Design – Page 2 – Yellow Brick Missives

May 31, 2013

Penned Out Frustration

You know that suggested coping mechanism of writing a letter to someone who’s slighted you, then burning it?

So you don’t look back and regret it.

So you realize that it doesn’t really matter that much.

So you can just let unbridled anger scribble out through your pen’s tip onto paper rather than through your key’s jagged edge into the side of their car.

Well, here at Yellow Brick Missives, I’m all about setting the missives free. Because some people need to know that their antics haven’t gone unnoticed.

That there’s at least one person who can see right through their thinly-veiled bullshit, and have no problem calling them out on it.

***

Now, y’all know that I’m pretty good about letting people know that they’ve been asshats. Like McNutterpants. Or that dynamic duo, Precious and Sir-Drinks-a-Lot.

But since moving to California, I’ve been trying to let that whole zen, let-it-go mentality sink in–coat my neurotic mind like a cucumber mask.

Recently, though, that mask is cracking. And it’s not because of the California sun.

A little fissure broke through when we went to buy new sheets, which ended with me penning this little epistle:

Hello,

My partner and I visited the Restoration Hardware location at 8772 Beverly Blvd West Hollywood, CA 90048 on 5/11/13 to purchase bedding.

Not only were most members of the floor/sales staff rude and dismissive, but it took us nearly an hour and a half from start to finish due to lack of assistance and faulty registers (I was told my card was declined–and was given that “Oh, you’ve reached your limit” look from other staffers–despite the fact that my partner and I heard another member of the sales staff tell our sales staffer that we would have to go downstairs to process card payments, because the machine upstairs did not work).

My partner and I knew exactly what we wanted when we got there, and couldn’t believe how dismissive the sales staff acted–perhaps because we were wearing tee shirts and jeans and we didn’t present as money-makers to them? The service was so horrendous that my partner had to corner a sales associate (after being repeatedly dismissed by others, each of whom called into their headset for someone else), and told her that if we were not helped, we would take our money elsewhere.

Despite the fact that we had to wait for so long, the newly-hired associate who helped us was very polite and tried her best to work within an obviously flawed system to assist us. Her name was — and her employee number is —. She was incredibly apologetic for our wait and the nicest associate with whom we dealt. If the sales associates who snubbed us–four of whom we passed by on our way to the register downstairs–acted as professionally as she did, our experience would have been quite different. Since the four were carousing around the iced-tea counter, I can only assume they had *just* finished with all of their more important “clients.”

On another note, I have never seen such inefficient payment areas in my life: closet-sized register checkouts where patrons have to cram in alongside the associates? Ridiculous.

I am a very easy-going person, as is my partner. We usually go with the flow; but this was the worst shopping experience I have had since moving to Los Angeles. I advise some serious sales associate review if you hope to retain a customer base. In the future, my partner and I will not revisit this particular location, and will think twice about returning to Restoration Hardware for our household needs.

Good day.

And the rest of what remained of that flaky mask blew off yesterday, after I read an email from my former slumlord–we’ll call him Prick. Prick informed me that JackOff, the closeted resident manager who lives in the disgusting basement unit, informed him that I left the apartment in complete disarray. Not only that, but my apparent lack of care for the property would cost Prick nearly $1100 to repair. But out of the kindness of his heart, Prick just plans to withhold my entire security deposit and “call it even.”

Now, I’m all about transparency. Which is why I sent this back to the both of them:

Hi Prick and JackOff,

To write that I’m floored by this apartment assessment would be a vast understatement; however, I appreciate your straight-forwardness. Clearly, I never would have entertained the idea of receiving or requesting a partial security deposit reimbursement if I felt I’d left the apartment in worse shape than that in which I found it. (And since I’m a Historic Preservationist by profession, I think I have enough background to support my position.) While I don’t expect anything in return, I’d like to address a few points JackOff made.

