This past weekend, Atlanta was blessed with the prettiest weather of the summer season. The oppressive humidity and chance of rain we had experienced all week was replaced by clear skies, low 80's and no humidity. It was the perfect time to get out doors.
I called the kids and my good friend, Diva. We decided to picnic at Stone Mountain and then attempt to stay for the laser light show. Stone Mountain is a historical landmark on the east side of town that tourists know for it's granite carving of Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee and Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson. For the locals, it's a place to spend a summer Saturday evening, complete with kids, for only 10 bucks per carload. We decided to meet at Diva's and depart from there.
Now, I've lived in the Atlanta area for seven years and have been to Stone Mountain a handful of times, but I had never driven myself there. Diva's husband, along with my son in law, decided to be the true essence of masculinity and offered to drive. We piled up two wheelie coolers, a soft sided cooler, a handle bag from Panera that was as big as the side of a barn, three kids (two of them under the age of four) and two blankets and headed out. All that was missing was the partridge in the pear tree. Sil needed to stop for beer on the way out, which left Diva's dude as the captain of the ride. While I will be the first to tell you DD is an exceptional artist/musician, I have come to the conclusion that he has no idea how to maneuver around Atlanta. I drive expressways at break neck speed and am familiar with back roads that seemingly take you no where. He drives 60 mph, while listening to obscure music on his iPod. One hour and 10 minutes after we departed the driveway, we arrived at Stone Mountain. This commute is a standard 40 minutes for any one else.
Since we had to park on the lower 40, we strapped on the soft sided cooler, wheelie cooler, Panera bag and Diva's kids to our hips and began our hike. I say hike because once again, we are on a mountain. One third of the way there, I'm panting, my heart is racing and my arm is coming out of the socket from dragging the wheelie cooler behind me. DD is the essence of good humor and begins asking "where are the Sherpa's"? We burst into laughter.
Close to the entrance of the park, we meet up with my family, the other wheelie cooler and brace ourselves for the last hike into the park. Once inside, we grab our piece of real estate, produce enough food and beverage to feed a small army, and settle in for the show. My grandson, hater of all things loud and "boomy" (see post about July 4th) is amazing calm as he plants his bottom in the lap of #2. We watch other people and laser light show. We sing to the music and whisper to each other. We have a wonderful time.
The best part? Before departing the park, we empty the coolers of what has to be 80 pounds of ice and replace it with tired, but happy children. Success!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Do You Remember?
Recently, I had a conversation with a co-worker about trying new and different things. This desire to participate in activities other than the norm was inspired by the fact that I am in a rut of sorts. She and I agreed to do at least one thing per month that was outside our comfort zone, or in my case, my zip code.
So, thanks to Facebook, I was invited to a dinner that included people from my old hometown of Miami. It seems this lovely social network has made it possible to detect, track, stalk and then invite folks who are only being polite, to share a meal. I received my invitation from an old neighbor, that I actually liked, so I agreed to go. I also figured it was mid month and my time to do something new was running out (especially since said co worker went to a museum over the weekend).
My high school years were somewhat successful. I managed to make decent grades in honors classes, I sang in the school chorus and had an occasional boyfriend. I didn't wear braces, wreck my car or get caught skipping school. I considered this acceptable and hoped the other folks that were on the guest list would agree. I scanned the list of invitees and when no arch enemies appeared, I agreed to go. For moral support, I enlisted my sister, Vampgal, and my brother to go with me. In typical fashion, he bailed at the last minute and Vampgal and I were left to fend for ourselves.
We arrived at the home of classmate and were greeted by three lovely women. Instantly, a glass of homemade sangria appeared in my hand and pictures of children, theirs as well as mine, appeared on the table. We exchanged pleasant conversation, an occasional laugh, one or two stories of unemployment and a lot of "do you know what happened to" and "do you remember". The house began to fill with other folks from SRHS, all showing signs of aging with hair that is greying, children that are leaving the nest, waistlines that are expanding and stories of parents that are dying. This group would've never sat at the same lunch table in high school, but here we were, sharing the same table some 30 years later.
The night was uneventful, non threatening and enjoyable. I managed to accomplish my goal for the month and even exchanged phone numbers with a gal that I fully intend to have lunch with. Vampgal survived knowing absolutely no one and my brother didn't miss a thing because the girl he was so interested in catching up with was a no show. Even City-girl, my co-worker, said it counted even though it wasn't as cool as the museum.
