Last week I blogged like four times! Perhaps you're wondering what this prolific amount of blogging is due to. (And don't end your sentences with prepositions, because it's bad to)
It's because I finally finished my piano. All the way (except for that one area that I forgot to do because I didn't think it would show, but now it does. But I've almost decided it doesn't matter. Because my piano's "look" is distressed. If only "distressed" were the in look for people. I would be fashionable. I always look distressed. Especially lately because I've had a sinus headache that leaves wrinkle marks in between my eyes. Perhaps part of the distressed look could include food all over your clothes. Because I've got that covered too.) It's also because I quit exercising. Now I spend all my time obsessing over this blog. I don't burn any calories but I do sweat profusely when the sun comes out because our computer is right next to a big window.
Yes I already blogged about finishing the DPC, but now I've finished the bench so that I can actually sit down and play. So here's a picture of the bench -- before and after (little girl not included):
Notice the beautiful pinkness that was and now:
Black, black and some maroon. And if you enlarge the picture and see spots of hot pink, those are not part of my refinished piano and bench. They are from a feather boa. Hope that answers all your questions.
So since I am addicted to stress, I need some other big project to fill up my time and to take my mind off the fact that hardly anyone comments on my blog. Seriously. I am obsessed. I check my comments like every day. Sometimes I check them multiple times a day. I REALLY need a new project. Christmas is coming. Perhaps I ought to embark on some large quest to make everyone quilts or something. I think that might stress me out enough to stop obsessing. But probably not.
Just for fun here's a history of the DPC:
Initially there was optimism. A short 3 month project that would end in a new beautiful improved piano. The piano came apart quickly and no note was taken of where certain screws go, or what parts would be showing when the piano was finished. Ahhh good old optimism. It'll get you every time. This was in August 2007.
Stripping (and really bad jr. high jokes) ensue. Optimism dies. Depression sets in.
Stripping continues (as do bad jokes and burning sensations). Sanding begins. My skin turns red as does everything else in my house. I sand through the veneer. Despair joins depression, but is thwarted by some mad idea that I must carry things through. I begin cursing and crying.
I will paint the piano (scroll down for piano post). Everything is fine. No one will ever know. Except when they inherit this piano and decide to try and refinish it because why would anyone in their right mind paint black and distress a beautiful old piano? Seriously what were the previous owners thinking? Then, after hours of painstaking (and really it is painful when stripper gets on your hands and feet) work stripping the black paint off, they will know. And they will wonder, "Why the heck does it have these ugly burn marks where the wood grain should be? Do you think the idiots used a power sander." And then they will scoff.
The piano is finished. Stephanie needs piano therapy. (And a new stressful project)