(1) Paint/Re-painting. While I do not deny having “spot-removed” paint that had been flaking off (probably heat-induced, especially during the summer when the apartment inside often exceeded 80 degrees even with the A/C units on), I did not do this to intentionally deface the
apartment–merely to stave-off constantly sweeping up paint chips. While this unintentional “antique” treatment may not be desired by future tenants, the current tenant actually mentioned that he liked it, as did others touring the apartment. Moreover, a professional paint job would entail stripping off these layers of paint for the new paint to better adhere to the trim, making the temporary appearance–especially since there’s a locked-in tenant now–a moot point. I think the fact that I re-painted the balcony and replaced and painted the front railing collectively speak to the fact that, during my time on Park Ave, I was interested in the longitudinal longevity of the entire home.
Upon my move-in, the interior walls and trim of the apartment were pock-marked with nail holes, former (discolored) patches, badly patched plaster cracks, gouged-out plaster (which I in-filled), and plywood patches over exposed lathe. I patched all holes I could–including those that were not of my making–and inquired about
re-painting the interior in 2011, but was told not to. Additionally, since we agreed with the current tenant that the apartment was being rented “as-is,” I assumed all parties involved knew what that meant apartment-wise.

(2) The stove. As I have mentioned in our previous correspondence, I had to completely overhaul the stove to make it usable–removing a mouse nest (I’m not kidding), replacing the drip pans, scraping the stove inside and out, treating rust spots inside it, and cleaning underneath the entire unit (where there was broken glass, cardboard, and part of a pizza box)–rather than requesting a replacement. Since the stove appears to be from the 70’s, I cleaned the deep-caked grease stains as best as I could with professional cleaning agents, after move-in and upon move-out. I can’t fathom that a stove from the 70’s could be expected to remain spotless after multiple tenants.

On another note, the refrigerator was lined with black mold, which I also cleaned. The bathroom tile and toilet interior were caked with urine, pubic hair, and general scum, all of which I cleaned at my expense.

I cared for the apartment as I would my own home, as is evidenced by the fact that 117 B was featured on an internationally known design website twice, and I installed (and left) a $200 A/C unit to better regulate the apartment’s temperature to avoid mold growth, paint-flaking, and other problems. Not only that, but I’ve never heard any negative
commentary from any visitors; on the contrary, I always received glowing praise–including from some of the apartment’s past tenants and from you when you visited (the apartment looks exactly as it did when you complemented me on how “nice” it looked). Countless visitors exclaimed that, judging from the neglected facade, they would never have imagined the building to have such a well-maintained, character-rich apartment inside.

While I could send you countless before/after photos of everything I’ve mentioned above (we took plenty of photos), and the improvements I made, and the condition of the apartment when I took over, I’ll refrain–as I will from recommending any of your properties to friends
and colleagues.

JackOff, on a personal note, I’m incredibly disappointed. You know the state the apartment was in when I moved in (unless you never performed a walk-thru), and the state it was in when we left. I’m not sure what your motivation is, but I think–especially considering the good relationship I thought we had–this assessment is a flagrant, hurtful lie.

If I was a landlord, I’d be thrilled to see my property look as good as this.

Good day,

Matt

Honestly, I think letting the asshats have it is even more cathartic than watching a letter’s fiery demise. Of course, strategy is essential, as is wording. Because you have to have some semblance of tact when sealing a note with kisses and bitch sprinkles.

Still, being honest and forthright mean more to me than any note I could ever write, whether sent or not. Because even sour experiences embolden me, give me a little confidence to keep opening my yap whenever someone needs to hear the truth.

Chances are, Prick and JackOff will continue being asshats; after all, it’s worked this long.

But who knows.

They may just learn a little something, too.

Like never cross a scrappy gay.

Because this kitty has claws.

May 21, 2013May 22, 2013

Between the Sheets

Y’all remember when the amazing Katie of Domestiphobia came by and did an Apartment Therapy photoshoot of our beloved Raleigh apartment?

(If you didn’t, CHECK IT OUT. Now. Seriously.)

Well, the biggest embarrassment we listed has now been addressed.

