Going full Goldmember

It’s been quiet for a little while on my little space in... the web space. I could claim that I’ve been doing anything much but I’ve mostly just painted stuff, anything I could get my hands on in the shade of silver or white, really. Oh, and I’ve been spending wayyy too much time with electricians because we’re SAVING US FROM TERRIBLE DEATHS AND FIRES, shortly speaking.

We can just condense the last few weeks experience into a sigh of relief and an older man saying “Oh damn, I have to tell the owner about this” while stomping down the stairs. DON’T YOU COME DOWN THE STAIRS AND TELL ME ABOUT ANOTHER FIRE HAZARD, SHERYL. Okay, so it was less of a fire hazard and more of a “You’re fucking lucky to be alive” kind of situation this time, very well then. And also, my little statement in the last post about not actually touching electrical things because they’re not for us DIA’ers still holds true, because if an actual electrician tells you to hold something or to shove cables into a little pipe in the wall, it’s okay to do it.

But hey, it’s nice having a house, that’s bleeding money and could be considered fatal at times. It is. I mean. It is. Yeah. It is.

Moving on.

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Speaking of DIA’ers, I’m coming to you with half of what I’ve actually been doing on my off-electrician time since we spoke last. I don’t know about you, but at least I am a person that wants to banish pretty much everything in silver from my life, and replace it with gold. That’s right. The last few weeks, I’ve gone full Goldmember, and I’m not even done yet.

You know how it goes; I got a hold of that bottle of golden paint and just sort of swiped random things throughout the house and made them sparkle in the dazzle of sunlight. At least that rough concrete-dust-soot corner in the horror room now shines bright like the sun. Gold has never hurt anyone, right!

It all started with a lamp that my partner brought with him into our mutual home. He did wish it was gold instead of the shiny silver hue that it had, and the expression on his face when I told him that there’s actually a golden version of it… It’s just not available at our little Ikea, because almost nothing is. When we visited an Ikea in a larger town an hour away, we stared at like 24 of them. Lined up, almost just to spite him. “I can paint it, but it won’t look like that”, I said and pointed at the chromey shiney deliciousness of the golden lamps. He hissed “Do it, we already have it!” and started looking at something that didn’t offend him instead.

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The main offender 

Yes, I changed the white lamp shade to a beige one (huge surprise!), and I am gonna paint the rest of the cord. I just need the useless months before I get my hand out of my ass and do it. You know the drill.

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Then there were those baroquey candle holders that I bought for a surprising low sum ten years ago. I’ve always liked them, but also kind of thought they needed some sprucing up. Oh! Look! I have some leftover golden paint on my brush, whoops, just so happened to swipe it across my candle holders!

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 Look at that enhancement! It’s fit for a porn site ad, but without making outrageous claims!

And then, my friends, then there were the silvery huge candle sticks that my partner brought with him. I’m so fortunate that he wants to banish all the damn silver he brought into my life, geesh. With these, I tried something new. Something different. Something in a spray can. Yes. I dared sacrifice my partner’s candle holders to take my goldspray-virginity. Just for him. *cough*And hey, it’s not perfect, there’s bits of silver peeping through and I sort of sprayed dust into place (no one told me I had to dust off the tops between sprayings, how could I possibly know that a room made of crumbling plaster would dust my stuff!), but if you don’t look very closely, or squint a lot, they almost look like they ARE perfect! Good enough for this DIA’er!

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Much like missing a before picture of the now golden lamp, this was the only picture I could find that has the silvery thingies in them, because I really need to start taking pictures of things I don’t like very much as well.

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Next up is a bunch of cords, maybe some pipes and the chrome legs of the dining chairs I coloured… lemme tell you about the chairs a little later.

Third time is the charm even for gardening?

Honestly, things kind of just got out of hand. In more ways than one.

I was supposed to cheerily submit a post last week about this topic, but when I sat down by the kitchen table to take some photos of the seed packets I looked around the kitchen and saw things that didn’t belong and you know that itch to instantly do something totally different than the thing you actually set out to do sets in and you find yourself five hours later, having turned the entire kitchen upside down, rebuilt shelves, cleared out the fridge, washed stuff up, sorted, decluttered and gotten annoyed by exactly how many bags of cinnamon you have? No? Come on, I know you do. Oh, and there were four of them. Four. Yeah, I don’t know either.

Anyways, that’s what happened last week. No pictures of seed packets were taken and no plan was made nor any seeds planted. The kitchen looks great, though.

So, today I tried again. I sauntered into the kitchen around 11 AM and made myself three large cups of coffee to kick start up this sack of potatoes of a body and figured I’d just clear the dining room table and sort my packets in there instead seeing as the kitchen table is full of spice jars because what I ACTUALLY WERE SUPPOSED TO DO today was to assemble a spice rack so we can use the kitchen table again, but let’s not derail us any further.

I sat down, spread the packets out on the dining table and gleefully started planning my attack on the beloved activity of putting small pieces of green into small portions of soil and just hoping for the best. I managed to take some photos, go me!

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But then I thought, “We’re supposed to plant all these dang seeds, and gosh jolly there’s a lot of them, but where?” The patio is a fucking disaster and the little plastic pots I’m supposed to plant in are somewhere in the middle of it. I grabbed my witchy cup of coffee and ventured out onto the patio.

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“Dang, there’s a lot of stuff here.” I stared for a long time at the patio, breaking a sweat because even in Sweden, in February, glazed patios hold the lovely temperature of 35C/95F in the sun. I lifted a bag of fire wood, had nowhere to put it, dropped it again and thought; “We should keep these in the garage, but there’s a disaster in there too.”

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“Yeah, plant those veggies, do it. See if you get to keep’em for yourselves. Hint; you wont.”

The garage. I stared at the garage. Dangit. Before I even had time to register the decision, I knew what tree I was barking up. Cue me seven hours later, sitting down for the first time since that faithful second on the patio, having gone through and sorted the entire garage, sorted and cleaned the patio, AND shoveled my way through 50 meters of icy, knee deep snow to reach the outhouse where the dang missing plastic planting pots could be. They weren’t there, nor in the garage or on the patio.

So naturally I haven’t managed to plant any seeds yet. The garage and patio looks great, though.