The Sunday Set: Blogging for lazy people. And nerdy cavewomen.

I'm pretty sure this week was somehow located in a wormhole of slow time because gaaaawwwwddd can't I just eat some leftover clearance candy from Easter yet??  I deserve a medal of awesomeness (or a tshirt from the AIA: American Institute of Awesome?!) for just having survived it upright.  


Upright counts as laying on the couch, right?!


Good.


My week - all 1200 days of it - has been a lot of pretty things that I'm too tired to do anything but grunt at like a (partially drunk) cavewoman.  All that's sprinkled with a bunch of super nerd stuff.  Yeah, it doesn't make any sense to me either.  Come join me as we reminisce!

World of Interiors via Design Crisis

Wallpaper and chair grunt.

source?

Disco lighting grunt.

via GQ

Bringing the Impy sex back grunt.

via Casa de Valentina

Lace-up chair grunt.

Heather Nette King via The Design Files

Blue blue blue grunt.

Michio Kaku

Went to see a lecture by Michio Kaku about his latest book of futuristic awesomeness although sadly he didn't talk too much about string theory grunt.  (extra nerdy grunt just for good measure)

via WanderWorldWonderLust

Wigtastic make-up grunt.

via Design Traveller

Bricks and Bill Cosby grunt.

Serge Lutens via Sisterwolf

Cirque du Soliel clown gypsy grunt.

Jazz by Kenneth Nolan via Reference Art Gallery

Super banana-fana yellow grunt.

via Swim Class

Maybe even banana-fana and tomato together grunt because I'm just that crazy and painted my nails yellow this week while I'm carrying a red purse...  Grunt.

Doug Aitkens via NYT

Red supernova grunt.

here's a sneak peak of season 2 caption grunt

I've watched the first season on Netflix and canNOT wait until season 2 finally gets its happy ass to the States grunt.

via Well Fed

Definitely what I'll be doing this weekend pure fabulosity grunt.

Just kidding, I'll be working in the yard with chipped yellow nails grunt.

Mother Nature gets a lot of things right except for underwear.

Just like all super powerful lady persons that cross each others' paths, Madame Sunday and Mother Nature have tipped our bonnets to our respective fabulosity and worked out a deal.  She does her best to make my life miserable with tornadoes, sunburns, Bermuda grass, allergies and plagues of locusts and I agree to stay inside as much as possible.  

Don't tell her but I haven't been keeping up my end of the bargain and have been spending all my time outside this Spring.  Granted, the blogging sauce has been suffering and my sinuses were trying to fuck me over something serious last week but I persevered.

In fact, the herb garden that I planted a few weeks ago is alive. IT'S ALIVE!!!!!!  I think it might be time for Mother Nature and I to renegotiate our deal considering my black thumb of death has a green tint to it.

Unless it's gangrene which totally sounds like something that bitch would do.  

To make a peace offering in hopes of warding off gangrenous limbs, let's pay homage to some of Mother Nature's finest loin fruits.

New colors for the Ranch.  TIME TO REPAINT EVERTHANG!!

And by 'finest things' I mean 'vomitous things' that better never make their way across my path except in two dimensions because they're really purty.  

Only a real lady SOB would make the prettiest colors and patterns on the most horrendous things.  

Ok, butterflies get a pass...

But these fuckers don't.  It's like art for Buffalo Bill's freaknasty dungeon.  Hope you're proud of yourself, Mother Nature!  Serial killers really dig your shit.

I would squish you in a hot second as long as I thought you wouldn't make that stomach-churning meaty squishing noise.  But not after I admired your markings.  Maybe sketched them.  AHAHAHAHAHA I don't sketch anymore.  I mean I'd take a photo and Instagram it. #21stCenturyMadame

I'm gonna make that my new color palette for my bedroom.  Isn't that what you always here decorators say?  "Pull from nature and group your Kirkland's accessories in threes!" 

I fucking hate things that jump.  But not more than the Kirkland's smell.