Y’all can go back to your lives. (You’re welcome.)

Because, now, we have nice sheets.

Sheets?

Yes, sheets!

***

Sheets are very important.

You should have a good relationship with your sheets.

Because they know you.

They really know you.

*Creepy giggles*

And yet, we don’t give’em their due.

I certainly didn’t. Which is why I had black sateen sheets.

(I WAS MISUNDERSTOOD AND LONELY. Gah!)

But, kittens.

The lengths we went to get some nice, ungodly expensive sheets were, well, ungodly.

***

It all started at the West Hollywood Restoration Hardware.

I know what you’re thinking.

Cliche!

First World problems!

And you’re right.

But we’d been eyeing these sheets for months and months online, and had told ourselves that we’d get them if we made it out to California. So we sort of had to get them or we’d really have failed ourselves, and we can’t do that, right?

Right.

So, we were ready to drop some serious money for some serious bedding.

We walked in and I assumed we’d be attended to.

Not only were we completely snubbed by the headset-wearing, snobbish poseur-employees, but we couldn’t even figure out where in the hell to find the actual bed sheets.

I mean, I get it. These folks work in a nice place. They have a certain clientele they cater to. And I guess tee shirt-wearing guys like us don’t fit that bill.

But you know what? The pregnant lady who came in 50 minutes after us, who kept demanding to see someone about her immediate need for bath towels in some god-awful baby poo brown, shouldn’t trump the two mo’s desperately trying to politely flag down an associate.

This is where Andy’s no-nonsense New York approach totally won out. After he cornered a newbie (bless her heart) and told her that we were about to walk out, and how that might be bad because she’d probably get a really nice commission, we suddenly got helped!

(Y’all, it was like watching a lion go after a baby gazelle. I was so proud!)

Nearly an hour after the absurdity commenced, we walked down this ridiculously dramatic staircase to the register, past an oddly placed iced tea station where one of the flakes that shrugged us off sat sipping and laughing with two coworkers.

What I really wanted to do was slap the tea out of her hand, scream “THAT SHIT AIN’T REAL ICED TEA!” and sashay away.

But I smiled anyway. Because that biznitch didn’t get the sale.

Now, we both had misgivings about dropping substantial money on sheets.

But we did.

And you know what?

They’re totally worth it.

They’re comfy.

They breathe.

They look nice.

They look adult. (Not that kind of ‘adult.’)

And I’m okay with that.

Because you have to love what surrounds you.

And since our living space has been downsized by nearly 700 square feet, we definitely have to pick and choose wisely what stays and what gets stored.

So, there you have it.

Love your sheets.

Roll around in them.

Give’em some love.

Wait.

Er.

No.

[Yes.]

April 3, 2013

Recession Rubric for Recouped Rubels

Alright, so I absolutely adore alliteration.

Almost as much as I love coffee.

Speaking of coffee. As I was grinding a bag of coffee beans with my great-grandparents’ cast iron mortar and pestle this morning, I started thinking about all of the cost-saving measures Andy and I have implemented since my foray into unemployment.

(Like, say, salvaging the cast iron mortar and pestle instead of buying a new one.)

And since I’m a giver, I’ve decided to gift you with a short list of how you can cut costs, too. Even if you’re employed. (Show off.)

(1) Cull the Fat.

Y’all may remember that, immediately after our cross country road trip, we culled the bejesus out of our apartment.

(With a little help from Grey Goose.)

We ended up pulling out so much stuff that we devoted two weekends, and a few weekdays, to shedding it. But you know what? Having our apartment in complete disarray was worth the outcome: a lighter, brighter apartment. Which got its face-lift right before its second feature on Apartment Therapy.

(2) Cull More.

Right when you think you’ve gone through every closet, combed through all of your books, you realize that, while beautiful, you don’t really use that vase.

And those piles of books you’ve been wanting to read for years should go to people who will actually enjoy them. And yes, even though you like a drink on occasion, you don’t need all of those glasses. Keep it simple.

