A Pink Space

Holy moly, it's September already. In addition to my birthday, I always associate September with the beginning of school and fall as well as the chaotic closing of another insane fiscal year. This particular year has been especially busy because I am preparing to transition into a new career. With that, I wanted to share my home office because 1) it's temporarily clean, and 2) there are no cats in the frames.

When we first bought our house, I was apprehensive about having so many rooms. After all, it's just the two of us and our herd of furry children. Additionally, it's just so American to have an unnecessary amount of bedrooms in a suburban cookie-cutter style home, but I am nothing if not patriotic I guess.

As soon as we moved my husband moved (I was conveniently absent in training when we closed on the house.) all of our belongings inside, I insisted that we dedicate one bedroom as my home office. This way, I wouldn't end up writing on our living room coffee table and cutting teeny, tiny pieces of paper for homemade cards on the kitchen counters anymore.

A pink, girly office has always been my dream. I painted the walls and ceiling a very soft, slightly yellow pink called Musical Mist by Glidden in a satin finish. The desk is a white, two-drawer Parsons-style knockoff from Overstock. The gold, sunburst mirror is from the Martha Stewart line at Home Depot. To the left of the mirror, I have a Milk Toof print as well as a Harry Potter print (I don't remember from where!) framed in garage sale finds. To the right, I have a framed dead butterfly, an owl carving that I painted gold and pink, and a cork board covered in fabric with my racing bibs and photos pinned onto it at the moment.

Where I Facebook study and write.

My desktop is not usually this neat.

That is really a dead butterfly.

Initially, I wanted my desk to serve as a craft table as well, and I was holding out on a wide, expansive desk with a weathered working surface. The room is quite small, though, so I had opted to go for a small, practical writing desk and it has served me well. My desktop is normally littered in notebooks, folders, and various SD cards, but I cleaned it up for the picture. The placemat underneath my keyboard is from a high school friend when we were in high school and is older than I care to admit. When I do manage to sit down for a big, crafty project, I typically just park it on the floor and make a mess of everything anyway.

Don't let the white boxes fool you.

Across from my desk sits an Ikea Vittsjo shelving unit that I painted yellow using a combination of spray paint and industrial strength paint from a carcinogen-laced can (because the spray paint just wasn't cutting it). I had seen a lot of Ikea hacks on Pinterest for this versatile shelf, so I was excited to give it a whirl and do my own DIY spin on it. As luck would have it, I am not good at Ikea hacks and getting this shelf to DRY with that bumblebee shade of yellow in my humid garage was a total nightmare. There are quite a few dings in the paint here and there, but it holds my junk and that's what counts. The white boxes and drawers are needlessly labeled: I always end up opening every damn one of them to find whatever it is I'm looking for.

Top shelf of knick knacks.

The top shelf is just tall enough to be useless to someone who is as short as me, so it's decorated with various Funko dolls, Hello Kitty blind box items, and framed pictures instead of arts and crafts supplies. That green L is for Lewis because I am what I am.

Tree of Scissors

Originally, I wanted this ivory hook situation from Urban Outfitters to house my favorite necklaces and racing medals. However, my cats took it upon themselves to bungee jump from those items, so I decided to use this as a way to corral all of my scissors. I never have a problem opening letters, and my cats have since left it well enough alone.

I recently switched out to a light, airy pair of Ikea panels to let in more natural light. I didn't get the chance to finagle my camera settings properly, so the picture below is kind of blown out from all of the sunlight. However, it makes for a happy working environment.

A corner of stuffed cats.

Right now, I preparing to upgrade from spindly, foldout chair to a plush, vanity style chair as well as changing out the little dresser below the window. It might look cool with the gold and white stripes, but  it is not as functional as it could be. And I lied: there are some cats in this photo, but one is Pusheen and the other is not a cat, so it's actually OK.

If you're wondering where my cool, geometric patterned rug is, then just look at my dog because she ate it. I guess she isn't a fan of the whole "rugs on carpet floors" look, and honestly, I can't blame her.

I eat rugs on carpet because it's unnatural.

This is NOT a DIY Blog

I might not come across this away on the internet or even real life, but I'm actually a nice person.

Like really! You can talk to me, and I will respond - usually with a smile! Sometimes even with a joke. I love a good joke, so I usually feel inclined to share them with people because I like to laugh and to make people laugh and to hear laughter.

I know some psychologist would tell me that I use humor as a shield to protect myself from whatever psycho babble blah blah, who majors in psychology besides bossy people? I just don't like confrontation or yelling. I really don't like yelling actually. It makes me nervous and like my dog, I tend to get gassy when I become nervous.

