Crazypants

8 May

I painted the damn office.  After only six years in this house, I painted the bedroom that used to belong to The Boy Child, but now holds the computer and one metric ass ton of crap.  It was a Chinese lacquer red. You know how you always read in home magazines that painting a small room (this one is about 10×10) a deep color can actually open the space up or some such nonsense? Let me set you straight: MAGAZINES LIE.  Because it was semi-gloss, it was a little like trying to work inside a liver or possibly a spleen.  It is now a blue-green that was supposed to be more green than blue, but is actually more blue than green.  A fact which bothers me not at all because the room IS NOT RED.

I know.  You like a red room.  Your dining room is red.  It was a federal law from the years 1995 to 2007 that all dining rooms be painted red.  I like a red room too.  I like it in someone else’s home, not mine.  A person should not have to pay bills and print out coupons inside a spleen.  It’s too much of a reminder how much the phone bill is leaching from your person.  I should have painted the office the color of a turnip now that I think about it.  “You can’t get blood from a turnip,” is exactly what I say to the Bills as they gather.  They don’t seem to care.

Regardless, the room is now painted and the house is a full 20 degrees cooler and I have a new batch of paint splatters on my jeans which nicely compliment the deep, murky green ones from when I painted the bathroom vanity last summer.  And this brings me to my point.  I consider these my good jeans.

In 2007, about the time people were over their red dining rooms and started painting everything the color of a paper bag, I bought a pair of jeans at Target.  I liked them despite the fact that the zipper was apparently sewn in by a blind, three-toed sloth with no need of a zipper that actually met at the top.  The jeans were quickly repaired with a hair elastic threaded through the zipper pull and run a couple of times around the button.  It is a system that has worked like a charm for five years now.  I have gotten other jeans since then.  Some I picked up for $10 at a Rose’s in my hometown.  Some I spent a ridiculous amount of money for.  None could match the comfort and butt-flattering abilities of my Black Label (Black Label always means it’s fancy) Mossimo jeans.  They have patches in strategic places and I’ve sewn the pockets back on several times because I pull on back pockets of pants by sticking my thumbs in them. I don’t  know why I do this, and didn’t realize I did until I took an afternoon to sew up pockets on every pair of pants I owned with back pockets.

My good jeans are held together with hair elastics and paint. I don’t have to take paint chips with me when looking for fabric for the house.  All I need to do is wear my jeans.  I know these would not qualify as good to anyone else, but no one else has to wear them.  They have a sibling somewhere.  I blew out the back of them, put them somewhere I would remember to go back to them to fix them, and have lost them.  That’s okay.  They wouldn’t remind me what color I painted the guest room.

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2 Responses to “Crazypants”

  1. Gita May 9, 2012 at 11:40 am #

    Yes, but what about your painting SHOES? All those dots and spatters… The groove on the sole from standing on too-thin ladder steps?
    Best painting product ever made: ceiling paint that goes on light pink or blue and turns white when it dries. No more missed spots.
    So, when’s the open house? I’ll bring home baked cherry pie.

    • Susan May 9, 2012 at 1:13 pm #

      And I’ve got a slew of ceilings to paint, too. Y’all come on anytime you want. My door is always open…mainly because it’s probably the next thing to be painted.

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