We all tend to view our own problems as the worst in the world, and in light of my online dating debacles, I was no different. I have quickly regained a proper perspective. Quality family time, lots of good wine and laughter, and I feel so much better. Besides, my options are still open and completely unlimited. Life is bueno, and it does go on.
I suppose another factor contributing to my perspective-adjustment was the attack in Paris. It's yet another not-so-subtle reminder that life is precious and short. I'm not one of those who yearns to showcase how thoughtful I am by superimposing a French flag over a Facebook photo or hash-tagging PrayforParis. I've always been a substance-over-symbol type anyway, but the terror attacks did conjure some really random thoughts. One was extraordinarily random.
I remember when I won the coin collection. There was a running backgammon tab that reached just over $3000, and once I got tired of trying to collect actual money, we arranged an asset exchange. I got a .44 Magnum, a home gym, and a pretty cool coin collection. In the end, I was shortchanged quite a bit. I sold the gun a couple years later (story for another day), I gave the home gym to God knows whom, but I kept the coin collection.
Before I moved to Florida, I did a ton of pruning because I didn't want to take a lot with me. One day, I was browsing through the coins, and one caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a game token from an old carnival, but after a bit of research, I learned it was a late-19th century brothel token from Paris. They weren't worth a mint......I think mine sold on eBay for $120-150. The peculiar aspect of this particular sale was that I shipped the token to a guy who lived about 20 miles from the address of the old brothel. I remember feeling such joy that the token was going home. After news of the attacks broke, I wondered about the guy who bought it.
Address of Brothel
Location of old brothel
Proximity of old brothel to location of one terror attack
I'm not sure why I felt the urge to write about this, but I'm sure it has more to do with putting off the restoration of this monstrosity than anything.
Chin up, eyes forward, and Vive La France (they do have the best national anthem by the way). Adieu.
Note: I thought that I had deleted this post because it needed revisions. It started as complete cynicism before morphing into optimism. Now it's back to where it was. I should have stuck with Plan A (if I had a dollar each time I've uttered those words.....). The Gambler's Fallacy (in my own words): The psychotic belief that because something happens more frequently in the past, it is somehow less likely to occur in the future.
I don't know why I did it, but I did. My one-year, self-imposed exile from women was days from ending, and I had too much to drink. It was the perfect storm. I got home, and with my creativity amplified by wine, I composed a unique profile, and I joined an online dating site.
So here I sit, wondering how to compose an intelligible post when I haven't a clue where to start a story that doesn't have an end. Maybe by quoting lyrics from the one song I like from a band I cannot stand, though considering I was 14 or 15 when this song was released, they couldn't have been referring to online dating. Maybe they just sucked way ahead of their time. As usual, I digress.
It's all the same, only the names have changed.
Everyday it seems we're wasting away.
I can't believe that I have a Bon Jovi clip in this post. I feel ill. And embarrassed.
Anyway, I was inundated with messages. Honestly, I was surprised. I am probably the least photogenic person in the world, and I only used the one least-bad photo I had. At first, I responded to all of them because I accepted each as a compliment. After all, a woman took minutes from her life to send me a message, and I felt it proper to reply, even if there was zero attraction. I was naive. Once I replied, each took it as an opportunity to flood me with messages, Delete. Block. Holy shit....what the fuck had I gotten myself into?
Everything was a fucking cliche, including the photos. Every woman has a gym photo. The true psychos have the cross-fit photos. Then there's the obligatory gun-range photo. It's not unique anymore!!!! Duck lip photos. Horizontal peace-sign photos. Tongues out.
Then there was the all-too-common breast paradox. Women who "weren't looking for hook-ups," but were all too-willing to have their breasts hanging out in their photos (even the gym photos). During one brief exchange, I asked one woman what she thought her best character trait was. She replied, "My breasts."
It wasn't all bad. Some were cute and seemed interesting. Some were cute and seemed fun. Maybe this wasn't so bad. I even gave a few my number to text. That was naive mistake #2 (one woman sent me at least 10 naughty photos immediately after I gave her my number. Jesus Christ. Really? I blocked her number. It's better than a trip to the doctor, right?).