When I do yell and let my inner Tiger Mom out (it has been known to happen), I never feel better. I actually feel worse, so I try not to yell altogether. About anything. Even when I have to yell across a football field, I'd rather run walk (who am I kidding?) to the other side and use my indoor voice.

That is, until I painted my living room.

OK, some background: I like to read a lot of DIY home improvement-type blogs because I like to look at other people's homes and judge their cleanliess, and I am inherently very frugal, so I appreciate projects where I can save a buck or two.

And painting the walls in your own house? That is, like, the cheapest and easiest DIY project you could ever do! Anyone can do it! Some people can even do it without painter's tape and drop cloths!

I fucking hate those people and their God-given Wall Painting Talent.

Why we decided to paint the largest room in our house first, I will never know. Why we waited to start drinking until 10 hours later, I'll also never know and I might regret that most of all.

I grew up doing a lot of different painting projects, so I assumed that skillset would come back to me as we opened up our first can of paint (of FIVE). I assumed very wrong. I also assumed that since these DIY bloggers could paint any room in about 3 hours, it would take us about the same time.

I was even more wrong on that one. In fact, I was so wrong that I was just fucking stupid.

When the first coat of paint went on, I didn't know what to say because the sun had gone down and I couldn't see anything. Then we turned on the lights, and I could see that we needed another coat of paint. Then all I saw was the color RED, and people, we painted our walls gray-iege, so either something was wrong with my vision or holy shit, I hate painting.

During the second coat (and opening of beers), we finally started on the ceiling. We don't have crown molding, and now I know why people want to have crown molding. It's not because they want decorative ceiling fixtures; it's because it gives you a clear reason to NOT paint the damn ceiling.

Nearly 12 hours later, we finally had a finished living room and an appointment to see a marriage counselor because PAINTING ROOMS? That is stressful on a marriage, y'all. I feel like I know where Britney and K-Fed went wrong, you know?

While I admit that the room looks more put together, I don't know if I can look back at that experience and say to myself, "Remember that one time when it took us 12 hours to paint our living room? Fa ha la ha haha la ha ha fa la la la." Because no, it wasn't funny.

At all.

Since then (which was, like, 2 months ago, sorry), I have painted two bedrooms by myself because 1) I don't want to subject my husband to that experience ever again and put our marriage on the brink, and 2) the bedrooms are teeny at 8'x10' cube shapes that actually take only 3 hours to complete.

Painting a room alone in the middle of the day is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I've learned to yell SO loudly and curse the longest expletive-laden sentences uttered by a woman that the builders across the street have come over to make sure I was doing OK.

And honestly, I've been feeling a lot better about these home improvement endeavors knowing that when I have a DIY meltdown, I can just cry my fifty shades of grey-eige to the whole damn neighborhood.

That doesn't even make any fucking sense, but if you've read those E.L. James novels, then you don't understand anything anyway.

Thinking About Getting a Cat? Think Again.

Growing up, we always had a cat. Usually, it was a big, fat, fluffy sort of cat that did a lot of sleeping and ignoring me. Maybe I forgot what they were like as kittens because my current cats? They are NOTHING like the cats of my youth. They are driving me to alcoholism with their kitty shenanigans.

That Hermione and Luna duo? TOTALLY BAT SHIT PSYCHO.

Let us count the ways:

1) Cats will steal your money.
True. I have an entry way table where I put down my daily essentials: keys, wallet, phone. I always set these things down on this table. I have never deviated from this pattern because I would lose these things if I did anything different.

My cats have witnessed me leaving my belongings there every day and have shown zero percent interest in that table until just recently. I leave my debit card in the front pocket of my many-pocketed wallet, and they managed to take it out of that pocket the other day.

You know, the pocket that snaps shut.

And then they lost interest in it and left it in their litter box for me as a nice surprise.

2) Cats can break down doors, or at least try very, very hard to do so.
I have tried to let my cats sleep in my room with me, but when I'm asleep, I become a jungle gym as far as they are concerned. I've been woken up countless times to find my cats wrestling on my face.

Now when slumber is imminent, I trick them into leaving my room by turning on this laser pointer thingy (a.k.a. The Babysitter. I hope this thing works on human babies.) and running back into my room.

Once the laser pointer shuts off, they find other ways to entertain themselves including, but not limited to, eating toilet paper, knocking over lamps, and breaking down my bedroom door.

I've been trying to get some footage of their antics, but I've come to the conclusion that they are throwing their bodies against my door with a running start because that is the only way to explain the thunderous sounds that they generate hour after hour.

