What Goes Up, Must Come Down

The worst part of being sick? Getting shipped off to the guest room. 

Sure, it's a fine place to lay your head. But there's nothing quite like staring at a bare 15 foot wall, from your deathbed, to make you realize, cover your ears children, this IS the bastard room of the house. 

Luckily, a little sprucing can go a long way.

Like new curtains. Check. $8 for two silk and linen panels from Building 19. 

And a new bench. Check. $40 for a chrome and white number on consignment.

And some Target plates framed in Ikea shadow boxes already on hand. 

Sensing a pattern here? Same as it ever was. Budget. Cheap. Value.

And wallpaper. To cover one wall. Roughly 100 square feet. An accent piece.

Price tag? $600. 

$600!

That's my cable bill for six months. My electric bill for a year. Two round trip tickets to fly to visit my girl in New Orleans. Pardon me, but I actually think it would be cheaper to glue one dollar bills directly to the wall instead.

The greater problem? I may, or may not, have done a bit of redecorating in my childhood room back in the day. And Andre may or may not remember the interesting texture I managed to leave behind, courtesy of my mad skills with a wallpaper stripper and a putty knife. 

I was self-taught after all.

Yes, my long-ago antics may have been the driving force behind our initial interest in temporary wallpaper that works like a giant sticker. No steamer required for removal. But, the accompanying sticker shock, not only cured our intrigue, but created a black op situation for me, as I went deep inside eBay to uncover those elusive discontinued patterns of traditional roll and paste, that I knew had to be out there.

Somewhere.

And oh, they were. Andre doesn't call me hound dog for nothing. Total cost? With shipping, less than $50. With our grand savings, naturally, we'll be fronting enough cash to hire a pro to install the wallpaper.

But me thinks the money would be better spent, on that day far, far in the future, when what went up, must come down.

The Seven Stages of DIY. Or Recovery for the Non-Crafter

My name is Dawn. 

I am NOT crafty.

I didn't say I wasn't creative. I am a fantastic bow maker, after all. But whipping up something from scratch a la Martha Stewart? So not my forte. That's why I've honed my skills as a bargain huntress. So I can buy the stuff that I covet. Ready-made.

But sometimes my wants, the retail clearance calendar and my current cash flow are a bit out of sych. And I start living in a fantasy world. One where funky holiday wreaths can be constructed cheaply and perfectly. Using only my hands.

Fortunately, this experience, as most things in life, has become yet another lesson just waiting to be learned. Mmm-hmm. My take-away? Much like grief, there are seven stages of DIY (Do It Yourself? Nope. That's Don't Irritate Yourself), ready and waiting for the non-crafter. And, oddly enough, I've survived them all. Again.

 

Stage One:  Inspiration

Behold exhibit A


And exhibit B

 

Amazing right? And whipped up last weekend, in the basement, by my husband. Next time this happens, I need to say aloud: Dude has an art degree. Not: Oh yeah. Let the crafting competition begin. Because someone will lose. Handsomely.

 

Stage Two:  Excitement

Crafty bloggers. You suck. I'm not hating on your amazing abilities. I'm calling you out for managing to make your projects look completely effortless. For everyone. That dollar store Christmas ball wire wreath you were pimping out for $6 and boasting that it would only take half an hour to complete? I excitedly bought in. Sucka. 

 

Stage Three:  Smugness

Oh, I got this. Sure, the final cost may have risen to $20, thanks to the lingerie bags, bubble envelopes and other assorted impulsive crap I 'needed' for a buck apiece. But, not only do I have all the materials on hand, courtesy of my no shame act of cracking into a stock box or two, but I also showcased my mad improvisational skills. Indeed. Watch as I magically transform 15 feet of garland into one illusive wire hanger. 

 

Stage Four:  Pride

Granted it may be 4:30am (don't ask) and I'm keeping the goldfish awake, but I've managed to not only go all MacGyver on the plastic garland, ripping it down to its base wire, but successfully completed the tedious ornament stringing process. All before the sun came up. I rocked. All the way back to bed.

 

Stage Five:  WTF

One step left. Secure the sucker. And that's when things start to go drastically wrong. An easy five minute job, ha-HA, turns into an hour of intense irritation. I am ready to smash all of this shiny red goodness with one World Wresting two footed stomp. Go on. Try me. 

 

Stage Six:  Recovery

Art Degree husband saves the day (and wreath) by casually whipping out a glue gun. Fa-la-la-la-la. I hate him. 

 

Stage Seven:  Acceptance

AKA: The Non-Crafters Prayer. Dear Crafting: I accept that I am a perfectionist, as well as creatively impatient. I accept that these characteristics do not bode well for crafting. Also: I accept that I do not enjoy crafting. At all. Ever. In fact, I'd rather pull out my toenails one by one. But most of all, I accept that there is a distinct danger of relapse...