Then there was this doozy....we corresponded a bit on the site, and then we proceeded to text.
I took a pass, and I blocked her number also. She was cute, but I don't want to find any of my cats in a pot of boiling water.
Here's my favorite. She was gorgeous, and her profile read splendidly. We were hitting it off within the site's messaging service, and I passed along my number. She texted a few minutes later, busting my chops about selfies even after I had already explained why it was not part of my personality.
Go fuck yourself. You haven't earned the right to nag me yet. Too bad....you were pretty.
In the interest of brevity, I'm excluding a lot. This post has already taken so long, and I'm feeling anxious.
The dates......As of today, my username still exists, but my profile and photo don't. More on that at the end. I was on the site for exactly 40 days, and though I didn't chisel the Ten Commandments, I learned a lot about myself, people, and how being alone is spectacular until it's suddenly not.
Date #1
Two days in, I took the plunge. Her photos looked nice. She seemed quite bright. I told her that I had to see how some glue set on an antique couch I bought. I explained that I would be slobbing it, and she was okay with that. She even offered to buy beer, and meet me at my sister's (the couch was in her garage). Zero risk, high reward. She arrived five minutes after I did. Something was amiss. Her face favored her photos, but her body looked like it had gained 50 pounds since those photos were taken. I'm kind and courteous, and I wasn't going to throw her out for being deceitful, but my mind did immediately shift its thinking to, "How am I getting out of this quickly?"
We sat outside and talked for about 20 minutes. Well, she talked for about 20 minutes while I thought of a graceful exit. It never came, and I suddenly blurted, "I'm not feeling it. I'm sorry, but I need to go home." Thankfully, she was graceful.
Date #2
Undeterred from the disappointment of two days prior, I was scheduled to meet a really attractive woman for drinks. I liked her from the start. We laughed a lot. We talked a lot. We drank a lot. I had fun. The restaurant closed, and though neither of us wanted to drink more, we didn't want the date to end quite yet. We came back to my place (not for that!!!......just to hang out), and as soon as I opened the door, she darted to the bathroom to puke. That could happen to anyone, so I didn't think anything of it. I picked her up from the bathroom floor, and tucked her into my bed. Nothing more to write....she and I are still friends, and I think she is one of those "lifer" friends. Really cool woman, but there was no spark for me.
Date #3
This date was scheduled for 12:00 on a Saturday, but I had another date scheduled for 4:00 on a different side of town. The weather was perfect. I was excited because I knew she was really smart, and she looked pretty in her photos. Boom! Right on time. She looked exactly like her photos. We greeted each other with a hug and a peck on the cheek. I pulled her chair out for her to sit, and then I sat. Then she talked. The Hindenburg didn't crash as hard as I did that moment.
Her voice had two of the most annoying tones..... Northeast Coast smug blended poorly with Midwestern I-will-strangle-you-if-you-continue-to-talk. I couldn't consume the alcohol fast enough. She talked about obscure science-fiction movies and God knows what else. It has been a month, and I've tried to forget that date. It lasted way longer than it should have until I got a bright idea. When she excused herself from the table, I texted my sister to come up with an emergency for me via voice call in 15 minutes. 16 minutes later, I was walking her to her car. She said she hoped we could get together again, and I lied while reciprocating the sentiment. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I think she knew the phone call from my sister was bullshit because she sent a text a few days later, laced with a less-than-cordial tone. I felt badly.
Date #4
I know I seem scummy for booking two dates on the same day. I kinda felt scummy, but if you can step back and look at it logically like I was, perhaps you'd understand. Imagine this: You're a baseball player with unlimited outs, and all you have to do is hit one home run to win every day for the rest of your life, Wouldn't the smart thing be to swing at as many pitches as possible?
I had an absolute blast on Date #4. It lasted 8 hours, so it was definitely the longest first date of my life. We laughed, talked, and watched football at the bar. For whatever reason, we failed to connect after that date. A few text exchanges later, we never spoke again.
Dates #5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
I didn't go out on a date for a week. I was swamped with work and consumed with its tension. While at my nephew's little league game, my sister and I were reading messages and browsing profiles. I received a brilliantly-written message, so we looked at the profile. Four kids!! Four fucking kids?? Four? We laughed hysterically. Then my sister said, "She's really pretty though." So I responded, and I'm glad I did.
