How you found the Sauce: Part Deaux

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I have lots of friends. Friends who enjoy fine towels and kitchen gadgets.

Christmas is coming in about two weeks so I'm getting a head start on all my shopping.  

For my, uhhh... friends.  


*shifty eyes*

Like my friend who's decided to invest in some glass water bottles.  Polycarbonate is "safe," my ass.  I mean, HER!  Her ass.  She is particularly fond of the Takeya water bottle because it's sessy as hell.  It may or may not have won several design awards not that she cares about those kinds of things.  It's not like she even cares about design let alone has a blog about it.  Only crazy people do that...

It might be nice for my friend to have nice filtered water in a GLASS pitcher if such a thing existed.


But wait!

DWR makes this one for under $100 - the ONLY one I could find.  I looked everywhere because I'm such an amazing friend who will go to any lengths to make my friends happy.  However, I'm not sure if louseki stones, fairy kidneys and Binchotan charcoal from the coast of Japan is strong enough to filter out the ridonkulous amounts of estrogen, Prozac and other pharmaceuticals that are in our water supply.  Without a proper filter, our water is going to make us grow another ovary or permanently tweak out - just pick your poison.  

Sometimes that poison is caffeine.  Just like my other friend that wants to ask Santa for a single serve coffee maker.  Perhaps this handsome devil?!

This fat little penguin is tinier (and infinitely more huggable) than the Keurig in case this friend has a brand new kitchen that doesn't need to be cluttered up with ugly gadgets.  It would be nice if there was such a thing as a single serve coffee machine with a GLASS reservoir that used regular grounds instead of pods because that seems so wasteful and I know this friend is probably concerned about the environment and shit.  

I have caring friends. 

With lots of very particular needs.

Like this OTHER friend who can't be happy with normal towels because she's a super high-maintenance bitch and has decided to change to fancy towels.  For her fancy hair.

lots more options on bathstyle's etsy shop

The thin cotton pestemal - a traditional Turkish towel woven to signify the history/origin of its owner that has now been bastardized for American consumption (Now with less ethnicity!  Yummy!) - is what this lady person wants in her stocking.  Why don't you ask me to fly over to Turkey and waste my time on a glorious and exotic shopping excursion just for your Christmas present?!  GAWD!  So selfish this friend is.


It's a good thing I'm so generous with my time and shopping abilities for all my friends.  They are lucky.


And I'm lucky to have such wonderful readers who will be happy to share their favorite single-serve coffee machines with me.  Feel free to write me a letter telling me all about it.  I'll give you my address.


For the, uh... letter.


My friends - who really like caffeine, having the appropriate number of ovaries and the color grey - will really appreciate it.


So get in the holiday spirit y'all!  


For my friends. 

And now I have a new roof and another reason to never eat a hot dog again.

This week, thrilling events happened at the Ranch.  Contain yourselves.  

I finally got my new roof.  CONTAAAAAIN.

Not my roof but oh sweet jeezus...

You might remember the tornadoes and storms that came through this area and Alabama in the late Spring.  Fortunately, I had no damage other than what the golf ball-sized hail did to my tender rooftop.  A roof that was already leaking and was only still on because it was too old to actually care enough to fall off.  Fortunately, insurance money will force its departure.

I worked at home for the two days the process would take to maximize my boredom and to savor in the tap-dancing giant on my roof.  I couldn't even leave for a few minutes because the roofers needed an outlet and my outside outlets don't work because of course they don't.  I live in shithole.    


I sure as hell ain't leaving my house open to strangers with face tattoos.  Call me judgmental but no latte is worth losing my collection of vintage Sinbad VHS tapes.  I'm guessing that's what roofers would be drawn to first, I don't know...

Not my roof

Somehow working from home is like the Holy Grail of working 9-5.  You think it's going to be like a snow day when you were younger - pajamas under snow coats and hot chocolate at 10 AM and the day is full of possibility and freeze-dried marshmallows.  But instead it was like a snow day at 4 pm when you're so fucking bored because omigawd it's too cold outside and daytime tv sucks even when it's on in the background and I'm so lonely for human interaction and why will no one tweet me?!  


Email?  


SOMETHING!

Not my roof

I was so bored I actually ended up working.  Once I found a rhythm I was a machine of creativity and efficiency on my couch.  I barely ate lunch.  I'll save you for later, Torchwood marathon.    

Based on my daytime tv rant you can see getting a new roof is pretty uneventful.  The installation part, that is...  


