I’m sick of my house.
Okay, not my actual house, because I like my neighborhood and I’m pretty okay with my home’s layout and stuff—though it would be so much better if the house came with a playroom and a butler’s pantry. And a butler. But whatever. I can’t have everything I want. Obviously, or I would live next door to Adam Levine. And his band would practice in his garage every night while I sat on the window seat in my upstairs bedroom and listened. Life is so unfair.
Anyway, back to my story.
So…I’m sick of the inside of my house. Let me take you on a little tour. It probably won’t take long for you to figure out why.
Okay, so we walk in the front door (which is stained in a nice Mahogany color), and then step onto a (also Mahogany) wood floor. And then there’s a brown zebra bench sitting there on the left…and a brown table to the right, situated inside a chocolate brown dining room. And then in the tan-walled living room there are cornice boards hanging over the windows, covered in some kind of chocolate brown material. And next to the fireplace there is a brown leather recliner and two brown side chairs, and across from them there is a brown (with the tiniest bit of red if you look close enough and squint hard) sofa. Keep walking a bit and you’ll bump into the leather bar stools that are also…brown. Try not to trip into my grandmother’s old oak kitchen table with the brown seat cushions…
We could keep going, but the story would pretty much stay this drab.
Which begs a few questions: What has happened to me? When did I get so boring? When did I turn into the girl who paints/buys/sits on everything brown? And I mean, everything. Except my toilet seats. They’re white.
So I’ve decided I’m gonna change this next weekend. I bought some green paint for my kitchen and some blue paint for my dining room, and next weekend I’m going to slap them both on the wall. I bought some new material for curtains and a few pillows for tossing around the room. And there’s not a brown one in sight.
And maybe by the time I’m finished my house will look like Dr. Seuss threw up all over it, but I don’t care. Maybe it will look like a Who House, but whatever. Because I’m not gonna be the Girl-Who-Only-Likes-Brown anymore. Nope. I’m switching to orange. I’m changing to blue.
I’m turning green.
(Literally. Because all this impending brightness is kinda making me nervous. Sorta sick. But I bought all this colorful crap, so now I’m stuck with it. So, just in case, I’m gonna shove all those brown pillows under my bed. By Christmastime I’ll probably be dragging them back out.)
**Change in Subject**
On a completely unrelated note, Rielle Hunter’s book about her affair with John Edwards came out last week. And some lady’s book about her affair with Simon Cowell came out a few weeks ago. And an old White House intern detailed her affair with JFK in a book released last month. Why am I talking about this, you might ask?
Because I think I’ve discovered the secret to getting published.
Now, getting published is a life-long dream of mine. But I have four kids. And a husband. And I believe in honoring vows and stuff. But mainly, I’m just so darn tired. So what’s an exhausted girl supposed to do when she has a publishing dream and finally learns the secret to making it happen?
I guess she just goes about it the boring, old fashioned way. She writes. And hopes. And writes and writes some more.
And in between writing…she paints.