She's an incredible person with a heart 20 times the size of mine. We had fun together, we had some great conversations, but in the end, she and I both knew I would never be able to deal with four kids.
Dates #6. 13
(I want this post finished so badly.....I'm tired of writing it, but I must finish!!)
I first went out with her on a whim. I was driving home from Date #5, and she asked if I wanted to meet for a drink. Why not? Unlimited outs.
I always got the feeling she and I would be friends, with no chance of anything else. I never felt a deep connection, but I liked her. We insulted each other, though we were always friendly. The more I was around her, the more I thought she would be the rudely-demanding type.
We were supposed to meet last Friday, but I really didn't want to go, mostly because I wanted to have drinks with my friend (it was a late invitation). I wasn't rude, but I wasn't charming. I didn't want to be a douche and cancel. I wanted to be a douche so she would cancel, and it worked.
Date #12
I have very little to write about her. She was sweet, but someone had just killed her dog. She was in my part of town, asked if I'd like to meet, so we met. There wasn't a connection, so neither of us has pursued since.
Date #14
She and I had been trying to meet since my second or third day on the site. Something always happened in her life to postpone the date, but it turns out, all the off-the-wall excuses were actually true.
We met at a sushi restaurant I used to frequent before I moved to Florida. She was a really cool woman, and were it not for #15, I would have seen her three days ago.
Date #15
I drank heavily on Friday. I didn't particularly want to, but when a 70-year old man keeps filling your glass with scotch, it would be rude not to drink it. So I did.
Early Saturday morning under sheets of rain, I made my way home. I was thankful to make it safely, and even more thankful for my bed. I couldn't know at the time that while I was passing out, someone perfect for me was composing a message.
We exchanged messages, and then we exchanged telephone numbers. We texted all night before I called her around midnight. We talked for almost three hours. It was perfect.
Our date the next day was scheduled whimsically, and it was also perfect. It lasted at least five hours.......it could not have gone better. She was thoughtful, smart, fun. She laughed a lot, She's a fellow Grammar Nazi. She seemed loving. I was enamored, but not delusional. I hope something comes of this, but probabilities suggest otherwise. However, blind dogs find bones, and a batter with unlimited outs will eventually hit a home run. Time will tell, but I keep hearing the voice in my head say, "If it's too good to be true, it probably is."
Update: I was right. She was too good to be true. On the Monday after our date, she wrote that she was not feeling well. Apparently it was a pretty severe illness. We exchanged some very forthcoming (all positive) texts until last Wednesday. Then she dropped off the planet. I don't know if she's dead, in the hospital, found a better guy, in jail, in rehab.....I have no clue. I don't understand. I've kept all the texts to affirm my sanity (which I am questioning), but here are a couple.
I'm so confused, but more disappointed than anything. Hope is a dangerous thing, and I let myself succumb. In the spirit of honesty, this encounter continues to screw with my brain, and it has further deteriorated by already quicksand-ish foundation of faith in people. This, too, shall pass.
Mostly because of #15, I deleted my profile, but I threw it on again late last week. My heart wasn't in it (I only did it out of spite), so I have since dropped it. I'm not prepared to go on 15 more dates to find someone as attractive in every aspect. Dating took up way too much time, and I want to get back to spending my free time doing the things I love. At least for now.
Besides tasting like shit, I won't eat tilapia because it's all farm-raised, and I don't trust what the farmers feed them. On the bright side, farm-raised tilapia is a fantastic metaphor for online dating. There's an endless supply, the cost is low, and it sucks.
One would think that if you met enough women, surely one would have long-term potential, but that's no different than betting your retirement on a black number simply because the roulette wheel has yielded 15 straight red numbers. The percentages for each spin are exactly the same as the previous million and the subsequent million. Oh....my profile name? Lawofaverages.....a euphemism for the gambler's fallacy. Back to art and furniture.