(3) The Great Pantry Cleanse.

No, this doesn’t involve copious amounts of paprika and prune juice. But I do recommend doing this while humming or playing Eminem’s “Cleanin’ Out My Closet.” Just because.

We all have that partially used bottle of soy sauce for that stir fry we made last year (what?), or those dried beans that should really be cooked instead of sitting in that cool pottery canister.

And don’t get me started on what’s in the freezer–the vegetables you couldn’t eat but refused to throw away, the 10 or so pounds of venison from Alabama. You know, the usual stuff.

Well, kittens. It’s time to get your creative juices flowing. Because it’ll surprise you how long you can last on what you have in your house. Sure, you may have to run to the store for one random ingredient. But you’ll be amazed at how awesome the stuff that’s been sitting around can taste with a bit more effort than what you usually cook.

By the time I took stock of everything we had, I realized we were totally prepared in case of a zombie apocalypse. Sure, tangerine-chocolate-chip cake isn’t the healthiest alternative, but it’s better than the brains I’d crave after getting mauled by a zombified Harris Teeter cashier.

(4) Wear Your Heart (and Everything) In Your Favorite Sleeves.

Yes, this doesn’t really make sense. But you get the gist: wear what you love and get rid of the rest. I’ve read several articles about culling stuff, mostly because I find it fascinating how far we’ll go to justify what stays and what goes. Especially when it comes to clothes. (Especially bonafide or poseurish clubbin’ clothes. FYI, you’re too old for that shit.)

But one of the best articles detailed a month-long experiment that went something like this: after you wear an article of clothing, turn its hanger around; then, at the end of the month, get rid of everything on the un-turned hangers. (Unless it’s that really expensive job interview outfit.)

Rinse and repeat Steps 1-4 until desired results are achieved.

***

Now, this isn’t an exhaustive list. But as Andy and I figure out our next steps, and become increasingly envious of those who can move everything they have in a 14-foot rental truck, we’re glad to have these mad skills under our belts. Because, regardless of where we end up or how much money we make, we’re still going to implement these lessons.

Why not?

Sometimes a simpler life is the way to go.

Because as amazingly bright as our material possessions shine, they can never trump the glow we get from unshackling ourselves from the past to take steps toward a lighter future.

From realizing how little we need to carry on our journey.

March 14, 2013March 14, 2013

An Honest Cover Letter

We’ve all had horrible bosses.

Experienced horrible workplaces.

Tried to subvert our desires to burn the building down, the glowing embers illuminating a shadowed form clutching their precious red stapler.

***

Rarely do we actually get to tell our bosses exactly what we think without the threat of being fired, being blacklisted by other potential employers, or being denied the oh-so-coveted recommendation letter.

Oddly enough, I was able to do exactly that, and still eek out a recommendation. Guilty conscience on his part, I presume.

Anywho.

Even though it’s great to always have a handful of recommendation letters–or contacts able to pen a quick one–at your disposal, I’ve always wondered if they carry much weight.

The same can be said for cover letters.

I mean, how many employers glance over said piece of paper (which took hours to write) before tossing it into a shredder and never bothering to inform said applicant that they were denied, leaving them to flounder in a pool of expectations clouded by ambiguity?

Not that I’ve ever experienced such distasteful, unprofessional behavior on countless occasions.

But the one way I always hear about making your cover letter, your resume, your plea for a fucking job stand out is to be you.

To be, *cough-gag*, unique.

Whether it’s by choosing a fun, yet professional font, selecting a wider margin, grouping your work achievements in annotated bullet form, we all seek to set ourselves apart in the most seemingly unique ways.

And yet, it’s bullshit.

It’s not who you are.

Who you are is the person wanting a job and frustrated as hell that you can’t get anything.

So.

In an effort to put myself at ease, knowing that I put nothing but the truth out there, I’d love to send the most truthful letter possible to any prospective employers.

