Monthly Archives: April 2012

The Great Paint Debacle of 2011

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Last summer, about a year after moving into my house, I decided it was time to do some painting.  The boring kind, not the Picasso kind.  I thought it would be a breeze.  Because of all the excitement about my first big home project, I had a lapse in brain function and forgot that I was a perfectionist.  I would soon be reminded of that fact.

The lucky rooms receiving make-overs would be the kitchen and connected living room.  The first order of business was to pick a color.  Child’s play, I thought.  Oh me, woman of little intelligence.  I went to my local Home Depot to begin looking through colors.  I had to pick just one out of a sea of probably hundreds, if not more.  Ok, no big deal.  After perusing the stacks of colors for probably an hour, I walked out of the store with two handfuls of color sample cards.  When I got home, I made notes on each card, quickly developing a color-eliminating system that I was quite proud of.  It was like The Bachelor for paint.  Eventually I settled on about 4 colors that I wanted to test, gave them each a rose and made my way back to HD to pick up the samples.

Soon after, I had slapped each color on the kitchen wall and watched them dry.  It’s every bit as exciting as they say.  After staring at the wall for a while, I realized I had no idea what I was doing.  I might as well have been picking players in the NFL draft.  Clueless.  I’d probably employ the “eenie meenie miney moe” method and men everywhere would become suicidal as football season approached.

Anyway, the colors looked nothing like I had hoped.  Not even close.  I agonized over my color cards, selected a few more colors, headed back to HD, picked up those samples and tried again.  Repeat about 5 times.  

When I called my sister to ask for her color advice and told her how much money I had spent on samples, I heard an audible gasp.  That was followed by our typical conversation in which one personality extreme (super laid back) tells the opposite personality extreme (not quite as laid back) that she’s being a perfectionist.  I told her I can’t help it and politely hung up so that I could fetch more samples and continue to abuse my bank account.   

In the midst of all this, I asked my dad to come over to help me narrow down the choices.  When he walked in and saw all the colors on the wall, he burst into laughter.  My previously never-been-painted white walls looked like patchwork.

Oh, so many colors.

He commented that most people only need a few samples before settling on a color.  Yeah, most people.  Perfectionism:  it’s a curse.  All in, I had come home with 25 samples.   

...and more colors. Please, make it stop!

Just as I thought I had settled on a color, my dad would ever so kindly tell me I was making a huge mistake. Oh, the agony!

There’s actually more to this story.  Before I started this painting adventure, my dad had made a comment to myself and the rest of my family in which he called me “Beige Carly.”  And everyone laughed.  Except me.  You see, I’ve always been the cautious one in my family.  Everyone was convinced I would pick the most boring color possible.  Truthfully, I probably would have had it not been for that comment.  I’m surprised I didn’t paint the whole house neon green for the sake of proving them wrong.

Anyway, I finally picked a color and loved it.  This was one that my dad was certain was a poor choice.  I didn’t care, I had to follow my heart.  I bought my first gallon and went to town.  After discovering the painstaking process of laying down plastic sheeting and learning to tape it down well, I covered the wall in the chosen color.  And I hated it.  Hated it.  And I thought my arms were going to fall off.  It was all just too much.  I went to bed, hoping to wake up to see it in a new light in the morning. 

I woke up and it was still awful.  Blast!  After making a few more trips to HD, I found a toned-down version of color #1 and loved it.

After hours of taping everything off, the painting eventually started.  My dad came to help and after hours and hours of laboring, I thought I had discovered the cure for obesity (assuming obese people are willing to paint).  What tiring work.  From that moment on, I stopped to give a hug to every manual laborer I passed on the street.*

When running short on paint stirring sticks, use a pipe.

I painted on and off for about a week.  I was on vacation from work, so this was all-day business, not just evening work.  I wasn’t sure it was ever going to end.  After removing the tape from the tops and bottoms of the walls, I decided it just wasn’t good enough.  That’s when I went back with a little baby brush and repainted around the trim with more care than I ever thought myself capable of.  I didn’t think I would ever make it off that ladder, especially after 2-3 coats in most places.  But, finally I did, and I love the color.  It was worth it, but I don’t think I can ever move houses after all that work.