I hate myself. I've betrayed someone, and I am overwhelmed with guilt. I've written so much, but I haven't coherently organized anything to post. My phone is likely close to maximum capacity with notes and photos, but the parts are, sadly, worth way more than the sum. I feel like a scummy husband. "I've had lots of sex.....just not with my wife." That's how I feel about this stupid blog. In reality, it's nothing more than an address in a world where very little is real. To me, it's eyes-deep reality. I've missed it, but I've always been thinking about Coffee and Valium. I doubt a cheating husband ever truly missed his wife, so I feel a little less guilty putting it in that context.
What do I do when I'm behind, and I feel almost-too-overwhelmed to start? I'm picking up where I left off. Only two months have passed, and in the grand scheme of things, that's nothing. To me, it's a long time. If nothing else, I'll get some of these fucking photos and notes off my phone. Starting is the first step. Or is it admitting that you have a problem the first step? And what did John Lennon in Yoko Ono? Shoot me before I write, "to each his own." I have no room to talk. I digress. Shoot me now.
I love this feeling of drinking wine, eating olives, and writing. I'm already reminded how cathartic it is.
Furniture isn't selling right now.....at least not at margins to which I grew accustomed. With oil prices this consistently low, the Houston economy is no bueno. The oil chart is forming a base (I still don't miss trading), but I imagine 2016 will be more fruitful than 2015. Maybe some bubbles burst in October like they usually do, and we can all go about our business afterwards. I pulled back accordingly, but there were a few pieces I loved. One step at a time.
I bought this 1954 china cabinet last.......1955? It only seems that long ago, but I think it was only July. How can time stand still and move at light speed all at once?
She sold it for far less than its worth, but....
....it's worth is only what someone is willing to pay.
I loved how it turned out though.
Then there was this cabinet.......
At the time, I thought it was a huge score, but......
.....I'm still sitting on it. I suppose there are worse things upon which to sit :)
I love the cabinet, but I'm pissed nobody else likes it. I hate being artsy with a Type A personality. Make your last shot. Catch your last pass. Get your last serve in. I'm calling it a night. I'm finishing this bottle of wine, deleting some furniture photos, and passing out. It's a crappy post, it lacks imagination, but at least I wrote something vaguely organized. Most importantly, I'm up to late-August/early-September.......only a month behind now.
I can't seem to adapt to the new ways of communication, and in particular, the degrading abandonment of the English language. It has been oversimplified to the point that words have lost their meanings, effectively deforming the Mona Lisa into a stick figure. It's like a woman of stunning beauty, so full of promise, sold into a life of street prostitution. I can't even properly use 'like' without cringing because I constantly hear it used improperly. I constantly hear it. Period.
I prefer to think of language as a set of tools and materials. Singularly, each word has value, but only as a sum are they able to form a use and serve a purpose. A picture speaks a thousand words, but similarly, the perfect combination of words paints a masterpiece. For me, romance will always be expressed by the written word, love expressed by the spoken word, and passion expressed by the word unsaid.
Even, and often especially, in the darkest of life's times, I try to find humor. My sister and I often joke about the new (abbreviated, shallow, misspelled, and sans punctuation) American-English dialect, particularly among Millennials and "urbanites" (both real and fake). As I pay my respects (props in our new dialect) to a few of my favorite, dying words (they will be in italics), I will attempt to show how those same ideas can be communicated in today's moronically-efficient English. Side thought: How insanely improbable is it that I refer to the urban dictionary more often than Webster's?
After breaking up with her, a forlorn feeling overwhelmed me.
Translates to:
Bitch cold
At the time, it seemed like glorious serendipity that we met. I am perplexed as to how I could have ever thought that.
Translates to:
WTF was I thinking?
Her mercurial nature was a mystery I wanted to solve. After a few months, I wish I had just left it a mystery.
Translates to:
WTF was I thinking?
His salacious proclivities would make swingers blush.
Translates to:
He likes 2 fuck
While enjoying drinks, her repartee aroused and enchanted, but while texting, it faintly existed.
Translates to:
She won't sext
You are perfect, wonderful, and vivacious. I can't wait to see you!
Translates to:
Yo bitch
And remember......if you want to like, expand your American-English lexicon, just, like, invent a word. Like, no one will be the wiser.