Now, what to do next month?
So, thanks to Facebook, I was invited to a dinner that included people from my old hometown of Miami. It seems this lovely social network has made it possible to detect, track, stalk and then invite folks who are only being polite, to share a meal. I received my invitation from an old neighbor, that I actually liked, so I agreed to go. I also figured it was mid month and my time to do something new was running out (especially since said co worker went to a museum over the weekend).
My high school years were somewhat successful. I managed to make decent grades in honors classes, I sang in the school chorus and had an occasional boyfriend. I didn't wear braces, wreck my car or get caught skipping school. I considered this acceptable and hoped the other folks that were on the guest list would agree. I scanned the list of invitees and when no arch enemies appeared, I agreed to go. For moral support, I enlisted my sister, Vampgal, and my brother to go with me. In typical fashion, he bailed at the last minute and Vampgal and I were left to fend for ourselves.
We arrived at the home of classmate and were greeted by three lovely women. Instantly, a glass of homemade sangria appeared in my hand and pictures of children, theirs as well as mine, appeared on the table. We exchanged pleasant conversation, an occasional laugh, one or two stories of unemployment and a lot of "do you know what happened to" and "do you remember". The house began to fill with other folks from SRHS, all showing signs of aging with hair that is greying, children that are leaving the nest, waistlines that are expanding and stories of parents that are dying. This group would've never sat at the same lunch table in high school, but here we were, sharing the same table some 30 years later.
The night was uneventful, non threatening and enjoyable. I managed to accomplish my goal for the month and even exchanged phone numbers with a gal that I fully intend to have lunch with. Vampgal survived knowing absolutely no one and my brother didn't miss a thing because the girl he was so interested in catching up with was a no show. Even City-girl, my co-worker, said it counted even though it wasn't as cool as the museum.
Now, what to do next month?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Life is hard
For those of you that know me beyond my blog, July was a very difficult month for me and my family. My brother-in-law, "Carguy", passed away after a short illness. It was a grueling 10 days of surgeries, ICU, all day and half the night vigils, followed by bursts of hope, silliness, laughter and hospice. Through it all my younger sister, Vampgal, was an incredible example of grace under pressure with a side of you have to be kidding me.
Carguy was 40 and Vampgal 25 when they met and fell in love. Me, I was hardly a fan. I thought he was old (I was 29), a bum (even though he had a successful automotive repair business) and just all around the wrong guy for my sister. When I first caught wind of their relationship, I drove to his place of business and told him to stay away. Thank goodness he didn't listen to me then and hardly listened to me after that.
Carguy was patient with me and Vampgal as we have this twisted sister relationship. (When you add in my other sister, Dance Mom, it only gets more twisted). He survived me, my daughters, my relationship with Sparky, and my moving in with them when I moved to Atlanta in 2002. He taught my girls how to swim, shoot tequila and aim a rifle. He taught us basic car repair and maintenance, patience and the need to take care of ourselves. Unknowingly, he also taught my daughters that they should be cherished by their spouses. This is the lesson that may take years for them to realize but I suspect his leading by example will be forefront in their minds.
Seven years ago, I moved out of Carguy's house and purchased the house around the corner. I always felt drawn to its' quirky layout, small house, big lawn qualities. Maybe I didn't want to be alone in a new city and having Vampgal around the corner was comforting. Hopefully now I can return the favor when Vampgal is feeling alone. Whatever the divine plan is, I know we will approach the hard times with a sense of family, humor and love.
We miss you Carguy. I promise to return to this blog to it's silly, random self but I had to tell everyone about you before I could move on. Pet Earnhardt for us and I'll keep an eye on Vamp. XOXO
Carguy was 40 and Vampgal 25 when they met and fell in love. Me, I was hardly a fan. I thought he was old (I was 29), a bum (even though he had a successful automotive repair business) and just all around the wrong guy for my sister. When I first caught wind of their relationship, I drove to his place of business and told him to stay away. Thank goodness he didn't listen to me then and hardly listened to me after that.
Carguy was patient with me and Vampgal as we have this twisted sister relationship. (When you add in my other sister, Dance Mom, it only gets more twisted). He survived me, my daughters, my relationship with Sparky, and my moving in with them when I moved to Atlanta in 2002. He taught my girls how to swim, shoot tequila and aim a rifle. He taught us basic car repair and maintenance, patience and the need to take care of ourselves. Unknowingly, he also taught my daughters that they should be cherished by their spouses. This is the lesson that may take years for them to realize but I suspect his leading by example will be forefront in their minds.