But I'm totally cool with things that have pinchers and are cobalt.  Beetles are the most alien architecture badasses of the bug world and they're okay in book.  

If I was a good blogger I'd hit you with a really smart paragraph about scarab beetles but that seems like a lot of work for someone drinking boxed wine and not wearing pants.  You'll just have to Wikipedia it on your own.

Don't feel like you have to wear pants while you do it though.  No judgment here.

Early 20th century Pochoir Prints from E.A. Seguy via BibliOdyssey

No judgment except for things with long antennae that make me dry heave.  Why can't you just make cool things without all the nasty, Mother Nature??!  


Well you're not the only one with amazing powers of design!  Check out these cool man-made patterns on the backs of these Swiss beetles:

Cornelia Hesse-Honegger via Wissenskunst

Booyah!  Well... they were caused by radiation from nuclear power plants (and disasters like Chernobyl) but who's really keeping track of those things?  Just artists and scientists all over the world.  Who are probably wearing pants all the time.  *eyeroll*

But don't underestimate the beautifully destructive powers of humans, Mother Nature.  We got game!!

And hopefully a bountiful herb garden in a few months so please let's observe the new treaty rules where I don't die from a lightening strike or a really bad mosquito bite.  We're both adults here.

Well one of us is a awesomely sessy Madame adult who spits in the face of pants and the other one wears granny panties made of palm leaves and molted bird feathers or whatever the fuck it is she wears.  

I tell you what, it sure as shit better not be basil leaves plucked from my garden...

Like a phoenix rising from the sheetrock dust TO WIN LOTS OF MONEY!!!!!

Just like how a phoenix rises from the ashes or when the post-op transexual from Nip/Tuck became an X-men phoenix in the second X-men movie and rose from the flood waters, good things can come from a tragedy.  Or ashes.  Or a flood.  

I'm really terrible at metaphors.

What I'm trying to say is that Curbed is having a contest for the worst stories from first time homeowners.  And the worst story is really the best and wins lots of money.  When I heard about this contest I told them they might as well just give it to me and save everyone else the time because the ModSauce Ranch is the best at being the worst.

Here's a snippet from my story:

For the first major project, my experienced reno friends used a garden hose to spray all of the ceilings to remove the ancient popcorn texture. It rained 50 yrs of cigarette smoke and filthy ceiling curds on our heads like an Amazonian jungle storm of nasty. I have good friends. Well, they used to be my friends...

Apparently the filth was holding the house together because after we removed the popcorn, the plaster ceiling began collapsing in my bedroom. I held it up with a wing and a prayer and a stack of Southern Living magazines on top of a ladder until I could afford to pay someone brave enough to let concrete fall on their heads. I lived in the guest bedroom during the master bedroom renovation - aka Operation Ceiling Death Eagle.

I couldn't even use the living room because it was haunted and the streaks of yellowed nicotine down the walls seemed like the ghost was murdering people in the attic at night. It was not pretty. I lived like a hermit in one room of my own house. At some point the renovation and disrepair of both bedrooms proved to be too much and I had to brave the living room ghost and sleep on my couch for six weeks. During that time, and the following 7 months, I stripped and refinished all the original '60s wood paneling in my living room/bedroom with dental tools. Now every time I see my hygienist I break into hives and cry. Those first two years were dark times, dark times...

There's plenty more because that shit was bad, y'all!

So even though I get twitchy when I have to ask for anything, I'd certainly send you all gliternaise-topped kisses if you went and VOTED FOR ME.  Or it could be dry humps.  Your choice.  You have all the power here.

As extra incentive for you, if I win that means I could start working on my bathroom remodel faster and I KNOW you want to read all about that train wreck.  Really, if I win it's for you you so go vote for yourself.

Voting ends Monday at noon - yes April 2! - so please hurry and get your happy asses over there and make sure everyone at Curbed knows I'm the worst.

Also, I'll totally get a phoenix tattooed on my left ass cheek if I win.  