I have a rabid hatred for country music. It's not only because of the tired stories about beer, unrequited-trailer-park love, and pick-up trucks, though the dull-witted lyrics contribute handsomely to my disdain. To me, country music lacks soul, and I feel nothing when I hear it. I'm starting to get that same feeling about people.
I've used the word soulful more times than I can count over the last month (which has been the strangest 4-ish weeks in a long while). I've used it to compliment my dearest friend. I've used it describe my 11-year old niece. Mostly, I've used it to rationalize my cynicism about dating. As much as I'd like to argue with my logic, I can't.
The technical definition for soulful is: expressing or appearing to express deep feeling.
I've simplified my definition to: expressing depth beyond handbags, fingernails, and exercising.
In the interest of joining the dumbing-down fad, maybe soulful shouldmean: demonstratingthe abilities to breathe and to produce sound from one's mouth.
I realize that small-talk has its place, and that not all conversation is as meaningful or poignant as others. I have accepted that. But Jesus, even small-talk provides one an opportunity to demonstrate witty humor and gulp......depth!!
Rant over. It has been a slow summer for furniture. Maybe I'll start painting plastic swimming pools to symbolize how shallow the gene and people pools have become.
I have an addictive personality, and it extends to just about every aspect of my life, including entertainment. For instance, when I pick up a book, I usually forego all of life's necessities (including sleep) until the last page is read. So, when I subscribed to Netflix a couple years ago, the second coming of Jesus Christ couldn't have been more spectacular.
Binge-watching wasn't something with which I was completely unfamiliar. I did it for the first two seasons of Weeds via Showtime on Demand. So, I wasn't a virgin, but I wasn't very experienced either.
I've yet to binge on every recommendation provided by friends and family, but here is my list (I'm addicted to making lists also) of binge-watching options on Netflix. The two main criteria are plot and dialogue. I love a good plot, but at least as much, I need intelligent dialogue between characters to truly enjoy a series. The subjective criterion of my list is how sad I felt when it was over.
1. Breaking Bad--I don't know how in the hell I missed this while it was on cable. It is the best show I have ever seen, and it's not even close. For a while, that title belonged to Sopranos, then to Dexter, but as great as those shows were, neither comes close to the quality of Breaking Bad. It has everything. Superb character development. Suspenseful plots that are plausible. Brilliant writing and acting. Most importantly, it didn't overstay like many other shows do, so it never got tired. Out of 62 episodes, there may have been two that were less-than-exhilarating. Abso-fucking-lutely binge-worthy. (6 stars out of 5).
2. Dexter--A few years ago, I would have considered it sacrilege to have another show rated ahead of Dexter, but I can't make a single argument to rate any show ahead of Breaking Bad. Still, it's a great show. It's tense, fun to watch, and it's easy to love a psychopath who kills only those who deserve it. The binge will have lulls though. Season 6 was downright painful to watch, and I expected more from seasons 3, 5, and 8, but all-in-all, a very well-done series. Extremely binge-worthy. (4.5 stars out of 5).
3. Peaky Blinders--I love Peaky Blinders, but only 12 episodes have been produced. I hate ranking a series with such a small sample size so highly, but that's a testament to it. It's a fantastic "period-drama," taking place in post-World War I Birmingham, England. The show reminds me a lot of The Godfather and The Sopranos, so if you like the gangster-genre, you will love Peaky Blinders. The acting, costumes, and set-design are also first class. Extremely binge-worthy. (4.5 stars out of 5).
4. Weeds--A very worthy candidate if one needs to kill two days' worth of hours. Mary Louise Parker is terrific (and I'm not at all skewed by my long-time crush on her), and her supporting cast is equally brilliant. The show lived a bit longer than it should have, but it's a perfect mix of dark comedy, drama, and suspense. Very binge-worthy. (4.4 stars out of 5).
5. Orange is the New Black--When I started watching OINB, I thought, "This reminds me a lot of Weeds." Shortly thereafter, I paid attention to the opening credits only to realize the shows were created by the same woman. The casting director must be a genius because each character seems perfectly cast. And, after a solid Season 3, the shows vaults into my top 5. Very binge-worthy, but we all have to wait for Season 4. I hate waiting. (4.3 stars out of 5).