The process leading up to the actual roof replacement was long and arduous.  There was plenty of contractor homework and quotes and I thought I could afford a shingle and then I couldn't and then I wanted color samples and THEN addresses of properties where those colors were installed because this is a big fucking deal y'all and you know how weird I am about color.  I don't even know why since I always choke right at the end and fuck it up but whatever.  It's just part of my PROCESS.

Not my roof

But after my part of the process was over some random dudes came by in a van and tore off my old roof and put a new one on.  That's about it.  I think they tried to avoid me at all costs.  Our only real interaction happened as they were packing up and one of them knocked on my door to ask to use the bathroom.   *cringe*


Assuming they were peeing in the bushes this whole time the only reason he was needing the bathroom was for his more substantial elimination needs.  Or he was going to jack off.  Both thoughts went through my mind and I wasn't sure which one I would have preferred.  


During his endless time in the bathroom, I was able to clean the kitchen, unload the dishwasher and reload it just in time to hear another knock on the door.  Face tattoo guy came to inform me that the supervisor couldn't speak with me because he just had to take one of the guys to the hospital for cutting off his finger.  


MOTHERFUCKING FUCK.  Not again!


I assumed the accident during the kitchen remodel where my plumber sliced his face open was a fluke that I was only too happy to blame on the hellgate.  Unfortunately I forgot about the possibility of other hellgates in the house.  The most obvious one being the chimney of doom which is near where the roofer was standing when he caught his finger in some kind of blade.  

Not my roof but is that a mutilated finger up there?!

Tattoo face guy didn't seem overly concerned since he was laughing about all the accidents this dude had gotten himself into over his 21 years as a roofer - or possibly due to the look of horror on my face.  I told them I would have gladly offered up a cup of ice for the finger (it's the least I could have done and what happens in the movies I think.  Also, I kinda wanted to see it...) but was told the finger was in pieces.  *more cringing*


His exact quote was "You know what a happens to the end of a hot dog when you leave it in the microwave too long?"  I do indeed know.  Thanks for that mental image.  


About that time bathroom dude finally decided to rejoin the world and by the stench of boiled ass poured over rotting corpses that followed him into the living room, I figured out which of my two previous options was correct.  Unless he was doing both at the same time which I would like to think is somehow medically impossible for the sake of my future nightmares but I put on my hazmat suit and spent the next two hours sanitizing the entire bathroom just in case.  


And now I have a new roof.


The end.

This makes me exceedingly happy.

here

In honor of Movember, I give you my first REAL crush.  (Don't tell Christopher Reeves. RIP)  Those 4th grade boys really didn't have the sophistication or chest hair that I required. 

Get lost in the 'stache above and next time I'll regale you with the story of my new roof.  Right now I'm busy mourning Heavy D *SOB*,  uncovering the strange completely non-erotic world of homoerotic Lord of the Rings fan art (yes, it is an entire category) and watching Muay Thai videos.  

This is called multi-tasking.  

And since you asked:

You'll have to find your own Muay Thai videos.  I can't do everything for you!

And then you can send them to me so I can watch them.  

It's called sharing, y'all.

Lewis and Clark would approve.

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers

The heron and the otter are my friends

Nick Lamia via Design Milk

And we are all connected to each other

In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

A. A. Rucci via Pattern Pulp

How high will the sycamore grow?

If you cut it down, then you'll never know

And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon

Claire Desjardins via DFM

For whether we are white or copper skinned

Diela Maharanie

We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains

We need to paint with all the colors of the wind

Tchmo via Little Paper Planes

You can own the Earth and still

Samantha Hahn via DFM

All you'll own is Earth until

Mara Caffarone via Brown Paper Bag

You can paint with all the colors of the wind.

Is that cross I have to bear made of reclaimed wood from the abandoned offices of Etsy?

After I went hard in the paint I had to fill up my cabinet with all manner of fabulosity.  Mostly the kind that includes my nice china (yes I have some!) and larger serving pieces that are only used for special occasions.  Special occasions like never.  

Turns out my collection of Zeisel pieces is too small to adequately intimidate impress visitors and hobos who wander into the dining room so they will stay in the kitchen.  The china not the hobos.  Where I will actually get to use them on a regular basis.  Again, the china not the hobos.  

So then I was left with a few random serving pieces which makes for a sad china cabinet.  I figured I could fill in the holes with some random shit.  Then I got excited because all that random shit was some of my favorite shit and then I started pulling all my favoritest random shit out of closets and hidey holes.  I try to keep a lot of my crazy in hidey holes so as not to disturb guests and hobos.  I like to dress to impress not dare to scare.  

