Lessons from a DIY n00b

Before

Home ownership has allowed me to finally begin one of my new year’s resolutions: completing my first DIY project. And believe me, our empty house (and wallets) leave room for a lot more DIY.

It all started when I began to drool over this mint-colored file cabinet sold on CB2.com. Our office is just exploding with papers with nowhere to put them. It was covet at first sight. I. HAD. TO. HAVE. IT. But the price kept making me cringe. I waited patiently for CB2's marketing emails, and each time I got notice of a sale, my heart would flutter in excitement, and then get quickly let down to read the fine print: excludes office furniture. And of course they specified “office.” It was as though they were out to get me.

I went back and forth on a daily basis, adding it to my cart, taking it out of my cart, adding it back, taking it out. Finally, on week three, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was about to pull the trigger on the $153 file cabinet, until I saw that shipping was an additional $30. I would be paying nearly $200 for a cabinet that only held one drawer of files. Oh hell no.

Then, a light bulb went off, “What if I made this?”

So off to craigslist I went. A nearby family sold me a metal file cabinet for $25. It had certainly seen better days; There were scratches and pen marks, and once I got it home, I realized it smelled musty too. But the drawers worked, and the rest could be solved with a little elbow grease.

I went to Lowe’s in search of spray paint in the perfect shade of mint. When I came up empty handed, I settled for Tropical Oasis – a shade of teal bright enough to catch the eye, but earthy enough to pair with other neutral colors. I’ve also been obsessed with the D-shaped drawer pulls (in a way that only my fellow-HGTV addicts will understand) and decided to try my hand bringing them into my design too.

Back home, I sprayed down must central with windex, lightly sanded it so the paint would stick, and spent about half an hour arguing with Husband about the best place to spray paint so that it didn’t look like an amateur graffiti artist lived at our house.

After deciding the garage was the best place to land, I sprayed away. The cabinet should have only taken a few coats, but being a spray-paint n00b means that I used three cans.

But after my (four hundred?) coats were applied, I realized my paint job came out all splotchy (Actually, Husband pointed it out and I got all “I am woman hear me roar – I don’t need a man telling me how to do a construction project because I’m Rosie the Riveter” on him).

After consulting various spray paint and DIY forums from others in my situation, the conclusion was that: a) I failed to sand in between coats, b) high-gloss spray paint likes to get splotchy if you’re not patient with your strokes, and c) I was not patient with my strokes. I employed the “I freaking love teal and I’m covering the entire cabinet and the garage floor RIGHT NOW” method rather than the light, airy, gentle, butterfly-kiss strokes that should have been used (and when the can says “spray 10-12 inches away,” don’t translate that to mean 2 inches). Other tips suggested either: a) to only use brush paint for furniture (note for future projects) or b) use a matte spray paint (still using your newly-acquired butterfly-stroke skill) and seal with shellac or polyurethane to achieve the glossy look.

Sigh.

So I grabbed my sanding sponge and started the process of evening out my paint job, and being (another sigh) patient. Luckily that worked and I didn’t have to start from scratch, although for all the time it took, I may as well have.

Notes from a new pro:

1.     Do not spray paint in flip flops. You will get spray paint all over your feet and ruin your pedicure, even if you aren’t aiming near your little piggies. Make sure there are paper towels near the door so you don’t track spray paint from your bare feet onto the wood floor.

2.     Wearing a mask will eliminate Tropical-Oasis-colored boogers, which might later emerge from your nose.

3.     Spray paint in a well-ventilated area and take breaks if you start hallucinating.

Unfortunately (yes the saga continues), my new drawer pulls didn’t quite fit the pre-drilled holes from the original handles. I thought I had patience to channel my inner Tim the Toolman Taylor. I even borrowed my father-in-law’s drill set to make them fit, but after my realization that I am spray-paint challenged, my patience had worn thin and I was content just using the original hardware.

After!

The result: A $40 total investment that looks even better than the $200 version online and holds twice the files. Eat your heart out, Sabrina Soto. I’m the new host of The High Low Project!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but one (somewhat successful) DIY project does qualify me to host an entire show on interior design. Stay tuned for future projects. Next up? More spray paint – updating the previous owner’s tacky faux-patina light fixtures (apparently they were big fans of sponge-paint). After that? A nightstand makeover and a rustic headboard from scratch (if I’m not totally sick of DIY by then).  