6. House of Cards--Though without first-hand knowledge, I can certainly imagine that the goings-on in D.C. are as scummy as portrayed in House of Cards. Kevin Spacey nails his part, and the supporting cast do a fabulous job portraying Washington cleptocrats. I was extremely disappointed in Season 3, but the first two keep this show very highly rated. Hopefully, the writers come back with something better in Season 4. Very binge-worthy. (4.2 stars out of 5).
7. Grand Hotel (Spanish)--I'm embarrassed about how much I loved this......gulp......Spanish novella. I truly enjoyed the story lines, and one would be hard-pressed to outdo the costume designer and set designer (the furniture is magnificent). The more I watch period-dramas, the more and more I like them, and Grand Hotel was no different. If I were to be completely subjective, this show would rate higher on this list. If you can live with the subtitles, this is very binge-worthy. (4.2 stars out of 5).
8. Rectify--For me, Rectify was like reading a book, so a lot of people won't like it. It is slow-moving, so the characters get developed well. The dialogues are deep and dark, but considering the story is based on a man on death row whose murder conviction was overturned, how could they not be? Season 3 is coming soon, and I am very-much looking forward to it. Very binge-worthy, especially if it's raining or if you are sick. (4.2 stars out of 5).
9. Bloodline--Only one season has been produced, and I have no clue where the writers intend on taking this show, but for now, it's in my top-10. Very tense plot within a dysfunctional family always makes great entertainment. Very binge-worthy. (4.2 stars out of 5).
10. The Tudors--I never binged on this one because I watched it from its inception on Showtime. It's the third "period-drama" on the list, and for those who know even a little bit about the early years of the English Renaissance are all-too-familiar with how the Henry VIII story begins and ends. It has been ages since I watched an episode, but I remember the acting, costumes, and sex were all first-rate. Very binge-worthy. (4 stars out of 5).
11. Rita (Danish)--Very binge-worthy. (4 stars out of 5).
12. The Killing--Very binge-worthy. (4 stars out of 5).
13. Blacklist--Very binge-worthy. (3.9 stars out of 5).
14. The Bletchley Circle--Binge-worthy (3.8 stars out of 5)
15. The Assets--Binge-worthy. (3.7 stars out of 5).
16.Witnesses (French)--Binge-worthy. (3.6 stars out of 5).
17. Turn--Binge-worthy. (3.6 stars out of 5).
18. Broadchurch (British)--Barely binge-worthy (3.3 stars out of 5).
19. Sons of Anarchy--Probably ended three or four seasons too late. I could have done without Peggy Bundy's singing, but when your hubby is the creator, one gets to reprise songs at one's leisure. Not binge-worthy. (3.1 stars out of 5).
20. Lilyhammer--I enjoyed the first season. It's been on a steep downward-trajectory ever since. Not binge-worthy. (2.9 stars out of 5).
21. Lost--I liked it at first. As it progressed, it made less and less sense. I did hear a song that I loved, but that's about the best I can write. http://coffeeandvalium.blogspot.com/2015/05/lunatic-binge-songs.html
The ending was exponentially worse than Sopranos. Don't make the mistake I made. Do not binge!!!! (2.6 stars out of 5).
I was hoping to compile a top-25 like they do for college teams, but alas, my personal life isn't quite pathetic enough to warrant that number......yet. I'll try harder.
I'm in love. She has dirty-blonde hair, dark brown eyes. and a petite figure.
She's kind.........
She's affectionate.....
She's photogenic.....
She yells at me when I aggravate her......
......but she's quick to forgive.
She loves to take road trips, but she hates cars.....
So when my sister rescued her from a flea-infested home housing approximately 12 people (and God knows how many animals), no one was happier than I was. Thankfully, her name was changed to M.J. (Mary Jane). It's not a marijuana reference, but an homage to a friend who recently died. It was fitting, and the timing was oddly perfect.