Soon the random shit began taking over...  I wish I had a picture of the 'before' that was my dining room table like a proper blogger would but I was caught up in the moment.  Somehow all the energy from each thing came together to create some kind of vortex of fabulosity - the inverse of the hellgate - and I couldn't stop.  

After about ten minutes I realized I wasn't putting things in my china cabinet, I was creating... *gulp* a cabinet of curiosities!!

AAAAHHHHH!

What the fuck is all this shit?  I punch myself in the design blogger balls.

Last year I detailed the design cliche of hipsters everywhere - the wunderkammer - only to discover that I'm a few bones and taxidermied lizards away from my dining room appearing in The Selby or one Eames rocker away from Apartment Therapy. 

via Ferns and Moss

WHAT'S A MADAME TO DO??!   

This Madame said fuck it.  These are my things and I want to look at them.  

Having lived in this empty house for over four years I figure I deserve some leeway when it comes to a bit of tchotchoke.  I think I might enjoy some time looking at all my favoritest random shit together in one place.  Behind glass doors.  Because I hate dusting and enjoy my chaos carefully contained.

But just when I'd finally stopped rolling my eyes at myself every time I passed my dining room, I read this article in the NY Times about the death of the "authenticity" fad which made me horribly depressed because in trying to avoid this fad I was apparently contributing to it and not only that, behind on said fad.  THE HORROR!

Of course, they seem to confuse authenticity with buying quirky cardboard animal busts from a retail chain so at least I'm safe there.  'Authenticity' is a marketing buzzword just like 'green' is and if you buy into the buzzword and not the meaning then you are customer not a part of a movement but the article couldn't seem to make that distinction and instead focused on the people that want to put a bird on it.  And now want to take it off.  For the love of gawd, we have to put something somewhere!

My cabinet includes overplayed seashells (which we've already discussed), stereotypical vintage ephemera like catherineholm bowls and some Eames and George Nelson trays I found at junk stores for about $5 (investment pieces), a lot of random vessels that I like (I think it's a Virgo thang) and some other things that are boringly retail (West Elm) or just plain ugly (I squee for ugly).  

But it also includes a toy horse that was a recent gift, 60 year old wooden desk accessories from my middle school that are too hawt not to keep and a vintage - yes VINTAGE - chip and dip set because chips and dips are delicious so fuck you!!

I have tiny Jonathan Adler pieces (all I could afford at the time as a broke design student) acquired during one of my first trips to NYC.  Country girl goes to the big city, y'all!  Those sit dangerously close to some Rosenthal platters that Adler probably knocked off for the vases I bought.

There is also a small collection of hand-painted Depression-era crockery by Ransburg - a housewares company that invented the electrostatic paint process.  Perhaps it's better to say that than "Cookie jars are purty, y'all!  Vintage nom noms!" ...??

Maybe that plastic trailer home is not just a fun bit of kitsch but a commentary on the plasticity of wealth in this country...??!!  Or even a nod to my Southern heritage!  YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!!

And maybe it doesn't matter that I collect needlepoints not only because they're cute, yo, or that members of my family made them, but because I also like exploring gender through traditional craft and handiwork.  Does that make my purchases more or less authentic?  Does that sentence make me more or less of an ass?

A have a glass jar full of sapphire blue birds' eggs because sapphire is my birthstone and I found those eggs at my birthday last year AND because eggs are a reoccurring theme in my life and I may or may not have written a hilariously poignant essay about them that you'll never read.

I can probably write a hilariously poignant story about the acquisition of almost every single piece in this cabinet - I don't know if that means I'm justifying my purchases or that they are actually authentic.  At least more authentic than ordering handmade accessories from Pottery Barn.  Our modern day Ransburg?! SHIT!

The NYT asks the insanely universe-tilting paradoxical question "How much authenticity is too much?"  You just blew my mind, NYT!!  

If my cabinet of authenticity - not the buzzword, the actual authentic stuff - is too much ME for you then I suggest you don't deserve to gaze upon its authentic awesomeness.  By 'cabinet of authenticity' I of course mean my soul.  Or vagina.

I'm kidding. 

Maybe...

In the end I don't really give a shit what pseudo-journalists at the NY Times say or what the design blog consensus concludes.  I will be guilty of some many decor sins as I simultaneously mock them.  Thus is the cross we design bloggers have to bear.  Also, I'M AN ENIGMA!