A Decade of Packing

I remember shopping at Target 10 years ago and feeling like I scored on an extra-long twin comforter and sheet set for $13 for college.The comforter was extremely soft and striped with all kinds of bright colors. I was preparing for the first time I would ever move. I had lived in the exact same house for all 18 years of my childhood, and I remember feeling like an adult for buying something as practical as a comforter set.

But the day I moved into college, I was bawling my eyes out like a baby. It never hit me that I’d be living two hours away from my family, which was all I had ever known. I had been so focused on getting the hell out of there, that I never stopped to think how much I would miss everyone I loved, or how much I would be forced to rely on myself, or how much I would have to grow up (the extent of which is arguable in college). An hour after my mom and sister left, I quit bawling (finally!), put on some Jack Johnson and started putting that duvet on my extra long twin bed. Merely hours later, I met some friends and started having a blast.

Fast forward ten years to today. I’m listening to the Garden State Soundtrack (which got me thinking about college in the first place), and packing up my townhome that I have rented with my husband for the last three and half years - the longest I have ever lived in one residence since I moved out of my parent’s house 10 years ago. In between my parents house and now, I’ve lived in eight different homes in four different cities.

We are moving into our first house we purchased together. The home buying process has been kind of brutal, with closing being pushed back four times, due to a million and ten hang ups. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we’re really getting the keys on Friday, especially since I booked a rental truck for Saturday. But I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it is book a rental truck for what could potentially be the last time. We bought a house with enough room to grow into, and more than enough space for the pups to roam.

It’s just amazing to the think all of the life that’s happened between the last ten years, from the first time I ever moved, to what I hope will be the last time for at least another decade. I went to college, met some awesome people, met boys (mostly dumb ones), partied hard, lost my grandpa, went to Africa, worked a part-time job I thought I hated until I turned it into a writing career, met my amazing husband, watched my mom beat cancer and go through a liver transplant (she just had her two year transplant anniversary yesterday!), got two furry pups who have stolen my heart, discovered running, discovered yoga, discovered marriage, and truly started discovering myself.

I’ve made many fantastic friends, gained a fantastic second family and met a bunch of fantastic people, and stayed best friends with my home girls whom I’ve known since 1st grade. We’ve been friends for more than 20 years now! It’s so nuts to think of how fast time has flown. And I only know it will keep speeding up.

I just needed to take a moment to stop packing up the memories so I could appreciate them and realize how much love I’ve experienced in a decade. And I'm excited about all of the love I’ll experience for the rest of my decades, in our home that we don’t have to move from if we don’t want to! We won’t have to deal with landlords, or hearing our neighbors' conversations, or their dogs' barking. I’m so excited for all of the memories we’ll make in our new place. I can already see Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas trees, and all of the barbecues and love and laughter.

Now if we could just get those damn keys :)

Playing House

Selling stock for the first time was one of those moments that made me feel like a legitimate adult. Then it was getting married. But even still, most days I feel like a 15 year-old trapped in a 28 year-old’s body. Recently, I’ve encountered an even bigger milestone that confirms, “Yes, you are indeed an adult and not a hormonal teen.” (Well...hormonal may still be accurate, but that’s besides the point.)

Husband and I are starting the house buying process. What? Yup. No (wo)man-child here. Just a bona fide adult.

First of all, learning terms like Escrow, PMI, HOA, FHA and all that jazz has been fun. Not.

Second of all, trying to figure out where we’re going to live has been fun. Not.

Third of all, buying and renovating a house looks like tons of fun on HGTV. Not.

But regardless of all of the negatives you could get stuck on, I’m super stoked.

With current market conditions, we’re looking at something we can stay in for awhile, as the term “starter home” may soon be extinct the way things are going. So we're finding places with a lot more space than the two of us truly need, with the idea that we'll grow into it eventually. For now, Bowser and Chika each get their own room ;)

But sadly, our hopeful notions of staying in our current city are diminishing as the housing market becomes increasingly competitive. Nearby homes have quietly slipped out of our price range, when just a few months ago they may have well been within our grasp. Unless we settle for four walls and mold problem, I’m just not willing to throw in my retirement savings and first-born kid just to beat out another offer. We’re going to be looking at options that involve a commute of sorts, just hopefully not a very long one.

