You probably can’t really tell a huge difference from the before/after photo above, but yesterday I spent literally all day painting it white. After three coats of primer and three coats of white paint on the ceiling and walls, the room is finally looking a bit more clean. That being said, we still need to address the lack of hardware (we tossed the previous owner’s towel racks and toilet paper holder), vinyl floors, depressing mirror and the overdose of blue toiletries. The hardware is something we can do within the week, but everything else will have to be pushed until a proper bathroom revamp is within our budget. As a side note, don’t judge Betty White for the face she’s making above…it’s not very flattering (I think I caught her mid lip-lick).
The worst part of the bathroom was the ceiling—I snapped a photo just as I started priming so you could see the difference between the white primer and the yellow stains. All of the ceilings in the house looked like that because the previous homeowner was a smoker and everything just yellowed overtime I suppose. Note to self: scrape the paint off the light fixture and stop being so messy!
Pete’s mom came over and primed four of our downstairs doors (our bedroom door, the hallway closet door, our bathroom door and the critter/computer room door), which smelled of tar when she sanded them. I still have to paint them white, which I’m hoping to finish up this week. We’d like to eventually revamp the hollow, soon-to-be white doors by doing something like this, which will be a fun DIY project and give our doors a fresh face without breaking the bank. They are also in need of new hardware, which you can tell by the photo below (one side is gold, one side is silver…both are pretty darn hideous).
Betty White was not a happy camper today when we had our very first earthquake experience together. I was in the upstairs bathroom, standing on a ladder with a wallpaper steamer in my hand while trying to remove the butterfly wallpaper when I felt a little tremble. I hopped off the ladder and convinced myself that one of the following had happened:
A.) We live across from a train station, so I thought perhaps that was how much the house shook upstairs when the train went by since I could hear it passing. I rarely go upstairs (thus the absence of upstairs photos on my blog), so I thought the house might just shake upstairs when the trains pass.
B.) The previous homeowner’s dead husband’s ghost came back to haunt my ass and tell me how much he loved the pink, butterfly wallpaper and that I was making a huge mistake by ripping it down.
C.) That the construction crew outside of my window had jackhammered so hard that the house was going to crumble apart with me in it.
Once the rumbling grew to the point of the shower doors clattering back and forth and falling off their tracks, I realized none of the above were realistic options. All of the neighborhood dogs started howling and Betty White ran to the bathroom and barked at me until I scooped her up. I immediately went back into elementary school, emergency practice mode and remembered that I should probably be standing under a doorway, which is where I clutched the walls and Betty White until the shaking stopped.
I was too scared to look outside because I was worried that there would be pint-sized demons fleeing from a hole in our backyard (someone tell me I’m not the only person who loves the movie The Gate), so instead I reacted like the rest of the East Coast dwellers and freaked out via Twitter and Facebook.
Where were you during the earthquake and how long did it take before you realized the rest of your friends were already Tweeting about it?