Despite any hilariously poignant stories I could attribute to any of this junk, the entire collection is probably more a microcosm of my age, generation and financial means than anything having to do with Design.  A term I use loosely here.

I'm sure most of this random shit will eventually get passed on as I move from unoriginal yet passionate thrifter in my dewy fresh 20s to aged and wise zen goddess of simplicity and large 401k of my later years but damn y'all, you just can't pass up George Nelson for $5!  I don't care how far away from the Tao it pushes you! 

So right now I'm the decor equivalent of the Britney truism: I'm not a girl... not yet a woman.

But you can have that stupid black bowl with the deer head handles that I have no fucking clue where it came from.  I have no poignant story about that or a sociological reason I could make up about it.  

UNLESS it's a satirical comment on design trends...  

Yes.  It's totally that.

I go hard in the paint.

I attempted fabulosity over the course of multiple weekends.  Shiny black mediocrity ensued.  So let's paint some furniture: Saucy style!  Now in 39 easy steps!  Ha-cha-cha-cha! *wiggles top hat*

Step 1: Buy an ugly china cabinet for your dining room that only slightly meets your needs and let it sit in storage for over a year.  This step is essential to the start of any DIY project as the constant procrastination compounds the levels of self-loathing into volcanic proportions until one day after stepping around said unit in storage for the thousandth time you spew hot lava of "omigawd I can't take this anymore!" all over your boxes of Christmas decorations and decide to just paint the damn thing already. 

I know it's hard to actually see the cabinet in the sea of brown but I assure you it's in here.  And yes, this is my storage room (you might remember as the "train" room) and yes that paneling is fake.  It's hard to tell, I know.   Behind me is a hoarder-style mound of boxes, recycling, craft boxes and shit I keep tripping over until I spew hot lava all over it too.

Oh ugly cabinet, I will make thee black and it will be good.  Or mediocre.  It's cool either way because I just need some furniture in my dining room.

Step 2: Clean off a year's worth of pet hair and cobwebs.  Or don't.  Maybe you like texture. I don't judge.  I'm lazy and hate cleaning so I just lightly sand everything because it's faster.  Of course then I have to clean up after the sanding... maybe this was a terrible idea?!!!!  Fuck it.  I'm halfway done already.  

Step 3: Remove glass and hardware.  Except for hinges.  I'm painting over that shit and y'all can deal with it.  I'm hoping the paint will just chip off there anyway.

Step 4: Be so proud of actually starting project step back and admire all your work.  For a week.  You need some time to decide what primer to use.  The internet is no help because nobody wants to help a madame out and I keep getting distracted by internet fabulosity.  Buy a primer.  Realize it doesn't give you the vibe that you wanted.  Return it for a different primer - in this case Zinsser something or another.  It feels better.  Discover there is an even better one for furniture with shellac but I can't go back to Ace again.  It's getting embarrassing.  

Step 5: Shit's gettin real, yo.  It's about time to actually DO something to this shitty cabinet!  Prime this mutha like it's dying of primer thirst and then marvel at transformed state of cabinet and the awesome power of you. 

Step 6: Realize you need a second coat.  Shit.

Step 7: Sand.  Wipe clean until chalky smooth like an angel baby's ass.  Start to paint 2nd coat and realize you did not wipe down enough and primer dust is just being spread around everywhere.  Wipe clean.  Again.  Is someone burning coal in my storage room?  Christ.  

Step 8: Wipe clean until you think you're safe and then wipe clean 2 more times until you are sure you are going absolutely crazy.  You might actually be going crazy because what does nasty primer dust do to your insides when you inhale a lot of it?!  *cough*

Step 9: Google lung diseases, symptoms of tuberculosis and death by DIY.  I think I'm in the clear.  But I should check in on what's new at Pinterest while I'm on the internet anyway.  

Step 10: Emerge from internet stupor four hours later.

Step 11: Repeat steps 7-10 until cabinet is sufficiently primed.

Dropcloths are for pussies.

Don't forget to pay close attention to the details!  

It's very important.

Step 12: The cabinet, sitting around in its undies, is dying for real clothes.  But first spend a week debating the pros and cons of latex vs. oil paints.  Finally decide on oil because this is a real piece of furniture and not something you picked up off the side of the road you can spray paint with leftover cans from your garage.  This is legit.  You purchased it at a REAL junk store and made your friends drive down to Hotlanta to pick it up with you while you rode bitch in the middle of the truck straddling the gear shift.  You can't quit now.  You committed.