All of the simple living books I’ve been reading are really jumping around in my mind as we go through this process. While many wives on HGTV are stereotyped as going for the most expensive place their husband’s salaries can afford, I’m the one breaking a sweat trying to make sure we're staying within our budget. I'm not trying to jump off some financial cliff from which we can’t recover - ain't nobody got time for that! We’d like to retire someday, and we have grand travel plans that we're not willing to compromise.

Which leads me to rethinking our needs in terms of space. How big of a home do we really need? While at times, it feels like we’re outgrowing our current 1200 sq. ft. townhome, I know we could make less work if we just got rid of some stuff. Ideally, we’d like more garage space, and third bedroom for guests, or if a baby decides to enter our lives (at some point in the way distant, beyond-the-horizon-line future - don’t get excited, parents). 

But it’s easy to get carried away out there. My anti-simple living side is demanding that granite counter tops, a five-piece bath and a gas range are must-haves. We walked through a house on Saturday that had a butler's kitchen and I almost asked to sign right then and there. 

The biggest thing I’m trying to keep in mind is that we’re not in a rush. If we don’t find what we want, we can always renew our lease, and I hope that we are able to keep that in focus as we start getting emotionally involved in the homes we view. Because it's easy to do!

I’ll keep you all posted on this new adult adventure. This probably means I have to start looking for a new yoga studio (*tear*).

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but when did they start letting kids buy houses?

Adventures in Lip Waxing

That's my upper lip. The things we do for hair removal! 

I've written about my upper lip before. Who knew I would have even more to say about such a specific spot on my face? My wily lip is off having a life of its own, wild enough to make it on the internet several times, apparently.

Since my last lip post, I've found great success fulfilling my waxing needs at my local In Spa. I've never had any issues with their services until my most recent visit, when my lip left the salon looking even more noticeable than when I walked in.

I knew something wasn't quite right when my upper lip started going numb after the wax was applied. The wax felt like it was completely globbed onto my face. "It should be fine," I thought. (WRONG. Body parts going numb is never going to result with everything being fine.) Waxing your upper lip is never a comfortable endeavor, so I just assumed it was part of the process.

That's when the fun began.

Riiiiip went the wax, and with it, my skin. I honestly, didn't even notice at first. It felt like hell, which was somewhat normal, so I didn't think anything of it. I paid, left the salon, and the moment my skin touched the outside air, I knew something wasn't right. It felt like you could roast s'mores on my upper lip, it was burning so hot.

I plopped down into my car and immediately looked in my rear-view mirror to discover that I had chunks of skin missing from my lip. I couldn't see it too well in my car, so I left the salon and drove home. Upon further inspection, I was left with three, painful dark spots, two of them quite prominent. I was better off never having set foot in the salon and trying to bring the Frida Kahlo look back in style.

I hate having to confront somebody or a company for wronging me. Normally I put my husband up to the task, because it makes me so uncomfortable, but I knew that wouldn't quite work in this situation. It wasn't like he could show them his lip. I asked people what they thought I should do, hoping that someone would say, "Just let bygones be bygones." But that didn't happen. The consensus seemed to be that I needed to tell In Spa.

So, I decided I needed to quit making this so difficult in my head. All I truly needed to ask was a simple question, "What can you do for me?"

And by god, it worked! First of all, the manager and all of the estheticians were extremely apologetic. They bought me a tube of Aquaphor to help speed the healing process, and gave me some other basic care tips.  But that wasn't the end of it; they proceeded to give me a full refund for the botched wax job, a $20 gift card, and booked me for a free facial. How was that for customer service?

Not once did I have to plead my case. Not once did I have to yell or get mean. They just went above and beyond after seeing the atrocity on my face. In other words, my upper lip did the speaking for me.

My lip will take some time to heal, and I was instructed not to wax that area for at least six months to give my skin time to thicken. But they exceeded my expectations for handling the situation, and in my opinion, more than made up for what happened. They will certainly keep me as a customer, even if I decide to quit waxing my lip (don't worry, I'll find another way. My husband won't have a wife with a caterpillar for a lip).

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but when you ask nicely, sometimes you get what you want and more!