Seven years ago, I moved out of Carguy's house and purchased the house around the corner. I always felt drawn to its' quirky layout, small house, big lawn qualities. Maybe I didn't want to be alone in a new city and having Vampgal around the corner was comforting. Hopefully now I can return the favor when Vampgal is feeling alone. Whatever the divine plan is, I know we will approach the hard times with a sense of family, humor and love.
We miss you Carguy. I promise to return to this blog to it's silly, random self but I had to tell everyone about you before I could move on. Pet Earnhardt for us and I'll keep an eye on Vamp. XOXO
Friday, July 10, 2009
Rocket's Red Glare
So how did you spend the Fourth of July? Around my house the day can consist of just about anything. From time at the pool, to working on the house, to cookouts, to fireworks, it's usually a pretty fun day. This year was no exception.
By some act of Congress, both of my girls were off of work and available the evening of the 4th so we decided on a bar-be-que, followed by fireworks. My two year old grandson is intrigued by fireworks and will even tell you he likes fireworks, right up until the time it gets dark. So rather than trek to a public fireworks show where there are 1) massive numbers of people 2) a line of cars that can stretch the Grand Canyon 3) too few bathrooms and 4) a panic stricken toddler, we settled on fireworks at home.
Here in Georgia, the good fireworks are illegal so I purchased $ 40 worth of the legal stuff and came home feeling pretty good about myself. Sil (son-in-law) took one look at my purchase and yawned. He wanted to have nothing to do with this lack of fire power so he and daughter #2 took off for Alabama. Three hours and $ 200 later I had enough explosives in my garage to damage any Federal building.
As dusk fell upon my humble abode, I grabbed my "baby grand" and popped in his latest Disney favorite. We opened the blinds so we could see the grandstand that my children had assembled. They took my lawn furniture, cooler, flame thrower and fireworks and set up camp. My neighbors came out to witness this spectacular show as I was listening to the strains of the Aristocats. Ooooo, Ahhhhh - the fireworks had begun.
About 15 minutes into the show, I hear high pitched voices, followed by expletives, men yelling and feet pounding. I see flaming balls of fire coming over the banister of my front porch. About this time my daughters and niece come charging into the house - almost hysterical. It seems that one of the fireworks that Sil purchased became unbalanced and tipped over. As the grass in my neighbors yard (not the neighbors that were watching the spectacular but the neighbor that always calls the police) began to burn Sil and Sidekick run to put it out. As fate would have it, at that time the rouge firework spun and began shooting at my house, my children, my neighbors, our cars and the grandstand. # 2 swears one went between her legs as she was running, Sidekicks' truck was hit, my neighbors had taken cover behind that very same truck, etc., As I step out my front door to access the damage, # 2 yells that one of my lawn chairs is on fire. She extinguishes the fire with a beer, I take a headcount, turn on my garden hose for insurance purposes and retreat to my seat on the sofa. About this time Baby Grand looks at me and tells me he "no likes" fireworks. You know what Jack? I'm not sure I like them anymore either.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sign Here Please
Last week, we had our annual "State of the Union Address" at work. It's really an off campus luncheon with presentations, a meal we don't have to pay for and assigned seating. Not a bad deal as it's only once a year - note the word annual - and the food is good. This year, they even added entertainment. I knew this in advance as I was approached by a co-worker who asked for my participation in having my handwriting analyzed. I thought this could be cool. She gave me a paragraph regarding purple people eaters and monkeys that could read. The only instructions were to copy the paragraph as it was written, in cursive, then to sign my name. Even I can do this.
Now, I have never been one to believe in much outside of a supreme being, God, or what we used to call our Higher Power in recovery. I've never visited a psychic, had my palm read, my future seen in playing cards, or had anyone read my tea leaves, my coffee grinds or my bathtub ring. I met a self proclaimed gypsy once in a 12 step program but that's a topic for another time. I was noncommittal about "Psychic Cindy" and quite honestly didn't know what to expect. As the event broke for lunch, the entertainment began.