For you.

Please VOTE!  Too late.

Update: We're #1!!!  As in your favorite Madame got 1% of the vote and therefore didn't win.  I was so close and only lacking a few thousand votes.  Frankly, I still think that's pretty awesome because I only personally know about 12 people that voted for me and that's like 2 dozen strangers that made the effort.  Thank you, strangers.  You're the wind beneath my wings.  MY PHOENIX WINGS!!!  


Seriously, you guys are awesome but it looks like I'm going to have to resort to a life of crime to pay for my bathroom remodel.  

Fifty Shades of Yes Please

Watch out for this mind-blowing way I'm going to introduce this blog post to you:

Since I've decided to tweak my dining room a bit I've had greys on the brain.

Unforgettable, right?!

Just like this wonky picture of my backsplash tile and vintage Haeger vase I got for $3 at a junk store (probably market value) that I'm using to illustrate my cheap, wonky vision to you, I want some black and white and grey and a hint of warm in the dining room.  With a sexy flair.  As if I could do something without a sexy flair, amiright?!  *eyebrow wiggle*

via Squirrel Hobbies

Although if I went a little post-apocalypse rocker chic with the grey I think that would be fine too.  I did dance around my kitchen very intensely to The Judds while making dinner so that makes me totally rocker legit.  Also, I need window shades...

here

This too because yes, I'm so urban.  As evidenced by my music selection.

here

Third jacket from the left is the fabric I want to reupholster my chairs.  A soft grey tweedy something of awesomeness. I'm not good with fabrics.  If it could smell like 'Urban Sunrise Manroot' that would be even better.

here

I got the sunshine covered.  Gonna have to work on the raw wood part...

here

Um... who threw that picture of my kitchen in there?  Good things those floors look easily cleanable because this room just reduced me to a big pile of wet.

These are more warm and black than grey but I threw those in because I want some industrial lighting for my patio out back.  I don't have furniture yet but minor details, y'all.  If anyone has any good options hit a Madame up otherwise I'm going to Target.

here

Not gonna lie, I fantasize about this haircut quite often.  However, I don't think it would really work with my Target cardigan I'll probably pick up when I'm patio light shopping.  I also don't think it would work on anyone unless you're the Asian equivalent of Lisbeth Salander which, if I was being completely honest with you, I'm not.

here

here

Hi my name is Madame Sunday and I have a suspender fetish.  I am powerless against it.  And I don't want to stop.  Unless stopping me involves tying my hands up with your suspenders in which case I'll be totally down for stopping...

Farmyard-Hilberbrink-Bosch Architects here

[MS Sidebar: speaking of sessy grey shit, I'm sure y'all have heard about this Fifty Shades of Grey book?  I knew it was BDSM erotica for the surburban set that's bananas popular right now and I was all 'high five' lady people!  But THEN someone told me it was Twilight fanfiction that became a book and told me the basic story and then it clicked - I've READ it!  I'm super pathetic and went through a fanfiction phase a few years ago - SHUT UP! - because obviously I needed waaay more filth than certain young adult books were bringing to the table.  Who knew I'm an early adopter of lady porn?!  Ok well, maybe we did know...]

Residence magazine via Nordic Design

I can't decide if I love or hate furs on wire chairs... but for now I say I'm fifty shades of yes please.

via La Maison d' Anna G

via The Black Workshop

Fifty shades of omigawd get in mah imaginary house.

quartz from here

I love this quartz image with the picture below...

via Greige Design

What the entrance to the ModSauce Ranch looks like in my head.  No wonder the mint green vinyl siding is always like a slap in the face when I see it.

from BZRshop

I can't get enough of these hombre tights this week.  I have calves like ham hocks (beautifully saucy ham hocks, of course) so I don't think I'll be wearing these ever but the grey fade with those shoes is killing me.  Softly.  Just like the Fugees song.

Office Supplies Incorporated via But Does It Float

I'm a sucker for collage.