More than once, I've woken up in a panic because I thought someone was trying to burglarize my home, but really, it's just my cats being insane.

3) Cats will attack anything and everything because they are always on the hunt.
Shoelaces? Prey.

Fingers? Prey.

Hanging towels? Prey.

Toilet paper? Prey.

Chairs? Prey.

Debit cards? Prey.

Something must be hunted at all times. Everything has the potential to be hunted at some point or another. This means that all of your belongings, and I mean all of it, will meet cat claws sooner rather than later.

I used to have leather chairs. Now I have two wooden chairs covered in leather ribbons and white upholstery stuffing.

4) Cats want to get all up in your grill.
You know when you are all snuggled up on the couch watching your favorite movie and reminiscing about your imaginary life as a Disney Princess? (What?) Cats will hone in on your state of comfort and then sit on your face.

Or paw at your face. Or knock the remote out of your hand (see #3). Or sit right in front of the TV blocking your view of Belle singing about her provincial life. Or lick your hair.

They will do anything it takes to make sure you are annoyed, disgruntled, frustrated, or generally upset, and then they will expect you to serve them because they are assholes like that.

5) Cats are picky as shit and nothing can please them.
Their food will never be fresh enough, especially when they can try to have your dinner. The water in their water bowl will never parch their thirst because there is a toilet they could try to drink from or a sink they could sit in while you are brushing your teeth. Their litter will never clump properly, and they will want to dig and dig and dig and dig into their box until all of the litter has been kicked out of the box.

You can never pet them enough. Cats want to know why you are going to work and paying your bills when you could be petting them. They're all like, "Who do you think you are, Human? Come hither and pet me right away."

The cat toys and cat treats and other cat-oriented gifts you buy for them are never good enough, and they will never ever sleep in a cat bed when they can sleep on top of your diaphragm instead.

In spite of, you know, everything, I do love my cats because every once in awhile, they will sit next to me, purr, and not attack my hand for about 10 minutes straight. It's almost like they're my pets and I don't live to serve them and make them more comfortable.

A Disclaimer Would Have Been Helpful

Long story short (though I will inevitably make this long anyway), our lease runs out in March, and we are considering not renewing it. We really do like our apartment, and the location isn't that bad. The neighbors are quiet; we don't have a long commute; everything is set up just the way we like it; we are the perfect distance away from Seattle without making me feel like a country bumpkin.

But, you know, it could be better. We would like less traffic, more grass, and maybe a bigger closet so that I can hide more clothes, err, I mean, have more storage. So, with that, we're slowly scoping out some other living situations, and by "scoping" I mean that I am trolling real estate websites for houses that are way, way out of our budget.

"We don't need a 6-car garage and 3 master suites and a giant, swan fountain in the driveway, Shasta."

"But it's A MILLION DOLLARS LESS than when they first put it on the market!"

"I thought we were thinking about renting again since we might move out of state soon?"

"But this is obviously our dream house! You've been saying how much you want a garage!"

"We don't have six cars or six cars worth of stuff for this garage though!"

"Oh, well, I thought you liked swans."

"...."

What can I say? I love looking at crazy houses, and for the most part, I can see myself living in one, but I have a normal husband who deserves to live in an area where we aren't known as The Basket Cases With the Swan Fountain.

And you thought I couldn't compromise...

After browsing apartment complexes and living communities in the neighborhoods of Not Ghetto and No Vandalism, I found a potential place. The description was perfect. Like, seriously, read this:

"Life is about making big plans but keeping things simple. That's where we come in. [Our apartment community] has the comforts of the home you know and love without the maintenance or headaches of ownership."

That sounds bomb diggity, right? All of the reviews were like 5+++ stars with sprinkles on top, and the surrounding neighborhood is a great part of Washington where there aren't any meth labs or police officer shootings. We would be a bit further from work, but for granite countertops? I think I'll drive the extra 15 minutes.

I need to see it to believe it, though, so I decided to call their leasing office yesterday to schedule a viewing and, you know, get more information...and this is what happened:

"Hello, my name is Shasta, and I was just looking through your website, and I was wondering if you had any available units next March?"

"Why, yes, we will have some vacancies by then, and we can reserve a unit for you as early as January."

"That's great, and when can we schedule a viewing and discuss your policies?"

"Any time next week - we are available whenever, as I am sure you are too these days! Ha ha!"

"Uhhhh..well...no, I have a very busy work schedule, so do you have any morning or lunch openings on Monday or Tuesday?"

"You're still working at your age? Ha ha! That is very proactive of you! But yes, Monday at 8am we would be happy to meet with you."

"Wait, what do you mean at my age?"