Slowly but surely a line of women began to form in front of Psychic Cindy. I was meandering around the event and didn't think much of it, expect to notice the men wanted nothing to do with this experiment, until I saw a co-worker visibly shaken. When asked, she told me that Psychic Cindy mentioned her dear departed brother and reassured her that it was an accident. Hardly the type of thing you expect at a work function. This revelation along with the fact that she accurately guessed about two weddings and one coworkers desire to live in a foreign country made me nervous. What had she seen about me in my handwriting sample? Does my handwriting give link to my idiosyncrasies, my insecurities, my inability to choose paint colors, the fact that at this very moment I could use a glass of wine? I decided to see for myself.
I made it to the front of the line and introduced myself to Psychic Cindy - I really wanted her to guess my name since she's supposed to be "tuned in". Instead, she greeted me and told me she couldn't give me the results of my reading as it was going to be revealed publicly, in front of my co-workers. Holy crap! I swallowed hard, got up and walked away.
Fifteen minutes later she began describing "this person", aka, me to the group. She said I was "indecisive right now and trying to make a major decision but was unable to go forward with it at this time". She also mentioned sneakers, which I had on my feet, that I may visit Florida, I went in May, that I had close family relations and speak to my mother daily, which I do, that I may have new window treatments, I had purchased a new blind six days before this event, that I loved sunny airy spaces and like to have plants around. Have any of you ever seen my backyard? She went on to include that I like music from the 40's, not so much, but that I listen to the radio, which I do, that I may have something new in the bathroom. Does paint count? All in all, she was about 90% accurate, which is pretty darn good from someone who didn't/wouldn't guess my name.
Is there a downside to all of this? Yes. I wanted her to mention that I would soon meet the man of my dreams followed closely by winning the lottery - not necessarily in that order. Much to my dismay, she did not. I hope to remedy this by inviting Cindy to my home where I intend to have a slumber party with my daughters, sisters, mom and few close girlfriends. Maybe if I liquor her up, my future will be brighter!
Now, I have never been one to believe in much outside of a supreme being, God, or what we used to call our Higher Power in recovery. I've never visited a psychic, had my palm read, my future seen in playing cards, or had anyone read my tea leaves, my coffee grinds or my bathtub ring. I met a self proclaimed gypsy once in a 12 step program but that's a topic for another time. I was noncommittal about "Psychic Cindy" and quite honestly didn't know what to expect. As the event broke for lunch, the entertainment began.
Slowly but surely a line of women began to form in front of Psychic Cindy. I was meandering around the event and didn't think much of it, expect to notice the men wanted nothing to do with this experiment, until I saw a co-worker visibly shaken. When asked, she told me that Psychic Cindy mentioned her dear departed brother and reassured her that it was an accident. Hardly the type of thing you expect at a work function. This revelation along with the fact that she accurately guessed about two weddings and one coworkers desire to live in a foreign country made me nervous. What had she seen about me in my handwriting sample? Does my handwriting give link to my idiosyncrasies, my insecurities, my inability to choose paint colors, the fact that at this very moment I could use a glass of wine? I decided to see for myself.
I made it to the front of the line and introduced myself to Psychic Cindy - I really wanted her to guess my name since she's supposed to be "tuned in". Instead, she greeted me and told me she couldn't give me the results of my reading as it was going to be revealed publicly, in front of my co-workers. Holy crap! I swallowed hard, got up and walked away.
Fifteen minutes later she began describing "this person", aka, me to the group. She said I was "indecisive right now and trying to make a major decision but was unable to go forward with it at this time". She also mentioned sneakers, which I had on my feet, that I may visit Florida, I went in May, that I had close family relations and speak to my mother daily, which I do, that I may have new window treatments, I had purchased a new blind six days before this event, that I loved sunny airy spaces and like to have plants around. Have any of you ever seen my backyard? She went on to include that I like music from the 40's, not so much, but that I listen to the radio, which I do, that I may have something new in the bathroom. Does paint count? All in all, she was about 90% accurate, which is pretty darn good from someone who didn't/wouldn't guess my name.
Is there a downside to all of this? Yes. I wanted her to mention that I would soon meet the man of my dreams followed closely by winning the lottery - not necessarily in that order. Much to my dismay, she did not. I hope to remedy this by inviting Cindy to my home where I intend to have a slumber party with my daughters, sisters, mom and few close girlfriends. Maybe if I liquor her up, my future will be brighter!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
How Low Can You Go?
Have you ever had one of those days? I mean a really crappy day? I had one today. Being as it was a Saturday, it was unexpected. Saturdays are meant for meaningful chores that I don't have time to get to during the week like shopping, grilling out, hanging with friends. Not today.
