...and it seems like a million miles away from Champaign, IL. ...where the German cockroaches were our constant companions. Have you ever tried to study for a final when a bug bomb is going off in the next room? Who knows what kind of feats I would've accomplished if I hadn't turned my brain to diarrhea with toxic fumes.
...or Dekalb, IL...where you can hear the mice scratch and scratch and scratch inside the walls, and your favorite sound in the world becomes the unexpected *SNAP!* of the trap (humane trap). In hindsight, setting all those traps really made me feel like a silent movie villain. After securing the mechanism, I would laugh, wring my hands and think, "if only I had a handlebar mustache to twist...this would be perfect."
But that's all in the past, my friends. No more roaches, no more mice, just the freshness and cleanliness of a brand new home. Fantastic. I get to paint and decorate how I see fit, and nothing is going to stop me except my wallet.
When I get excited about decorating / decor like this, I tend to go a bit overboard. This leads to a series of things I like to call, "Sh*t I'm glad I did, but will never ever do again."
The common theme linking all of these projects is that when I start, I GROSSLY underestimate the time it will take to finish. Let's recap a few from recent years, shall we?
The Obamarator. 1,250 magnets on our fridge. I like it, but everyone who comes over tilts their head, stares at it for 20-30 minutes (like one of those magic eye books), and says, "That's cool. What is it?"
The Scrabble Table. 1,320 Scrabble tiles on my coffee table. Before I started, I remember thinking, "This is gonna be so awesome! It shouldn't take that long to sand and glue 1,300 Scrabble tiles." Beer and ether were the only things that could get me through that project.
The Mondrian inspired wall. When we sold that house, I refused to paint over it. "Someone will love this wall as much as I do...and if they don't...we're not selling it to them." I wish I could rent a Delorean, go back in time a few years, and slap some sense into that version of Kerry. Oddly enough, someone actually purchased our house.
And of course, that brings me to my latest torture....
"I'm going to paint birch trees in the powder room!" For reasons unbeknownst to me, I chose the tiniest room in our house to do the most elaborate design. Seth had to tell me to calm down and step away from the room more times than I care to mention.
But it's done, sucka!
I call this room, "If a turd falls in the forest, does it make a smell?" It makes me feel zen and ridiculous all at once.
Note: I will never ever paint birch trees again, so don't ask me to.