The final product. Sometimes it looks gray, sometimes it looks purple. If you don't like it, don't tell me.

You may be wondering why I decided to tell this story after all this time.  Well, after a long break from painting, I’ve decided to tackle my office.  And it will be beige.  Yes, Beige Carly is sticking to her roots this time around.  I don’t care what anybody thinks either.  Beige is simple and I love simple.  And you better believe I won’t stop until it’s perfect.

*This is a blatant lie.

A Spam Compliment is Just as Good as a Real Compliment, Right?

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One of the most rewarding parts of the whole blogging thing is receiving positive feedback, both from real people and internet people.  I’ve never been one to turn down a compliment (unless of course it’s in shout form and comes with an offensive whistle).  So, as you might guess, I’m happy to accept all forms of blog related compliments.  Even computer generated ones.

There’s a nifty feature on the blogging platform I use that sorts out spam comments for you.  I hadn’t perused the filtered out comments until recently.  This is my greatest blogging regret to date.  Why?  Because some of the comments are priceless.  Unfortunately, I can’t go back and see the old ones that have been deleted by the system.  Apparently there have been 984 spam comments caught since I started the blog.  That’s blog material down the drain, you guys!  Bummer.  Also, sorry to anyone who may have left a legitimate comment that got swept into the spam category.  It wasn’t my fault.  Honest.

Those are not my hands.

Like I do with the search terms, I’ve selected my favorite comments to share with you.  I’ve added commentary and also specified which post each comment relates to.

On The Kenny Prank:  “Thank you for making the honest attempt to explain this. I feel very strong about it and want to be told more. If it’s OK, as you attain more extensive knowledge, could you thoughts adding extra posts very similar to this one with more information? It would be extremely helpful and useful for me and my colleagues.”  If it’s OK, could you thoughts proofreading your spam comments before mass-posting them? 

On My Date with Prince Charming:  “Holy conscie data batman. Lol!”  How funny!  That’s exactly what I said!    

On the About page:  “Me and this artlice, sitting in a tree, L-E-A-R-N-I-N-G!”  First of all, this isn’t an article (or an artlice).  Second of all, that is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard.  Everyone knows you can only do that with a word that has 7 letters.

On Is Magnum, P.I. my Father?  An Investigation by Carly, P.I.:   “Thanks for writing such an easy-to-udenrstnad article on this topic.”  You’re welcome.  At first I was going to make it all scientificy and stuff, but then changed my mind at the last minute.  After all, nobody wants to read yet another article about Tom Selleck that’s over their head.  By the way, is “udenrstnad” a city in the Middle East? 

On Conversations with a 500 Year-old: Part 1:  “On a regular basis check your pc’s total technique. I enjoy to run reads right away since they decrease your personal computer and could acquire some time. Only if section of your personal computer program seems to be infected, you can check your imagine part merely. If you’re employing a free plan, make sure that that eliminates the malware it has determined. Some no cost applications may recognize the threats but need find the put in purchase for this to take out chlamydia. I believe these programs should be erased as well as replaced by applications which may have entire functionality.”  Whoa, whoa, whoa!  I knew computers could get viruses, but…chlamydia??  What is this world coming to??  I’ll give my computer a stern talking to tonight about its unsafe practices.  Please tell me how to purchase the anti-biotic software to cure this horrible disease.

On the About page:  “I’m impressed by your writing. Are you a professional or just very knolwegdealbe?”  Oh, you are too kind!  While I’d like to say I’m a professional writer, I am not.  Also, while I’d like to say I’m knolwegdealbe, I can’t even pronounce it. 

On Is Magnum, P.I. my Father?  An Investigation by Carly, P.I.:  “Your anwesr shows real intelligence.”  Thank you.  I’ve always claimed to be intelligent, but have never really believed it until just now.  This proves that the best way to demonstrate ones intelligence is to write about how their father once looked like a celebrity.  I knew I should have put that in my Harvard application.

On the About page:  “I am a cistosnent reader of your blog! I like to read about the LO’s and momma’s I know. I think it is fun to hear what others are up to and see pics. Haha okay I probably sound like a stalker but I swear I am not!”  What’s a “LO?”  Do you mean “momma” literally?  I’m not a momma (not to a human anyway).  And I don’t know you.  There aren’t any pics on this page.  Yes, you sound like a stalker and I am terrified.  Seriously though, what’s a “LO?”

