Our table isn't going to fit in our new house. Well, it might fit, but it's going to be really tight, so Chris and I decided that we needed a new table. So I picked a table from Pottery Barn. The table was $600, which I thought wasn't all that expensive, of course this could be why I'm not allowed out alone with a credit card anymore, but I was in love. Chris said I could get anything I wanted, which I love to hear. Unfortunately, what I think he really meant is,
you can have anything you want until I remember that I'm cheap and will do anything to save money. We went to this wholesale liquidation store on Saturday. They had this pub table, that came with 4 chairs for $150. Before I knew what was happening, Chris was sweet talking the salesman and we were no longer in the market for a table. Chris was all,
I know it's not Pottery Barn, but you have great taste, and I know you'll make it beautiful. Against my better judgement, and in what can only be described as a typhoid fever-induced haze, I nodded and said (totally getting my Tim Gunn on),
I'll make it work. Obviously I was high. The table is beat to shit. It's smoke damaged because it was an insurance loss in a fire. The chairs are rickety and the seat cushions look like they've been dragged through the mud. But I figured if I give up my Pottery Barn table, I'll make up for it somewhere else. Maybe a great backsplash, a new living room chair, I've got a whole house to shop for. And fixing this table can't be THAT bad, right?
We get the table home, and Kat and I spent about an hour scraping off the foam shit that they use to put fires out, because it's stuck all over the chairs. We tightened up the chairs, put them back together the right way (someone put some of them together totally wrong), and we start painting. After awhile, my knee starts stiffening up, so I put my paint brush down to stretch my legs and Kat's
hellbeast puppy steals my paint brush and runs away with it into the living room. Keep in mind that the brush is about as big as she is. So Bella, being the
monster adorable puppy that she is, got black paint everywhere. All over the kitchen floor, the wall, everywhere. She finally dropped it in the living room. On the rug. Black paint on my tan carpet. Love it. After spending about 45 minutes scrubbing the carpet, I get the paint out and give up for the day.
Day 2, I start painting again, and Kat's
pain in the ass puppy starts frolicking around, like jumping around and wagging her tail under the chairs that I've just painted. Then she starts rubbing all over the legs of the chair like a damn cat. So Kat's white dog now has paint all over her, and I have to repaint because there's white
beast dog hair on my freshly painted chairs. After another couple times of her messing up my paint, stealing my paint brush and getting black paint on the carpet (again), I finally finished painting. On to step two. Recovering the chairs.
I
am so done with this stupid motherfucking project at this point, I cut the fabric completely crooked carefully measure the fabric, and start the recovering. Ok, I don't know if I'm just a big wuss or if I have the world's hardest to use staple gun, but I couldn't staple that damn thing for the life of me. I had to use both hands, which was next to impossible because I needed another 2 hands to pull the fabric tight. Son of a bitch. This is why I hate crafting/home improvement projects. It's also incidentally why I'd rather just buy what I want than rescue some dilapidated piece of shit just to save money, but I digress. I had to ask Chris for help, which just irritated me more. I only put the fabric on backwards once, which I thought was a major accomplishment.
I'm still not done with this
horrible project. I have sheets all over the kitchen, chairs everywhere, one of the tables in like 12 pieces, the other one covered with laundry, I can't get to the stove, I have shit all over the counters, and it looks like a fabric store exploded all over my dining room. I'm thinking for all this, I've totally earned a backsplash.