***

Dear Prospective Employer (PE):

I’d usually start out with my name. But you’re not interested in that. You want the bare bones–the gravy, the good stuff that sets me apart from the rest of the applicants’ cover letters lodged in that manila file folder on your desk.

So, I’ll be brutally honest.

You may notice from my resume that I have an MA in Anthropology. What can anthropology do for you? Well, I’m not sure. It hasn’t done a lot for me lately, either. Except forcing me to work with the tragic dregs of said profession.

But, what it has done is teach me how to tolerate stress, manage exceedingly overbearing workloads, and delegate responsibilities among peers. It also taught me a lot about people. I people watch as a profession. I glean bits of personal histories from the slightest reactions and exchanges, like judging whether it’s prudent to align myself with Coworker X, or join the rest who think she’s absolutely cray-cray.

I’ve had a smattering of teaching experiences, and can manage a high student volume, and remember most of their names. The names aren’t so important, but it scares them enough when I call them by name that they respect me a little bit more, or take me a tad more seriously.

I’ve worked with a diverse array of coworkers, and can get along with pretty much anyone. Other than bigots. Because I will stand my ground, and won’t back down until something is done to redress the situation (please contact my last employer if you require verification).

As someone with more interests outside of work, I like to think I can use those skills to my advantage, and perhaps yours.

I like to photograph interiors, and I have a profound love for interior design. I have no formal training with either, but I think I have more than a layperson’s ability to pull a room together. With a background in art, I can frame things in particular ways, or know what’ll look best with X, Y, and Z in this room, and play off the accents in an adjoining room. Coming at design with a background in the history of artistic and style movements helps me cobble together things in ways that are fun, functional, and accessible. I don’t strive to make everything perfect, because we’re not perfect people. People like to be able to live where they rest. I think I have an eye for helping people love a space, while not overwhelming them with a decor backstory.

Writing is a lot of fun, and is probably my number one hobby. I don’t really think of it as a hobby because I do it all the time. Even when I’m not actually writing anything. Every situation I experience gets translated into conversational snippets, and I enjoy recalling them to create a cohesive story line. I’m fairly good at editing, but don’t try to over-edit, because I’d prefer someone reinvent something they’ve written themselves–with me giving them a helping nudge in the right direction–rather than me red inking everything. Because, again, I have no formal background in writing, so who am I to judge?

I can organize events, cook a ton of stuff, get people to come, and pull everything off fairly seamlessly on a regular basis. As someone who likes to talk, I can network fairly well, and can talk to pretty much anyone. I like people to feel as though they can talk to me, and that when they do, what they say won’t end up being whispered to someone else. It’s all about team-building and networking, right? No one can just suddenly be something without some sort of support. I like to think that I offer a bit of that kind of support for some people.

So, there you have it. I may have two pieces of paper qualifying me for certain jobs, but I don’t want those kinds of jobs. Quite honestly, I feel as though I’ve learned more having traversed a tumultuous economy outside of academia, and have no desire to go back to an institutional organization. I’m glad to start off with a clean slate, at the bottom of the totem pole. I learn exceedingly quickly.

I want to help people. I want to create. I want to make people feel good about themselves through what I do. Those concepts are what I’d like PE’s like yourself to know.

Because all I need is a chance. I think you’ll be surprised.

And pleasantly so.

Best regards,

Matt

March 11, 2013

The Little Mundane Bits

Y’all know I’ve been spending more time at home.

And for one obvious reason.

So maybe that’s why I’ve been paying more attention to the mundane tasks that soak up 99% of my day. (Yes, even you gainfully employed folks spend an inordinate amount of time doing the daily grind.)

***

Now, I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on such things that fall on my daily “To Do” list. And even some of the tools that make corralling the tangible products of said tasks that much more manageable (and prettier).

But I’ve never really taken any real time to acknowledge a few bobbles and bits that keep me sane, clean, and in check. That I use in a mechanical, robotic way.

So, without further ado, here we go.

French Press: Thank you for being there. Without you, I probably would’ve been incarcerated long ago for smacking an a-whole, or someone of their ilk, upside their head.