Step 13: In conjunction with Step 12 you should consult your Benjamin Moore fandeck for the exact shade of black you want.  Briefly debate something crazy like corral or some shit like that - smack self around back to reality.  Spend next several days debating over 12 different blacks that all look exactly the same to everyone else but you.  Sleep with fandeck.  You can try dry humping it but results are hazy.  Finally decide on Velvet Midnight Surprise.  Go to store only to discover that the Ace where they have Benjamin Moore paints no longer sells oil paints.  NO OIL MAKE MADAME ANGRY.  

Step 14: Throw temper tantrum and reduce teenage red shirt to hiccuping tears.  (Or maybe that was me...)

Step 15: Go to the nearby Sherwin Williams.  They have ONE black.  This scares me being that I excel at indecision and don't like someone making the right choice for me unless I suffer for it first.  Stare hopelessly at SW wall of limited colors wishing for more until the guy decides to turn down the Michael W. Smith and see if I'm homeless or high or both.  I can't tell if he's cross-eyed, horny or terrified because he can smell the blood of Ace Hardware employees on me but I am somehow able to learn that they have an enamel that's great for furniture.  It comes in black, red and white.  No Velvet Midnight Surprise?  *gulp*  

Step 16: Buy can of black.  It says it covers up to 80 sq feet.  I'm skeptical but optimistic.

Step 17: Start to paint inky black goodness and watch as cabinet transforms beneath my expert strokes.  Applaud self for DIY super powers.  

Step 18: Reward self with glass of wine.

Step 19: Return and paint for 15 minutes before wishing project was OVER BY NOW!!!!!  Omigawd UGH!  DIY takes fucking forever.  Force self to finish rest of cabinet and curse every detail on that collects paint drips.  

Step 20: Curse current state of bank account and high price of storage pieces that require my current project.  

Step 21: Curse economy.  

Step 22: Curse HGTV.  Everything is their fault anyway.

Step 23: Go comment on HateGTV forum.  Avoid Pinterest because I don't have fours to waste!  Get distracted by tumblr.  Emerge from internet abyss three days later hungry, horny and cross-eyed.  Finish painting cabinet.  What month is it?    

Step 24: Realize 2nd coat is needed.  Shit.  How many fucking coats does this shitty cabinet need???!!  Decide to let paint cure because it's enamel and that sounds like a smart thing to do.  Also, I'm high from the fumes and need a sandwich.  Also, I've run out of paint.  80 square feet my ass.  

Step 25: Return to Sherwin Williams. Battle weirdo for another can. 

Step 26: Nap.  A lot. 

Step 27: Return a week later.  Slop on 2nd coat because I want to die.  Switch from happy dance mix to Waka Flocka Pandora station because I need to go hard in the motherfuckin paint and bust this cabinet out. POP POP POP POP.  (That's a Waka reference that only I think is funny.) 

Step 28: Take a break to clean house.  Somehow paint is being secretly transported by my body and appearing all over the house.  I've cleaned oil paint off of couch cushions, doorknobs, the floors and maybe a cat...  That one was totally her fault though.  

Step 29: Chastise self for slopping on 2nd coat because with high gloss I can see every brush stroke and forgotten drip.  But I don't care because this shit is done and looking good y'all!  I fucking love painting furniture and DIY shit!  I CAN'T WAIT TO DO MORE!!!  

Step 30: Bribe friendly dudes with wine and hugs to move cabinet into freshly painted Elephant Tusk dining room.  

Step 31: Squee in relief.  I painted a thing, y'all!  And it's nice.  Real nice. (Nice is a relative term.)  But we ain't done yet!

Step 32: Admire new knobs purchased from Anthro months ago just waiting for their new home.

Step 33: Put on new knobs.

Step 34: Realize knobs look like ass.  Put ugly knobs in pile of things mom would really like because it came from Anthropologie even though she doesn't know what it is nor has ever stepped foot in a store.

Step 35: Put old hardware back on.  

Step 36: Accept defeat regarding hardware.

Step 37: Notice paint already chipping off hinges.  High five self for ingenuity and laziness!

Step 38: Admire shininess and hard-ass motherfuckin enamel paint.  Sigh...  Good choice, Madame.

Step 39: Drink celebratory bottle of pomegranate vodka.  Get lost in orgy of Pinterest and tumblr while moderating HateGTV forum until pass out from fabulosity and liver failure.  Or the paint fumes finally do you in.

Next, we style!