You're Going to Have to Take My Word For It: Not Another Decorating Post, Really.

Okay, you know I spent my weekend spray painting anything that wasn’t nailed down. I haven’t even shown you this before and after yet-- using my favorite new shade of blue:

So, imagine my surprise when I drove through the next neighborhood over and saw this on a fence:

I just want to state for the record:

I like spray paint.

I like aqua.

I am a fan of peace.

But I have not nor do I ever plan to venture into the world of graffiti art/ vandalism.

I was at home communing with Lifetime TV when this crime occurred. You can just ask…

Oh yeah, I was home alone.

You’ll just have to take my word for it.

Peace Out.

Shrugalicious-- No Sewing Involved

Here’s another project for Do-It-Yourself Day at A Soft Place to Land.

Since I spent most of the summer recovering from being dragged by the dog, I had to wear long sleeves to keep my wounds out of the sun. Problem was, it was painful to pull long sleeved shirts over my head. Once again, my Do-It-Yourself project was really done by someone else, this time my fabulous sister.

She took a long sleeved Old Navy shirt of mine, sliced it right up the front hem to collar, then cut it short around the back leaving 2 long tabs in the front. She didn't even use my nice scissors. Instant shrug! It was much easier to take on and off than a regular shirt, and when I washed it, it didn’t fray. It just got a little curled around the edges, which I like.



My arm is much better, but I still like my little shrug. It makes me feel very Flash Dance-y or Fame-y or even a little Yoga-ish.

Be sure to check out the other projects at Kimba’s place!

Sponge Worthy?

I have the nose of a bloodhound. Yes, mine is a little longer and pointier than your average dog, but it is equally effective. This is why Tom and I are engaged in our most recent domestic disagreement. He doesn’t realize we are having a disagreement, but we are.

It concerns The Sponge.

Not the Elaine Benis/ Seinfeld type of sponge, but your average nasty kitchen sponge. I’d prefer to use a scrub brush, paper towel, or even my bare hand to clean dishes rather than use an old kitchen sponge. Tom, however, uses a sponge and remains oblivious to the fact that it is rank, foul, moldy and generally offensive.

Much in the same way a man can’t seem to wake to the sound of a crying baby in the night, my husband’s nose does not notice the smells that abound in a house. The moment I walk through our door, my senses are affronted by odors. It is a blessing. It is a curse.

It usually takes about .3 seconds for me to root out the offender. Sometimes it’s an errant cantaloupe, icky kitchen trash, dog crap or an occasional dead mouse, but the culprit is usually a stinky sponge.

I try to buy new sponges often. I wash them in the dishwasher. I squeeze them out and leave them in the special tilt-out sponge drawer to dry. But in the summer, in the south, is it really possible to keep a sponge from stinking?

And, when your partner in life cavalierly tosses said sponge into the wet grossness of the sink to await its next use, is there really any hope a sponge will dry out?

Multiple times I have come downstairs to see a sponge floating amid dirty dishes and greasy food. It would NEVER cross my mind to pick up this sponge, with ground meat stuck to it, and use it to clean the dishes, but Tom thinks this is fine.

Tom, I suppose, believes that because a sponge is an implement of cleanliness, it must therefore be clean…as if its mere identity ensures its purpose in life will be fulfilled.

I know, I know. I should be happy that someone else is helping with the dishes. I’ve been told as much by an unnamed source. But Tom’s list of marriage needs read, “CLEAN COUNTERS” and said nothing about a dish-free sink. With the kids home with me all day this summer, I have let the dishes pile up more than usual and have been VERY happy that Tom will step in and do them.

While he may say he is “doing the dishes,” I will posit that he is “doing some dishes,” because a lot of eating and cleaning up and starting all over again transpires while he’s at work.

But the sponge, the sponge?? Must we use a stinky sponge? Before you get all, “Anna is such a mean wife,” or “Poor Tom,” on me, let me tell you that Tom recently instructed me on the proper way to scrape the peanut butter off the knife before placing it in the dishwasher.

There’s enough anal-retentiveness for everyone here at Casa See.

Anyway, I don’t know how to wrap this up, other than to say…I think I smell something coming from the washing machine. Off to investigate.

Bonus Treat, although still painful to watch:

Elaine Benis doing the “Elaine Dance” on Seinfeld.

Oh the Humanity!

Remember when I said I'd had too much alone time, I was a people person, and I had to get out of the house and be with the masses? Well, I went to Costco yesterday (on a Sunday afternoon!) and I'd like to retract my previous statement.

Thank you.



Bonus image: Watching a lady try to eat her free sample fruit roll-up without removing the plastic wrap.

Vintage Train Cases

Rhoda over at Southern Hospitality gives readers a chance to show off their Thrifty Finds on Mondays. Here are mine:

I snagged these 2 vintage train cases seconds before my friend Theresa swooped down to get 3 or 4 more. I guess someone donated a slew to the thrift shop in one day. Cost: $1.50 each.

I thought they would be fun to put on the stairs to catch the assorted junk that piles up there. Realistically, they’ll remain open, because if they close, I’ll forget to carry things up. And when I say “I,” I mean it, because the other members in my household have no concept of carrying stuff up the stairs.

If I’m going to do the work, I might as well enjoy looking at these train cases while I do it.

