stereotypical single woman

There are a few options open to a woman who is months away from her thirtieth birthday when it comes to dealing with profound emotional, professional, sexual, personal, and romantic frustration combined with PMS. The first is to barricade herself in her house with a tub of ice cream and watch romantic movies while crying because you are never ever going to have that in your life but can’t stop watching it and torturing yourself, but that option is so cliché, not to mention it would mean exerting way too much energy sorting through my still unpacked boxes of DVDs to try and find the right movies. The second is to hang out at bars every night, get mind numbingly drunk, go home with random men, and have lots of anonymous sex. I may have considered this a viable option if my body and IQ were 50 pounds/points lighter. The third option is to tear shit apart.

This is my country craptacular chair. I bought it at Goodwill for $20 a little over a year ago, it’s comfortable and sturdy but eye-searingly ugly. The cats love it but their taste in furniture sucks and they have no say in the matter until they start bringing home enough money to start buying their own furniture anyway. Because I really need an outlet right now, to me it’s ugly plaid exterior has become the embodiment of all the trying things in my life at the moment - it’s the reason I’m struggling financially, the reason I haven’t gotten laid in a very long time, the reason I’m at a crossroads professionally and educationally but I’m having a problem getting over my fear of failure and getting my ass in gear and just doing something, anything, to get myself out of the situation I’m in, oh, and it’s also the reason I’m overweight (okay, so this is all a HUGE stretch, but I need a scapegoat at the moment. Look, I never said I was rational, don’t argue with the woman with PMS.) So it’s getting dismantled and rebuilt into something beautiful, something that will magically make me feel skinnier, more successful, richer, have a guy that loves me, and doing this is totally going to make my life better (again, people, don’t even try rationalizing with the hormones, just step out of the way and let the delusional woman do what she has to do.)

Last night I gathered up my tools , briefed the boys as to what was going to happen (specifically explaining to Marty that is was very important to keep his tail AWAY from mom when she has PMS and is using the very big and very sharp scissors), and started hacking away. I wish I could show you a more dramatic demolition picture of a nearly naked chair, but even though I had a LOT of help, after two and a half hours and a couple of bloody knuckles all I had removed was about a million staples, the cording, and the facing from the bottom of the chair. I may be irrational and delusional at the moment, but I’m still a perfectionist, and dammit this is going to be done right - you just can’t rush skilled craftsmanship.

Okay, so technically I’ve never re-done a piece of upholstery this big before, but I don’t feel like I’m in over my head. I’m actually very handy (my father passed on his DIY gene to me.) I own my own power tools (in the small 14.4v girly size- they’re not only practical for work around the house, but cute as well!) I’ve done my research. I’m very good with fabric (or so the ink on the diploma says.) I’m taking lots of pictures as I’m tearing it apart so I know how it goes back together. I’m also the granddaughter of an upholsterer who owned his own shop during the glory days of Grand Rapids furniture. This is in my DNA. I will keep you posted.