HGTV on my brain

Ok, trying out a new friendly font here. Perhaps a “fontest” (get it? rhymes with contest?) will be in order for the friendliest font, once I try out some more…

Yes, so onwards with the list of very good things indeed that have happened to me.

Good thing #2: Got the job I wanted!

Yes indeed! Beyond all my wildest expectations, I got a job that I desperately wanted. I suppose “the world is too much with me,” but after much fine whining to many, many people--“far, far too many to thank, but I’ll start with my agent” perhaps I should say--and after a sort of slump, I was lucky enough to get it! Which leads me to:

Good thing #3: Relocating, and of course, REDECORATING!!!

Lowes has created a monster (i.e. me). So after realizing that where I’m moving to necessarily means more apartment living for myself, I began by thinking of some color schemes. I want it to be cheery and bright, but still professional looking, so I thought maybe some pale blue or blue-green, and a really pale bright yellow. Or maybe something in a peach? Which led to…

Potentially bad thing #1:

Then it happened. I turned into DECORATING MONSTER!!!

Decorating monster is bad. She can’t settle for a nice paint job and moving her old stuff in, perhaps cleaning up a bit. No indeed.

Decorating monster has to have a “theme.” And it can’t be something like “Country Kitchen,” or “Modern-y living room with comfy couch.”

It has to be Moulin Rouge Decadence meets Rajasthani Village folk art. It’s French! It’s Indian! It’s French AND Indian,” says Decorating Monster. “Hey, just for kicks and giggles, why not throw in a picture of Chief Joseph in the style of Toulouse-Lautrec?!? Ironic, yes! Stylish?...dare I say oui? BWAHAHAHAH!!!”

(It must be understood that Decorating Monster speaks and walks in loudness, talking frequently to herself in a booming yet annoyingly musical voice.)

My specific version of Decorating Monster hit the slippery slope when she started with the idea of stick-on crown molding. Then she,I suppose, mogulled on down the thing once she started thinking more about blue and yellow.

“It’s, like, the sky! And the sea! Say what about some sand colors! It’s like a freakin’ beach! Maybe some retro stuff?!? It’s all “Sur la Plage meets modern chic”! Say, what about a painted screen, and vintage phones and typewriters, and a lounge chair covered in canvas?!? It’s witty, it’s urbane! BWAHAHAHA!”

And then I started looking for antique phones and typewriters. Because at this point, I had developed a whole backstory for the room.

“Ok,” Decorating Monster says to herself. “Get this. It’s like a frustrated 39 year old early 20th century British writer—Alistair, shall we say-- runs away to the French Riviera. He only carries his steamer trunk and his spectacle case along with a clean white suit and his trusty Regal typewriter. He spends countless hours lounging on the beach in his straw hat, as he gazes at the beach, sits at countless cafes, knows all the waiters at all the cafes (all of whom he charmingly names “Jacques,” which makes them all want to chuck him playfully in the chin and get him another baguette). He falls in and out of love with many women, especially blond ones in nice red dresses with tiny sprays of flowers on them (AKA ‘this little old thing?’). All in the name of writing the next great British Novel before the war hits. Not that he knows about this yet…”

As if this weren’t scary enough, here’s the thing. This room, decorated with a completely different person other than myself in mind, is a room I want to be in—not with Alistair, not conversing with or imagining that I’m in some romantic getaway--but simply imagining what it would be like if someone like this were to be there. Alone. Eating toast. Reading the paper. Writing stuff.

Still scarier, it seemed that my dad, out of nowhere, read my antique typewriter/telephony thoughts. We had the following exchange in Tamil and English.

Dad: (from another room) Romba samaan vaangaathae. (“Don’t buy that crazy period crap.”)

Me: (surreptitiously changing browser from “EBAY: CHEAP VICTROLA KNOCKOFFS!” to the New York Times). Dad, what makes you think I’ll buy tons of stuff that I don’t need?

Dad: (sighs) Apparum, veetilla romba space illama irrukam (“Because my Favorites list now has a zillion links to Craigslist!”)

Me: Ayyo kadavule! (Oh, whoops.)

Ok, maybe I took a few liberties with the translation there…