This post will be short. It's mostly a photo-dump because it drives me crazy to have too many photos on my phone (I'm still not sure why I've yet to be officially diagnosed with OCD), It's also part-me trying to reconcile my amazement with how seemingly meaningless events can bring people (or animals) into one's life, and in that second, your existence is never the same. Hell, M.J. isn't even my dog, and I adore her. That my life can be changed because of someone else's random world is even more mind-boggling. And exciting. And scary.
My proclivity to binge watch shows on Netflix is actually quite frightening. I rationalize my obsession by saying, "It's just background noise while I paint furniture, and it's certainly more entertaining that watching paint dry." I've completed more than a few series, and I'm up-to-date on several others. I would like to rank the shows in a future post, but for now, I wanted to share some songs I've discovered along the way.
I'm really picky when it comes to music. It's probably one of the most-hated traits faults of mine if you were to ask those who know me. I am who I am, I like what I like, and I apologize to no one. That I've sought to download five songs from shows I've watched is nothing short of a miracle. I've wondered to myself if I hadn't heard these songs within the context of the shows I was watching at the time, would I still like them? The short answer: A few,
"Shambala" by Three Dog Night. I cannot believe I had never heard this song. My sister swears it was oft-played at a bar we used to frequent, but I always remember songs I like. I loved this song the moment I heard it during a "Lost" binge. I listen to it frequently now, especially when I need a musical "cheer-me-up."
Mazzy Star? Who in the fuck is Mazzy Star? I caught Into Dust while watching an episode of Rectify (a very philosophical series with brainy dialogue). It's not a brilliantly-composed song.....it's just a simple song by a woman with a heavenly voice.
If I heard Arabella by Arctic Monkeys randomly, or if a friend recommended that I listen, I'm not certain I would have liked it. The lyrics are stupid, the song tells the story commensurate with a B-movie, but the tune is catchy (think they slightly plagiarized the guitar and drums on War Pigs), and I heard it while watching Peaky Blinders ( a show that is 40 perfect episodes away from dethroning Breaking Bad as all-time greatest show). I don't listen to it often, but it's on my playlist.
I am Stretched on your Grave is by far the most poignant song on this list, and one of the most poignant my ears have ever heard. Sadly, I don't fancy this version as much as the version in Peaky Blinders. Still, a fantastic song.
The perfect song to perfectly end the perfect series. This is another song I'm not sure I would like had I heard it under different circumstances. It's just the last reason Breaking Bad is, by far and away, the greatest television series ever produced.
11 days ago, I quit smoking cigarettes. Actually, it has been 11 days, 3 hours, and 36 minutes. So, for the first time in almost 30 years, I am sans vice. I don't gamble anymore. I haven't indulged in recreational drug use in a long time, though if you gave me a Valium, I would swallow it before saying 'thank you'. I drink from time-to-time, but not to the excess needed to attain vice worthiness. It feels weird. Abnormal even.
I've read that once one quits smoking, the senses of smell and taste are restored. I've noticed no change with the way things taste or smell, but I have noticed a significant change in my hearing. Voices clearly sound like annoying cackles from crows now. A little girl practicing her recorder produces a wonderfully cacophonous joy. The glorious noises of Harley-Davidson motorcycles and leaf-blowers permeate the air at my every turn. I shudder when I think I've been missing all of this. And then there was Alice in Wonderland.
My 10-year old niece is in a pretty advanced theater group, and though I really, really, really loathe musicals, it was never a question that I would watch her in Alice in Wonderland. Before sounding like the complete prick that I probably am anyway, I adoremy niece. If she were in a "watching grass grow" competition, I would be there cheering for her. Anyway, the writing and songs were nothing short of fucking-God-awful-terrible. The kids were really talented, but I felt like I was watching that talent wasted. It was as though Laurence Olivier acted exclusively in movies written by Adam Sandler, Jerry Lewis, and Will Farrell. I wanted a cigarette so I could go back to being deaf.
Enough whining because there is plenty right with the world. When I last wrote, my inventory was pretty heavy. After a sudden reversion to the mean, everything sold, and I scrambled to replenish.
Overpaid a bit for the end tables, but $50 wasn't too much of a reach.
Slapped on my homemade generic version of ASCP Provence, and.....
