That's the current state of our den. We're painting. Every room in this house has been painted at least once in the 14 years we've lived here, but not the den. It had wallpaper on the lower half, and the contractor didn't prep the wall before applying it, so there was not to be any removing of wall paper, not without significant drywall repair. Or replacement.
So Angela has moved to Alexandria, VA, and Austin has moved into her old room.
And Pam is nesting or something. So last week we painted Austin's old room. And part of the hallway.
That last wasn't part of the original plan. Pam mentioned while I was working on Austin's old room that the hallway had some problem spots from the last painting that needed fixing, and would I fix them. Sure, what the heck.
But when I finished Austin's old room and came out to fix the hallway, I found out that Pam's definition of "fix the hallway" means "repaint-the-hallway-with-a-different-color-paint-because-I-really-didn't-like-the-last-shade."
Like she hadn't planned it all along. And like I can't smell a con.
She's an evil woman.
So that done, we turn our attention to the den. We had to spackle the wallpaper seams, then sand them smooth before applying the primer. All the furniture had to be moved to the center. We primed yesterday.
Tomorrow Lynette Briggs, wife of Clark, for whom I'm building the zebrawood guitar, is going to come over tomorrow after church and she and Pam are going to paint. Burgundy on the bottom, some shade of tan on top. They've probably got fancier names than that, like "Regal Porcelain" or some other completely random and contrived name, but I'm a guy. It's burgundy and tan.
As long as it's not pink. My only demand was that the den remain a masculine room. Ain't watching the Orioles and Redskins in a pink room with flowers and crap.
So that's what I've been doing. Painting, plastering, and sanding. Gotta earn the right to work on the guitar.
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