.
So he bought the paint.
And we didn’t stop there.
Kids, I bought a light.
Like… I got online, did some research, kind of stayed on topic (with minute segues into the realms of curtains and comforters), and bought a light.
That’s right — I committed to something. Two things. Talk about progress from the last time I tried to decorate.
And. Well. The fact is, I’m tired of purchasing everything for this house with resale in mind. Sometimes, you just have to get what you like, you know? And if there’s anywhere we’re doing that, it’s our bedroom. So. The light might not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, but it might just be the cup o’ Tanqueray and tonic with a splash of lime you’ve been looking for.
But it’s not here yet, so you’ll just have to wait and see.
Don’t you just loooove surprises? If not, have yourself another gin ‘n juice and learn to like them.
Because baby, I’m pretty sure surprises are the key to longevity.
So this is where we are right now:
Exciting stuff, huh? Today I will be painting the baseboards and trim, as well as puttying any holes in the walls to get ready for the Mountain Smoke.
At this rate, we should have a functioning bedroom again in… oh… 4-6 months.
But the good news is that I’m making decisions. Me. The girl who takes a half hour to choose something from a restaurant menu.
Watch out, kids — this girl’s on a roll.