Weekend Journal

Before we bought our house, the previous owner thoughtfully repainted the place in two glorious colors -- slumlord "white" and flesh. I suppose that the flesh paint was supposed to be a tasteful blend of taupe and peach, but it's really just flesh.

In that past year and a half, we've been picking through the rooms and repainting them. We washed away the slumlord "white" in the office this weekend.

I tackled this home decorating project just like I always do. I live with stuff for years, and then suddenly it bugs me beyond belief, and I need to change things immediately. Two weeks ago, I looked up from computer and noticed that the crappy IKEA desk was indeed crappy, the metal file cabinet was indeed metal, and Steve's entire half of the office was a toxic waste dump.

I bought two desks and a file cabinet from Hold Everything. Then Steve and I painted the walls in Benjamin Moore #1444 New Age -- a smoky lavender.

Steve was grouchy at first about this drop-and-redecorate weekend. I hadn't really prepped him for the fact that his nest was about to be disturbed. The dust billowed out from behind his desk when we moved it. He packaged up all the little cards and strips of paper tucked into here and there. But after everything got cleared away and the wall prepped, he got into the project.

These painting projects are always good talking times for us. No computers or kids distracting us. Steve thought the hip-beard thing and the Manly book are signs that there is a metrosexual backlash happening.

We're not quite done in the office. Need some nice table lamps. Need to mount the pictures. Need to fix the filing system. And then I'm going to have the most anal retentive office in New Jersey. I'll take pictures for you when I'm done.

Off to finish the paper in bed. Nice work-family article by Lisa Belkin today.

Comments

[catie]

I hope Steve is right about the metrosexual backlack because I really can't look at another straight man with perfectly groomed eyebrows without wanting to stab myself in the eye with a fork.

I'm all for a man wearing clean clothes and smelling good, but for the love of Sweet Baby Jesus, no more groomed eyebrows.