It all started with a wedding. I was supposed to go to a wedding today for a co-worker. However, I had nothing to wear. So, I got up early - my first mistake on Saturday - and went to the mall. It never entered my mind that today was the day before Father's Day. My wonderful dad passed away 3-1/2 years ago and all of the "Dad's Day" displays just depressed me. I already never have a day go by when I don't think of him and seeing all of the goodies for dad just made matters worse. Boy, did that sent the tone for the day.
Back to reason I was shopping. For those of you that know me, I have an interesting figure. My top is at least two sizes larger than my bottom so I NEVER venture into the dress department. With that said, I'm a "separates" type of girl. Right now, my ass is as fat as ever, but it still means shopping in two different departments. My shirts/blouses are from the women's department and my pants/shorts are from the ladies department. To make a very long and discouraging story short, after making 15 rounds from one department to the other, I came home with nothing. The wedding was off. However, I got a really great deal on pillows.
Next came the guilt about RSVP'ing to an event that 1) you didn't attend and 2) all of your co-workers will be raving about on Monday. I consider calling in dead. And for those of you that are curious, for not being Jewish, I do the "guilt" thing really well.
Next came the guilt about the size of my body, followed by how many diets I've tried and failed at over the past 10 years. This was closely followed by the thought that the last time I was at a wedding, I was three years into a relationship I thought would last forever (it didn't, see Mr. Former). Up next was the fact that I haven't been on a date in almost a year. On the heels of that was all of the things I hoped to accomplish when I moved here almost seven years ago. Instead of focusing on the things I have done, I ending up focusing on my failures and shortcomings.
To rid myself of my demons, I headed to the grocery store with #1 and I ended up leaving, in tears. # 1 was patient and blessfully silent on the ride home. She put away the few paltry groceries I managed to buy and I went to bed for the balance of the afternoon. When I awoke, I decided to give myself the balance of the day and evening for my pity party.
Tomorrow, I promise, will be better. I will start yet another diet and put on makeup strictly because it makes me feel better. I will allow a few tears when I wish my dad a happy Father's Day. I will watch the birds land on the feeders spread throughout my back yard and listen to the sound of my grandson laugh. I will call my best friend and be kind to my mom. I will find creative ways to avoid the almost 100 degree heat we are having and I will focus on what's right with me instead of what's wrong. More than anything else, I will promise myself to say "no thank you" the next time I receive an invitation to a wedding.
It all started with a wedding. I was supposed to go to a wedding today for a co-worker. However, I had nothing to wear. So, I got up early - my first mistake on Saturday - and went to the mall. It never entered my mind that today was the day before Father's Day. My wonderful dad passed away 3-1/2 years ago and all of the "Dad's Day" displays just depressed me. I already never have a day go by when I don't think of him and seeing all of the goodies for dad just made matters worse. Boy, did that sent the tone for the day.
Back to reason I was shopping. For those of you that know me, I have an interesting figure. My top is at least two sizes larger than my bottom so I NEVER venture into the dress department. With that said, I'm a "separates" type of girl. Right now, my ass is as fat as ever, but it still means shopping in two different departments. My shirts/blouses are from the women's department and my pants/shorts are from the ladies department. To make a very long and discouraging story short, after making 15 rounds from one department to the other, I came home with nothing. The wedding was off. However, I got a really great deal on pillows.
Next came the guilt about RSVP'ing to an event that 1) you didn't attend and 2) all of your co-workers will be raving about on Monday. I consider calling in dead. And for those of you that are curious, for not being Jewish, I do the "guilt" thing really well.
Next came the guilt about the size of my body, followed by how many diets I've tried and failed at over the past 10 years. This was closely followed by the thought that the last time I was at a wedding, I was three years into a relationship I thought would last forever (it didn't, see Mr. Former). Up next was the fact that I haven't been on a date in almost a year. On the heels of that was all of the things I hoped to accomplish when I moved here almost seven years ago. Instead of focusing on the things I have done, I ending up focusing on my failures and shortcomings.
To rid myself of my demons, I headed to the grocery store with #1 and I ended up leaving, in tears. # 1 was patient and blessfully silent on the ride home. She put away the few paltry groceries I managed to buy and I went to bed for the balance of the afternoon. When I awoke, I decided to give myself the balance of the day and evening for my pity party.