Soap Dispenser: Even though you’re mass-produced and not super special, I enjoy how easy you are to use. Especially your patience in dealing with the bazillion pumps I must inflict upon you to quiet those OCD ticks. (Just don’t screw up like your cooler predecessor; otherwise, you’re kaput.)

Notepads. Whether you’re a pad permanently borrowed from an old office because the least they could’ve done was keep you constantly in our lives after such a horrible experience, or Post Its (oh, Post Its), you keep the crazy lists contained.

Kitchen Stuff. Y’all are too numerous to thank individually. But I’ll throw the spotlight on a few. First and foremost, Fiestaware, we always talk about you because we love you. And use the bejesus out of you and your Riviera and Harlequin cousins.

Fiesta teacups, y’all get a special shout-out. Because evening tea time has become a tradition in our very non-traditional household.

But every now and then, we need something stronger than tea. So, Name Your Poison Glasses, we salute thee.

And, lest we forget, the solid, possible zombie defense weapons: Cast Iron Cookware. You’re solid, sometimes finicky and labor intensive, always heavy, but so worth not ingesting all the lovely chemicals your modern counterparts contain. And you cook so evenly!

Last, but certainly not least, the one, the only, Fiestaware Knife Set! I don’t care what they (meaning Julia Child) may say about stainless steel knives, because you’re lovely (and totally worth nearly taking out a curmudgeonly elderly woman standing between us).

Now, just a few more.

Like you, Fabulous Serpentine Deco Vanity Tray. Sure, you may have had a few lines sniffed off of you in the past. Now, though, all you have to worry about is looking pretty and supporting an entire tea service nightly.

Or you, wonderfully useful Bedside Lamps that I’ve lacked for way too long. Even though Andy originally hated you both because y’all supposedly looked like you once graced a bordello, he warmed to you. Perhaps by force. Perhaps because he appreciates you now.

Finally, we’re here.

The end.

Pointing out the things I use every single day, but usually take for granted to some degree, might be slightly annoying (especially if you stayed with me through this entire post). But I think it’s these little details that make little nooks in our home that much more functional and enjoyable.

Sure, who doesn’t have a soap dispenser in their bathroom? Or a favorite set of dishware?

The thing is, we’re often so driven by our stuff–and sometimes smothered by it–that we forget why we got it in the first place. Or why it’s followed us throughout our lives.

So even if it’s a go-to chopping knife, or a fun trinket you see every single day, remember to acknowledge the bit of oomph it gives you to go about your day.

And if it doesn’t do that anymore, ask yourself if it’s time for it to find a home where it will be just that for someone else.

Because life’s too short to drown yourself in meaningless stuff.

So make sure everything that surrounds you–that creates that haven from work, from crazy social obligations, from the daily grind–helps balance you out.

So that your eyes can dance from one cherished, memory-rich piece to another.

So that you can absorb the good times wrapped up within those pieces.

So that the memories and the vehicles for them fuse to create something warm and inviting.

Something that reminds you that you’re home.

March 11, 2013

In My Box I Trust

You know, I don’t usually like to talk about this.

Because, well, boxes are private matters.

But.

Y’all know full well that I don’t shy away from discussing personal matters.

That I’m a little crass.

Thankfully, this post has nothing the least bit crass in it.

Wait.

You thought I was going to talk about something other than a square-shaped container with four wooden sides?

You’re disgusting.

This isn’t high school.

Go wash your mind out with soap.

***

I love boxes.

They’re so functional.

And so often overlooked.

Because, well, they’re boxes.

Still.

We loved them as kids.

And you can glean a lot of historical information from boxes. Get a glimpse of what life was like back then. Which is probably why I love these ridiculously utilitarian things. Because, unlike so many other things marketed for mass consumption, these objects and their labels were rarely censored, their written content unblemished by those pesky social filters.

After all, they were just for carting things from here to there, storing them until use.

