Tjuzing
Do you ever find yourself in front of your closet, late for work, frantically trying on everything you own? Nothing fits right, the shirt that goes with these pants is dirty, you forgot to sew that button on, this skirt would really look better with those shoes you can't afford...how can you have a closet full of clothes, but nothing to wear?
This is how I feel about our apartment.
Let me clarify, lest Luis take offense: this is how I feel about every place I have ever lived, including my childhood bedroom. All of the components are there - I just haven't hit upon the exact arrangement of light, color, and style that will finally make me sit down and shut up, satisfied with my efforts. Instead, I tweak, I reorganize, I bitch, I fantasize about Benjamin Moore.
Our place looks fine. I know this. Hell, it even looks fucking fantastic by some standards. The problem is, it doesn't look as good as my imagination allows it to look, barring the limitations of time, budget, room size, and feisty cats.*
Another large component is the necessary compromise involved in living together. For example, Luis is emphatic about not painting the walls, so we don't paint the walls, much as I would love to slap something bright and fun up. I was emphatic about buying a new duvet cover after the Fosse/Vaseline incident (don't ask), so we bought a new duvet cover, much as Luis' life probably wasn't grossly impacted by the grease stain. Compromise is good, and probably keeps some of my more insane fantasties in check. What if I covered one wall of the living room in suspended chains and added some uplighting for extra drama? Naah, Luis would never go for it. See what I mean? I actually considered this uplighting/metal thing with ball chain, but I digress...
I wonder if I will ever be able to look at my living space and be 100% satisfied, be it our current apartment in Gramercy or any future place we may call home. Maybe I missed my calling - I should have become an interior designer so I could act out my design fantasies on someone else's dime. With someone else's space, I could put a restriction on myself, know when to tjuzs and when to put down the paintbrush and step away from the découpage.
* This semi-lucid rambling was inspired by a contest going on at Apartment Therapy for the most beautiful bedroom. I would love to be able to enter ours and win, but I fear the criticism from the public judging poll. In a way, it's sort of like putting your picture up on HOT or NOT: if you have to ask, you're probably not.
This is how I feel about our apartment.
Let me clarify, lest Luis take offense: this is how I feel about every place I have ever lived, including my childhood bedroom. All of the components are there - I just haven't hit upon the exact arrangement of light, color, and style that will finally make me sit down and shut up, satisfied with my efforts. Instead, I tweak, I reorganize, I bitch, I fantasize about Benjamin Moore.
Our place looks fine. I know this. Hell, it even looks fucking fantastic by some standards. The problem is, it doesn't look as good as my imagination allows it to look, barring the limitations of time, budget, room size, and feisty cats.*
Another large component is the necessary compromise involved in living together. For example, Luis is emphatic about not painting the walls, so we don't paint the walls, much as I would love to slap something bright and fun up. I was emphatic about buying a new duvet cover after the Fosse/Vaseline incident (don't ask), so we bought a new duvet cover, much as Luis' life probably wasn't grossly impacted by the grease stain. Compromise is good, and probably keeps some of my more insane fantasties in check. What if I covered one wall of the living room in suspended chains and added some uplighting for extra drama? Naah, Luis would never go for it. See what I mean? I actually considered this uplighting/metal thing with ball chain, but I digress...
I wonder if I will ever be able to look at my living space and be 100% satisfied, be it our current apartment in Gramercy or any future place we may call home. Maybe I missed my calling - I should have become an interior designer so I could act out my design fantasies on someone else's dime. With someone else's space, I could put a restriction on myself, know when to tjuzs and when to put down the paintbrush and step away from the découpage.
* This semi-lucid rambling was inspired by a contest going on at Apartment Therapy for the most beautiful bedroom. I would love to be able to enter ours and win, but I fear the criticism from the public judging poll. In a way, it's sort of like putting your picture up on HOT or NOT: if you have to ask, you're probably not.
posted by Liz at 5:25 PM
2 Comments:
"What if I covered one wall of the living room in suspended chains and added some uplighting for extra drama?"
Have you thought about how the cats would react to this? I think you could change Luis' mind by asking him to picture the frantic glee the felines would get out of attacking that wall. And hey, the near constant motion from the cat-baiting would kind of improve the effect your looking for, wouldn't it?
(by the way, this is Jenny.)
Oh man, they would go nuts! You should see Conan with the Cat Dancer. Luis can practically get him to spin his head 360 degrees.
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