Painting BLOWS

I helped a friend out last night by painting two walls in her bedroom for her.
She's pregnant so it wasn't like she could just do it herself, you know?
Luckily, she's a bit like me in that she starts things with the best of vision and intention and then as she gets into it and realizes that precise and artistic are two things she is... not; she begins to slap the paint around and hope for the best.

But it wasn't my wall.

And even though I know how she is, I couldn't bring myself to half-ass sandy-peachy-muted-natural-skin paint onto the two walls she wanted painted.

So I PAINSTAKINGLY used three different brushes and a ladder and I ended up splattered with primer and sweaty which is like, not a surprise to anyone, of course.
I am always sweaty.
I'm sweaty right now, in fact and it's cold in my office.

I learned some things last night and they are these:
I hate painting.
Primer is an asshole.
Never paint a room with a dark color if you are fully prepared to suffer the consequences when you want to lighten it and you have to deal with the nut-job, drug-bag that is primer.

It seems like it would be a fun project you know, with the roller brushes and the trays and the color and the transformation and all but really, painting is an exercise in futility for people who are perfectionists but who lack any natural ability to perform the task at hand.

I'm so pretty sure that this morning, in the cold, cruel light of day, her bedroom walls are splotchy and have a funky textured effect where none was intended.
Three quarters of that would be my fault.

The other quarter is a combination of a few things:
1. It was night and there was no over-head light. You try painting well in the shadows of a reading light and a torchiere. Seriously. You do it and then judge my work.

2. The walls were uneven. Par for the Tucson course. Imagine this: Concrete? It doesn't set evenly on walls.

3. Popcorn ceiling. Even the person who painted before me must have struggled with this because there were little lines of the former color on the ceiling. I naturally covered those up, and added a few of my own as signature, with the new color.

4. She's having wood floors installed so the whole thing was "DO NOT GET PAINT ON THE NEW FLOORS." The guy doing the floors told her she would only need newspaper out to like two feet from the wall. Homeboy must not remember what roller brushes are capable of in terms of splatter. Eventually, after I moved the ladder and didn't realize there was paint on the bottom of it, the bottom of it that was standing on the new floor, we put down a drop cloth. This was sadly after I had already stepped in paint and not realized it and backed up to see how my shadow art progress was rolling. P-Lenty of time was spent with a Scotch-brite pad, urgently trying to get the primer off of the floor before it dried. Scotch-brite, I learned, is also an excellent exfoliate when you have primer splatters on your face, arms, neck, and boobs. If there is an award for 'Creative Use of Scotch-brite', I want to know about it and I want to win.

5. There was a situation with the nails used to hang the art that serves as her headboard. Apparently, it had taken three people and two levels to get them just right. They could not be removed from the wall. Rollering around a series of nails is one of the most inefficient things I've ever done.

6. Because of pets, the door had to be shut. After about 15 minutes, I was high as hell and seriously wanting to smoke which I haven't done in ages.
Loopy high.
HIGH high.
Really, really high.
It looked alright to me!
Let's sing! "Drivin' that train! High on cocaine! Casey Jones you better. Watch your speed!"

7. Light over dark is not good. I should have done two coats of primer, or the primer should have been tinted with a little of the color going on the walls because putting a lighter color over a darker one seems to require that there be an even layer of primer, which is like the most impossible task in the world when you're pretty sure your head is about to spin off into outer, cosmic space and you're feeling better than any mushroom trip you ever, ever, ever could imagine in your wildest dreams.

My head is pounding today and I've got a sinking feeling that my work there is not done.

Luckily, I am not going to feel a single solitary ounce of guilt by not going to the gym today and going to bed at 6:30, lights out.
My shoulders are roached after primer and two coats of sandy-peachy-muted-natural-skin paint.

arizonasarah at 10:42 a.m.

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