....Mod-Podged some sheet music onto the unsightly marble.
I chose Tchaikovsky and Chopin. Not my favorites, but I had the music in my closet.
Same color and idea with this coffee table I picked up for $40 (another slight overpay).
It was less trouble to decoupage sheet music than it would have been
to tape of those sections for a contrasting color.
Picked up this really nice dresser, and a couple two-tiered
nightstands for $80 (no before photos on nightstands)
I wish I knew what to call this color, but it was a blend of three paints
leftover from previous projects. Greyish-whitish blue?
No....definitely looks more like bluish-whitish grey.
This chest was a steal at $55. It's probably 60 years old, and
there wasn't a thing wrong with it. Nice seller too.
Painted it Old White and Duck-Egg Blue.
Sadly, I am now a man with no vice. A novice :). I firmly resolve to show no less malice to every man, woman, child, and sound on this planet while I still long for a cigarette. I would also like to apologize in advance for any random and nonsensical gibberish I may post in the near future. I'll do anything to temporarily forget my desire to smoke. I just know I write better while drinking vodka and smoking cigarettes with a bong at arm's reach.
I'm still having formatting issues that irritate me, but I've found it's easier to just write a new post rather than adding photos of accidentally-excluded photos.
I didn't take before photos of this nightstand lot, but....
....I bought (4) for $70.
Three of them sold almost immediately, but......
....I'm still stuck with this one.
Again, no before photo, but bought this old high chair (sans tray) for $20. It took forever to paint.
I've seen Waterfall dressers and vanities, but never a nightstand.
Sold it to a woman who was seeking out narrow pieces because she is moving to Singapore.
I really liked this piece when I saw it, and the price was really low. I was a bit worried that it needed a ton of work, but it didn't.
Duck-egg blue, gold spray paint, and a lot of sanding.. .....turned out nicely.
This old Thomasville weighed a ton, but bought it at the decent price of $80.
Though one can hardly tell from the photo, I painted it a subtle mint-green.
Bought this dresser for $60. It was in pretty bad shape, and I had the strip all the veneer from the top.
It sold pretty quickly....back when Emperor's Silk (red) was popular (a month ago)
No other commentary to add. I have major writer's block
It was about this time last year when the Florida Panhandle received Noah's-Ark-type rainfall. Fast forward one year, and it's raining everyday in Houston. Normally, I love the rain. It could rain every day, and it would be perfectly fine with. The sound of rain and thunder calms me, and I love the smell. Unfortunately, my nephew's last three little league games have been postponed, and though I love watching him and his friends play, I do have a bit of a crush on a teammate's mother. I truly don't know how to approach her. In any other setting, I would be fine with a home run or a strikeout, but that her son is a friend of my nephew makes the situation completely awkward. That, and her ex-husband seems to hover over her lawn chair like a vulture. FML.
The first three months of the year were weird, and I suppose weather had something to with it. I'm sure the price of oil hasn't helped either. There have been weeks when I couldn't give stuff away, and there have been weeks when I've panicked to load up on inventory because pieces were moving so quickly. I'm back in depressive mode in this manic, bi-polar market, so if I can't sell pieces, I can at least purge the photos from my phone.
A buy I regret. Luckily, I bought a monk bench with it.
Turned out lovely, but the bottom drawer was never perfect,
so I just got my cost back on it.
Another one that I regret. It was only $15, but
three of the drawers were shot.....
....so I got creative (stole borrowed someone's idea
on Pinterest, and....
made a stupid pet bed that no pet will sleep in. I
made the cat stay in there long enough for me to snap
a photo. Dumb idea.
I bought a lot of (4) mismatched chairs (all Tell City) for $60.......
.....because I wanted to do
some fun things with them.
Anyway, I got an email from a photographer who needed to move her
shoot inside because of the rain. They turned it into a swing.
And then there is this one. I liked the way it turned out, but
no one else seems to. I think I'm going to pair it with a desk.
I consider myself to be an optimistic realist. The sun always rises, but you can't always see it. It will only rain for so many days. Markets will fluctuate (even the furniture market). So, if I can train this wild Banshee of a cat to sit, anything is possible (vultures notwithstanding).
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