And while I don’t ever want a box–or anything–with racist imagery, such things are so telling of mainstream ideologies, and are much more subversively disturbing.

***

My fascination with boxes started early.

Whether it was used as a bank for a roadside lemonade stand or baked goods table, one simple little box proved its functionality time and time again.

And then it followed me to college. And grad school. And still has its place today.

It wasn’t until after graduate school that I really started collecting boxes.

(Mostly because I actually had time for a life. And antiquing.)

At first, I just collected them because each was cool in its own right.

But then, my parents moved from the childhood homestead, and I was determined to have everything that was mine under one roof–my roof. Which meant I needed more places to store things.

Store all the things!

(Sorry, I usually despise memes. But that Clean All The Things one cracks me up. As does the one with a puppy “booping” a displeased cat. But I digress.)

So, gradually, I started circulating these boxes back into use.

And when Andy moved in, they became even more relevant. Because these two gays have a lot of shoes.

Because one fun thing about melding places is realizing how much hobby overlap you have with your partner.

Like, say, movies. (Although Andy’s DVD collection dwarfed mine.)

Finding a storage solution for a fraction of those DVDs that didn’t quite fit in the cabinets with the rest was another story entirely.

That is, until I realized I could make my soap box multi-functional, too.

So household melding became an exercise in maximizing each piece’s functionality. Including those containers I’d purchased solely for their “coolness” factor.

Because, really, we all have plenty of little things that make life a little easier on a daily basis, but just aren’t pretty.

So, why not house them in something that’s a bit easier on the eyes?

And if storage containers can double as plant stands, double plus bonus.

So, there you have it.

Boxes are fun!

They can be stylish.

They withstand more than flimsy new ones.

And they tell a story.

And, of all the reasons, that’s why I like them: They’re story-tellers.

Which is something so lacking in today’s mass-produced, disposable, now-now-now world.

Because these bits of history remind me that, regardless of how seemingly insignificant something can appear, it too has its own history.

It knows some secrets about time.

How to handle the weight and blows it brings.

And, above all else, how to weather it gracefully.

March 8, 2013March 8, 2013

Therapy, Apartment: Party of Two

Andy hadn’t been in the door four minutes before he realized my latest furniture switch-a-roo while he was out of town.

“But we can’t have an in-progress project, like, out for people to see. It’ll look bad.”

“Well, uh, it’s not like this is a tiny piece. It’s going to have to be out. Plus, she’s dramatic, even if she’s not done. And it’s not like we haven’t already had the Apartment Therapy shoot.”

Ever since Andy and I and a fellow antiquing friend held our collective breath this past weekend as one of our mutual friends and co-owners of a crazy-awesome antique mall ushered us into a dark nook to peek at a gorgeous 1920’s rose-mirrored Deco vanity, I’ve playfully referred to her–mentally, or when I’m telling her jokes–as the Deco Diva, DeeDee for short. (She joins the bitchy trio of Ivanca, Marge, and Betty, and will have to tolerate Hamburgler: two awesome modern chairs, a modern sofa, and a Lafer loveseat, respectively.)

Because, really, she’s a bit overly fabulous for her own good.

(Plus, I like to think that one of the red stains in a top drawer is from some crazy-horrible-awesome-in-its-own-time makeup her owner spilled before a big opening act on Broadway. Probably after a few lines.)

Sure, she’s weathered some rough patches–hell, it’s not like the Roaring 20’s ended well, nor did the 30’s get off on a good foot–but she’s gorgeous in her own right, even now.

Plus, there’s some intoxicating ambiguity about her that I love. Especially since I can’t find another vanity like her, even though I know there have to be more out there.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Surprise!

***

DeeDee happened to pop into our design lives a few weeks after our friend Katie popped by to do a house tour for Apartment Therapy (and you should seriously like Katie’s blog, Domestiphobia, because it’s awesome and I have total blog envy). As did a few other ridiculously overdone Deco delights.

The same thing happened the first time I was on Apartment Therapy. In this same, but less nice looking, apartment: right after the shoot, I rearranged everything (and got control of my hair).