Elle Decoration UK via Dressed for Men

And also a sucker for whatever it is that's going on this desk/office area.  Hot damn!  Just imagine how much more awesome this blog could be if I worked from there.  Someone rich should make that happen for me because I just spent all my money buying Mega Millions tickets.  

Actually...  maybe *I* could make that happen since I just learned the film rights to the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy have just been sold and the author went from fanfiction writer to jizzillionaire...

Hhhmm....  *strokes beard*

If you'll excuse me, I have some chairs to reupholster and some, uh... writing to work on.

Yippee ki yay, butterfly chairs.

So have y'all seen this image about a jizzillion times?

If you're like me then yes you have and you've probably also repinned in about a jizzillion times too because hey, I can't keep up with the thousands of things I repin and sometimes I really really love something and DON'T BE JUDGING MY PINS!!

Just kidding, pins are always up for mocking.

So I decided to do a little research about the origins of such a glorious patio with its sun-dappled concrete slab of cantilevered panty-creaming awesomeness. Won't you be my forever Valentine?  

Except you, butterfly chairs.  I don't like you and you can be Alan Rickman and I'll send you plummeting to your death over the edge of that patio like in Die Hard which is a shame because Alan Rickman gives me a lady boner just like this patio.  I realize I might be alone on that part.  The chairs, not the Alan Rickman part.  I know y'all know what I'm talking about there.

Here's another view because I'm taunting you with my knowledge. via LA Times

It turns out that the patio of my wet dreams belongs to the interior of my wet dreams that is the home of architect Ray Kappe that I've also repinned about a jizzillion times as well: 

Zoinks! I love it when my Valentines come together for a threeway of architectural hotness!  

But wait, there's more!  We're turning this Nicki Minaj a trois into an orgy of modern sessy times.

How adorable are you, Mrs. Kappe?  Can I call you Shelly?  Let's hold hands and walk around the garden while you feed me homemade shortbread cookies and we talk about having sex in front of giant windows.  

Can we all just bow our heads for a moment in hornor of a nice modern house that is warm and looks lived in and not a place where angles go to die?  It makes me feel better about my tchotchkes.

LA Times

That's so weird, I think we have the same hood...  I appreciate that you read my blog, Ray, but let's try to not be so blatant with your stealing of my design sensibilities, mkay?

I think nooks and crannies like these are highly underrated.  Some serious napping would commence after I dry humped that concrete wall.  It's how I show my love.

Beautiful stairs of death.  We know I'm not really good with stairs lacking in handrails or anything that requires coordination or balance so I will have to scoot down these like a dog missing a leg or two but at least I'll get to admire all the fine detail up close.  

Oh hello, awesome courtyard.  Those rays of light must be the fingers of jeezus coming to tickle me while I have a picnic.  You can't buy jeezus fingers at Home Depot y'all.  

via LA Times

Fun factoid: the house was build on the side of hill on a natural spring.  When diverting the spring didn't work he just decided to float the house on top of it.  You're such a boss, Ray Man.


But it can't be all jeezus fingers and concrete lovefests:

via LA Times

Sigh... this is why you don't let architects be in charge of color and throw pillows.  Best to just stick with wood and concrete.  Hell, *I* should just stick with wood and concrete now that I think about it.


Shelly, I know everything in this bedroom is now an antique and should be preserved in the museum of "Get In My House" but maybe we could go on some retail adventures and buy some new pillows.  


It'll be my treat if you bring the shortbread cookies and let me move in with you and become your adopted 31-yr-old Madame child.  I'll just sleep in the nook and be totally happy forever and ever.  I won't even make fun of your other throw pillows, I swear...

All images via Selectism unless otherwise noted.

Must...  Not... Mock.  I love it like I love my Grandmother's collection of butterfly art which is to say lots and lots but only because she's old and family.


And since I'm going to be the adopted child of the Kappes then I guess these can stay too.  


But we'll have to have a long talk about the butterfly chairs...