Home Alone

So while many of my blogging friends were whooping it up at a little convention called BlogHer, I was having alone time.

Tom took the kids to Cleveland for the weekend to see family. I initially thought I had to work this weekend and couldn’t go, but when I realized I didn’t, I decided to stay home anyway.

What I did:

Pedicure! Sure, the only appt I could get was at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, but still.

Dinner and a movie with a friend. “The Ugly Truth” with Katherine Heigl. Raunchy and over the top, but I laughed a TON!

Small home improvement projects like taking the plastic film off the French doors that have been up in my office for 15 months. “I can see clearly now, the film is gone.”

Jaunt to Home Depot for 8 cans of spray paint! It was a spray paint bonanza in the carport. Tables, baskets, knick knacks. Some things look good, some crappy. My fave is this chair, but considering I painted right over the dirt and rust, it won’t look this pretty for long. Immediate gratification, baby!






Cleaned out basement storage area and scoured every drawer and closet in the house to make a towering mountain of yard sale stuff. I hate to think I’ll probably net like $80 on all this stuff, but I hope the house will seem less cluttered. Whatever doesn’t sell, I’ll donate to my favorite thrift shop and probably be tempted to buy back again. Psycho, I know.

Watched several Lifetime movies with very little guilt, oh yes I did.

Started 2 new books.

Cooked and froze lasagna, spaghetti pie and chicken enchilada casserole to try to “get ahead” on meal making. If it has ground meat and cheese, it’s an artery clogging “go” here at Casa See.

Missed church. Am thinking a drawback of working at a church is that worship can start to feel like “going to work.” I’m not thrilled about this development.

What I didn’t do:

Open my briefcase to do any “work work.”

Blog

Exercise

Decide where to send the kids to school next year. Aargh.


What I realized:

Shadow and I generate virtually no laundry. I didn’t do wash the entire weekend. I guess it helps that I sleep in whatever shlubby clothes I wore the day before.

Although it was awesome to have an entire weekend to myself, I need people! I missed my family. I should have scheduled more activities with others. Friday movie night with my friend Jane was energizing and fun, but I found myself getting more and more sluggish as the weekend alone progressed.

And although I felt too insecure to go to BlogHer (jr. high dance, anyone?), I probably would have had a blast.

Tom and the kids just called from the Pennsylvania turnpike, just a few hours from home. The worst part? It'll probably take about 5 minutes before the bloom is off the rose and I'm craving some Alone Time.

Mr. Right Now

Okay, so I took the plunge. My beautiful new bench is serving as the family room coffee table. He is stunning. I know it might be weird that I’m calling the bench a “he,” especially since it has a little retro-glam thing going on, but I definitely see it as a “he,” albeit quite the pretty boy.

You know the type, loads of looks, but not much substance. The whole bench weighed less that 15 lbs and I could easily carry him in by myself. Does that seem worthy a $500 investment, even if I did use a gift card?

Do you know his type?

He’s high maintenance.

Easily injured.

A bit dangerous (have you ever read the warning label on ScotchGard-- "May affect the central nervous system causing dizziness, headache or nausea...may be harmful or fatal? ")

And the table he’s replacing? Sturdy, solid, dependable, if a bit boring. It took both Tim and me to carry him out of the room and banish him to basement storage. My Old Love was handy—with two drawers for remotes, puzzles and other junk.

He fit our lifestyle, providing a large surface for laundry folding, board games and impromptu performances by the kids. He didn’t show sweat rings from glasses and bottles. He brought us together, as the four of us snuggled on the couch, dirty feet propped up on his back. He fit in with the other practical but not lovely leather furniture. I knew what to expect from him.

I can’t decide what to do with My Old Love. Should I cut him loose so someone else can benefit from his steadfast nature? Someone else would see him as #1, not as a safety date.

I know letting him move on is the right thing to do, and my yard sale is only a week away, but I’d really rather hang onto him for that day when Mr. Pretty Boy fails me, and I need someone I can count on. But is that fair, leaving him waiting in the wings until I tire of the stress and drama of my new Boy Toy?

Because right now, whenever I pass my new bench my heart quickens, oh yes it does. I like the element of sexy sophistication he brings to our house. Beer and nachos? I think not. Cocktails and crudite? Perhaps.

But I know this is not going to end well. That little voice inside me says to dump the $500 Lothario who is only going to cause me anguish and pain. It tells me if it takes this much work to make a relationship work-- the ScotchGard, the “only clear liquids rule,” the popcorn ban-- perhaps it’s not a good fit.

How long will it be before he alienates me from family and friends? Will it become Anna and The Bench against the world? Will I cease to be the fun-loving hostess of the past and instead choose evenings alone with him, intent on keeping our love, or his upholstery, pure?

Please no lectures. I realize this is just a fling. I’ve heard it all before: don’t date someone prettier than you are, stick with what you can count on, substance over style, "does he bring out the best in you?" and so on. Even the cleaning lady has weighed in, unasked, “No good. Too delicate, too beautiful, Miss Anna.” I know what I SHOULD do, what I MUST do, but what I’m choosing not to.

Please do not judge.

Girl’s turning 40 and is looking for a little furniture adventure. I just hope I don’t regret it in the morning.