"Most of our residents stopped working years and years ago, but there are still a few of you spritely ones with that gung ho spirit!"

I couldn't tell what she was talking about for the longest time, and her upbeat, cheery attitude and little laughs were starting to get to me. Maybe you're already picking up what the receptionist was laying down, but I was a little slow on the uptake.

Was this a rehabilitative center for homeless people or something?

Why don't these residents work?

Was this a Charles Manson type thing?

Would I have to be a sister wife?

Then, finally, the truth surfaced.... 

"So that we know what you and your husband are looking for, how would you describe yourselves? Outdoorsy and athletic or more meditative and artistic?"

"Uhhhmmmm, well, he's athletic...and I'm an aspiring writer of sorts..."

"OK, we can work with that! We offer tons of activities for active adults with different interests!"

Active...adults? What......?

Wait.

ACTIVE ADULTS? LIKE OLD PEOPLE? I'VE BEEN LOOKING AT APARTMENTS IN AN OLD PEOPLE COMMUNITY? OH MY GOD, WHAT THE WHAT?

I felt like I got slapped in the face by some crazy bitch with a bad weave and acrylic nails who I originally thought was from Beverly Hills but is more like Compton material once I got a good look at her roots. Unexpected and disillusioned.

What kind of old people community doesn't SAY that they are for the SENIOR POPULATION? Their
website has no stipulation about resident age - I just thought it was awesome that they offered knitting courses and shuffleboard game nights in their community areas! And while all of the pictures of the (fake actor) residents were all of a, uh, mature age, I didn't really think anything of it because paid models deserve to be of all ages, not just those young twiggy girls you see in magazines. I figured they weren't discriminating, that's all.

It probably wouldn't be such a bad deal being the youngest folks there. We would be doted on like grandchildren with fresh baked cookies and milk all the time. Maybe they even have a complimentary, lifetime supply of prune juice and those little butterscotch candies that grandmas always have in their carpet bags.

But I don't know if I could really live in a place where the primary reason residents leave is because they died.

A swan fountain doesn't seem so bad now.

I Live Here, But You Aren't Invited, Except on the Internet...Part One

I spend a lot of time looking through old Domino magazines, home design books, and DIY websites (I love YHL. LOVE!) to muster up some inspiration for our own apartment.

Now, don't get me wrong, we don't live in a super swanky place by any means. I hear the garbage truck every morning, and I'm pretty sure there is some kind of stray cat fighting ring going on in the night.

But, this is our first home together, even though we have been married for over a year. I know, that's weird, right? We know. Even still, I really wanted to make our temporary apartment a nice place to be inside of because that is what wives do.

Just call me June Cleaver.

Now, I know we won't live here forever (less than a year, ha) but I don't think that means we should live amongst boxes of stuff and rooms full of unpacked crap for the entire time. I need shiny, pretty things to look at.

Master Bedroom...the bed is usually NEVERrrRR made.

This is my favorite room because it's primarily mine, and it is extremely relaxing to be in what with the dark furniture, subtle colors, and the best mattress EVER. Seriously, our mattress is heaven.

The TV cabinet to the left was a BITCH to carry up the stairs (according to my husband). And yes, I left some random shit under those pictures. Woops.

While I do share the room with my husband, of course, I have a wonderful vanity while he has, uh, a lamp. And no, our room is not usually this yellow tinted or blurry. I only have a little point and shoot camera, and the "natural" light bulbs in all of our lamps just came off as super yellow. Our room is definitely soft whites, blues, and dark woods and other fancy design words.

Yes, that is a little penguin pillow pet in our bed. He is my BFF.

I guess I like this room so much because it's not kiddish or juvenile in any way (minus the penguin). It's like real grown-ups actually live here. Ha ha ha, oh optical illusions.

I know it might seem like I totally did not let my husband pick anything out, and that's because I totally did not let him pick anything out. He doesn't have bad taste or anything; I just have better taste, so everything is now our taste now. It wasn't even a compromise; just an acceptance of fact.

This is my side of the room. That sweet little vanity? A gift from my husband because he knows I have a Sephora habit.

 There is still a long way to go when it comes to finishing up the room. Here is list that I have come up with so far:

1) Figure out what to hang over the bed - a headboard? a painting? arrangement of interesting art?
2) Find a better way/place for us to drop our work clothes - a storage ottoman? a mini dresser? a chair?
3) Hide the TV/cable/lamp cords. I HATE seeing cords.

Next time, I'll show you the living room where most of these posts are written from because I still have yet to find a desk that I like! Yeah, I have some very particular criteria about desks, so that search may never end.