It was as though once the current design scheme was commemorated in a ridiculously awesome photographic montage, I felt more inclined to revamp the whole thing.

But this time, most everything stayed the same after Katie left.

Except for that dramatic DeeDee.

Still, as the future shifts and we find ourselves looking for other possible roosts, we’re so thrilled to have our household meld documented.

Especially since we’re both ADD-wired and probably couldn’t remember how we had things arranged, even though I overly Instagram every new tableau I arrange or piece we buy.

This time, though, there’s something more.

Because this apartment is the first place I will truly miss of all the places I’ve lived since moving to North Carolina seven years ago. It’s the first place I can look back at fondly and remember a lot of great times and wonderful memories. (And yes, even the stressful moments that happen when two households combine.)

Mostly because I think this is the first place that really, truly feels like home.

But still, the concept of home is a fluid thing.

And I think we’re both ready to embrace a little change.

Whenever it happens.

And wherever we may land.

March 3, 2013March 3, 2013

An Eclectic New Life By Design

I love stuff.

Most everything old and worn, vintage and quirky, tattered and treasured.

Still, I’ve had to make some decisions about stuff–what to keep and what to sell, what to give away and what to toss.

After all, design is an ever-changing field.

One day taxidermy is the new thing, the next week it’s those horrendous Keep Calm and Carry On posters adorning hipster sorority girls’ dorm rooms everywhere.

(Kidding! Sort of. Not really.)

***

Regardless of your style, it’s the people who stick with something–own it and make it work–that really pique my interest. You know, the friends whose places you love to visit to see what new thing they’ve incorporated, and what old tragic piece of crap they’ve discarded.

And while I’m no design expert, I do know what I love, and sprinkle that throughout our apartment. And even though I’m trying to be good and curb the antiquing a bit–oh, money, why must you constantly be so elusive?–sometimes you just have to eat rice and beans a few days more than you’d like.

Because certain things are just so cool, and dovetail so effortlessly with your aesthetic, that you must possess it.

Like a ridiculously dramatic mirrored Deco serving tray.

Or a ridiculously dramatic mirrored Deco vanity in need of some imagination and TLC (minus the whole chasing waterfalls bit).

Sensing a theme?

I know, IKEA-Contemporary.

Kidding!

(By the way, go check out Sanford Antique Mall. You can get some beautiful pieces. But not this one.)

***

One of the most enjoyable things I’ve learned from melding households is snagging finds that speak to us both. In some instances, one of us sees the hidden potential, or realizes the way its lines–when juxtaposed with a completely different style of furniture–makes us both love other things that we have that much more.

Like pairing a beautifully simple, modern bookcase with an ornate, Downton Abbey-like mirror.

Individually, each is fine and functional and beautiful. But together, I love them.

Even the little things that you have squirreled away can be reborn. Like my grandfather’s vintage political buttons, now housed in this cool Catherineholm bowl.

(And I’m still trying to figure out where to hang his two hats.)

Plus, loving what you have makes everything more fun.

Like eating a healthier, cheaper apple in lieu of a $500 jar of Nutella. (Seriously, Nutella, why are you so expensive?)

Because why wouldn’t this cute Riviera plate not make you smile and help you forget that this apple is not chocolate-hazelnut spread?

***

When you love the things surrounding you, you’re better able to appreciate the little things that much more.

Like growing an apple tree. (Andy, I’m working on it.)

Or figuring out what to do with one of the 12 onions you may have.

Or realizing that you need to water your African Violet.

It’s all about balancing the things you love with the functional rigors of the daily grind. And when you’re able to meld lovely aesthetics with high functionality, double-plus bonus. Which is why I love our home even more now than ever before. Because everywhere I look, I see something we use and love.

More than that, though, I’m reminded of the memories embodied in each piece.

And these days, I’m all for remembering good times.

Especially as I cobble together a skill set here, tack it onto a passion there, and try to design a life that complements it all.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: