I spent last night with contact paper. I have fond and wacky memories of contact paper. I was contact papering the drawers of some cool antique dressers that my dear Lila bestowed upon me.
As I carefully peeled the paperbacking from the sticky stuff, and attempted to get it laid down straight on the wood, I started laughing. Because as anyone knows it’s next to impossible to work with the stuff gracefully. I also was hit with a memory…
There are very few things in my life that I have done that are redneck. And I’ll admit to this one. *sigh*
One of the bathrooms in the house my first husband Rick and I lived in was papered in this hideous textured with gold sparkles sea shell wallpaper. It was hideous. Well, we had the floors retilled and the guys screweded up and put the tile that had been picked out for the kitchen, into the bathroom. So I had this nasty walls, and this pretty hunter green tile floor. So thenI started bitching (normal female trait) about the hiddeous combination of wallpaper and flooring. It wasn’t being done in my time frame, so I made up my mind to do it myself.
I was out at the home improvement store and saw the contact paper. White background with an ivy green patern. It hit me. I could contact paper the bathroom and make it look better. The whole idea of the mess of wallpaper paste or paint just disguested me. This seemed fool proof.
One bottle of wine and lots of cursing, and many hours later I had contact papered the walls in that small bathroom. When Rick came home he found me sitting on the bathroom counter, looking around at my handiwork. I think it struck him speehless, then he started laughing, and couldn’t stop.
The contact papered stayed up. It actually didn’t look that bad, and it looked a helluva lot better than the textured sparkly sea shell crap.
If you are too old to drive your age in the speed limit, then you shouldn’t be driving. If your IQ is below the speed limit, you shouldn’t even be allowed near a vehical.
It’s a good thing I’m not the president or some high powered person. Cause this morning I would have been shoving cars off the road saying;
“I’m the (insert imporatnt title here) bitch!”
–In reference to the whole “I’m Rick James— Bitch” comedic parody.
I’ve been putting a lot of thought into finishing up a degree of some sort lately. It would be easiest to go back and just finish up in Music, but alas… I don’t want to teach or really even perform. So that’s not gonna work. And same with Education… I don’t want to teach. So there goes the Music Performance / Music Education combo.
But alas hope is not lost, since I’ve been out in the real world I’ve discovered that I have a knack for things business related. I also have a massive intrigue thing going on with thing legal related and there has got to be somthing wrong with me… I mean seriously. Who else salvates over law text books at the used books store?
Then agian there is radio. It’s in my blood. Too late to turn my back on it now. In the perfect world I could stay in Chattanooga, make well over $100k a year being a DJ. (Honest… Mom never dropped me on my head, at least not that she’s admited.)
A good way to combine… Corporate law. Get my Bachlors in Business/Marketing (just in case I decided not to go to law school I could easily stay in Marketing which I’m good at. And then go on to law (hopefully by then UTC will have a law department) school. Corporate lawers very easily make upwards of $150k a year, and there is job security.
I’m just petrified of getting into law school and then freaking out.