Tomorrow, I promise, will be better. I will start yet another diet and put on makeup strictly because it makes me feel better. I will allow a few tears when I wish my dad a happy Father's Day. I will watch the birds land on the feeders spread throughout my back yard and listen to the sound of my grandson laugh. I will call my best friend and be kind to my mom. I will find creative ways to avoid the almost 100 degree heat we are having and I will focus on what's right with me instead of what's wrong. More than anything else, I will promise myself to say "no thank you" the next time I receive an invitation to a wedding.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Painted into a Corner
So, it's that time again. Every time I begin to get restless, I work on my house. So far this year I have painted my kitchen cabinets (I couldn't afford new ones), had laminate flooring installed in some common areas, and planted what feels like one thousand bulbs - most of which have been eaten by squirrels. I've decided my next project will be painting the downstairs powder room, along with my bedroom. My heart is already beginning to race.
You see, it's not the mechanics of painting that stresses me out. It's choosing the color. My dad was a 30+ year employee of Benjamin Moore Paint, my brother has his own custom interior painting business and I even worked at a paint store in my youth. All of this life experience means nothing when it comes to picking out a color. In fact, it is so much more than that.
Case in point, my powder room is a half bath located just off the dining room. The color scheme in the dining room is blue and white. Do I continue the scheme? Do I go in an opposite direction? If I paint it a light color, does it give you the feeling of being in an area twice it's real size? If I paint it a dark color, does it give you the feeling of being in the lavatory on an airplane? What about art work? Will my current bathroom art complete the look or will I be forced, once again, to find something pleasing to look at while attending to business? I'm beginning to sweat.
When I bought my house in 2002, the master bathroom was a masculine gray. Within a month, it was painted a screaming yellow canary color. Can you say "I'm awake"? The bedroom itself was a non-discript off white. I elected to go with a soft pink, as if to add an exclamation point that my years with Sparky were officially over. It was the first girlie bedroom I had it 20 years. Now, I'm over the pink and looking for something else. So, I stopped by the paint store.
Now, I'm surrounded by color samples with names such as the following: "Ray of Hope" - if I don't choose this color, am I hopeless? "Minty Green" - makes me think of mouthwash. "Summer Dragonfly" - I can hear the buzzing already. "Lemon Whip" - I'll whip your ass. "Captured Moment" - I'm stuck in here. "Vintage Merlot" - did someone mention wine? Last but not least, there's "Rivers Edge" - screw it, I'm jumping in.
I'm not sure why choosing a color is as difficult as choosing a spouse, but it is, at least for me. The good news is if I make a mistake, it can be fixed with $100 and a weekend.
You see, it's not the mechanics of painting that stresses me out. It's choosing the color. My dad was a 30+ year employee of Benjamin Moore Paint, my brother has his own custom interior painting business and I even worked at a paint store in my youth. All of this life experience means nothing when it comes to picking out a color. In fact, it is so much more than that.
Case in point, my powder room is a half bath located just off the dining room. The color scheme in the dining room is blue and white. Do I continue the scheme? Do I go in an opposite direction? If I paint it a light color, does it give you the feeling of being in an area twice it's real size? If I paint it a dark color, does it give you the feeling of being in the lavatory on an airplane? What about art work? Will my current bathroom art complete the look or will I be forced, once again, to find something pleasing to look at while attending to business? I'm beginning to sweat.
When I bought my house in 2002, the master bathroom was a masculine gray. Within a month, it was painted a screaming yellow canary color. Can you say "I'm awake"? The bedroom itself was a non-discript off white. I elected to go with a soft pink, as if to add an exclamation point that my years with Sparky were officially over. It was the first girlie bedroom I had it 20 years. Now, I'm over the pink and looking for something else. So, I stopped by the paint store.
Now, I'm surrounded by color samples with names such as the following: "Ray of Hope" - if I don't choose this color, am I hopeless? "Minty Green" - makes me think of mouthwash. "Summer Dragonfly" - I can hear the buzzing already. "Lemon Whip" - I'll whip your ass. "Captured Moment" - I'm stuck in here. "Vintage Merlot" - did someone mention wine? Last but not least, there's "Rivers Edge" - screw it, I'm jumping in.
I'm not sure why choosing a color is as difficult as choosing a spouse, but it is, at least for me. The good news is if I make a mistake, it can be fixed with $100 and a weekend.
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