On My Date with Prince Charming: “This is teelatsss, but brilliant!”  How dare you!  And thank you…

On The Kenny Prank:  “I was more than happy to seek out this web-site. I wished to thanks to your time for this excellent learn!! I undoubtedly enjoying each little bit of it and I’ve you bookmarked to check out new stuff you weblog post.”  You are so welcome for the excellent learn.  I try my best to learn people, especially when it comes to pranking.  I’ll continue to weblog post as long as you continue to undoubtedly spam me.

Embracing the Brace Face

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This past Sunday, my niece Reese informed me that she would be getting braces today.  At first I felt sorry for her.  I knew that such an event could be terribly traumatizing for a girl nearing middle school.  But before I could feel those feelings, I was assured that she was actually excited.  Did I say excited?  I meant thrilled.  Yes, a person who enjoys wearing metal on their teeth.  I attribute her enthusiasm to her young age.  At 10 years old, she’s not yet in the awkward years and doesn’t see such a thing as cause for an emotional breakdown.  The even crazier part is that she’s already had braces before and she’s still looking forward to it.  Kids these days…

All of the talk about braces got me reminiscing about my years in teeth shackles.  Braces and I go way back.  Like Reese, I endured two rounds of orthodontia.  The first time was in 3rd grade to correct an overbite, which I’m sure was just the cutest.  The second time was in my teen years.  I’m suddenly wondering what the purpose was that time.  I guess my parents were looking for a way to unload some spare cash.  Not that I’m not grateful.  I am.  Here’s a picture of the teeth in question, present day:

These teeth have been through a lot.

Let’s rewind to that first time in braces.  It was bad.  Why, you ask?  Because it wasn’t just braces.  Oh me, oh my.  No, it was so much more.  To go along with my attractive new braces, I got, ahem, headgear.  Yeah, yeah, yeah…have a good laugh.  Are you done?  Good.  Yes, the girl with curly hair and glasses was blessed with both braces and headgear all at once.  I know what you’re thinking- “That Carly is such a whiner!  There are way worse things to worry about than a little embarrassment!”  Let’s disregard the aesthetic aspect for a moment and discuss the physical agony involved.

I believe I have a high tolerance for pain.  I don’t think I was born with it.  It developed over time, thanks to two main contributing factors.  First, I was forced to endure the pain that came with having a rat’s nest for a head of hair.  My mom would have to brush through tangles that only Satan could create.  It was a hard time for all involved.  There were tears, followed by a young girl wishing for straight hair.  Rinse and repeat that for about 10 years.  Second, there was the headgear.  If you’re not familiar, this is a device that wraps around one’s head.  It has little metal hooks on the outside that attach to little metal hooks that have been glued to your teeth.  Now, the purpose of the headgear is to move your jaw or your teeth (or something) in a way that normal braces cannot.  To make sure you get your money’s worth, the headgear is adjusted to ensure your face is rapidly moved in the most excrutiating way possible, just before you reach your absolute limit.  And this happens every time you put the thing on.  Perhaps I just had a bad experience, but if a new form of physical punishment is ever needed, look no further.  This will do the trick.  Seriously, it was awful.  My one saving grace was that I only had to wear it at home.  Thank. Goodness.

Oh, but we’re not done.  Following the braces and the headgear, I received a special retainer.  Nope, I couldn’t have just any ol’ retainer.  I got a “bionator.”  I can’t even type that without picturing Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Anyway, this was a massive retainer, designed to take up every last square centimeter of my mouth.  As I recall, I couldn’t even talk with that thing in.  I can remember what it looked like.  I can remember what the plastic tasted like.  More profoundly, I can remember the sound of my brother and sister taunting me.  Did I mention neither of them were born with freak teeth?  Oh, wait, neither was I.  Remember…this was all for my bite.  My teeth weren’t even crooked!  Oh, the injustice.

Lucky for me, I was a good little girl and did everything my orthodontists told me to and have (kind of) straight teeth today.  Lucky for you, I found a picture of the headgear.  Enjoy.  I have to go put it my retainer.

Torture in its purest form.