Where you Find Your Inspiration

You find your inspiration in the oddest places.  This week I was inspired by a TV show:  American Horror Story-Coven.  The show started off this week in the swamps of Louisiana.  The scene involves a character in a floaty hippy dress and shawl with layers necklaces and smokey eyes.  Fleetwood Mac music haunts in the background.  Just a delicious episode riddled with reference to Stevie Nicks.

I grew up in the 70’s-80’s and I fondly recall coming home from school, a very happy latch-key kid, and laying in the dining room where the stereo was and wearing the grooves off of my parents Fleetwood Mac Rumors album.  I carried the band and Stevie with me from album to cassette to CD to iTunes right up until today as a favorite.  I love the haunting voice and poetic lyrics that Stevie  does as only she can.

There’s that vein in me that loves lace and funky boots, necklaces and the sweet remembrance of how people in the 70’s looked at love and intimacy that seems so far removed now.  When talk of the tall grass, mountains, mirror in the sky, and night birds were as tangible in song as they are in real life.  Before texts and blogs and face time we had sitting around a living room (or laying in a dining room)  and having soulful talks with great music.

This has inspired my painted piece this week.  Dusky lavender with gypsy print accent and gypsy gold.  Here are a few pics…it’s not done and I am breaking a cardinal rule by posting a pic of the (yuk) garage (AKA my Fancy Studio).  I’m still knocking it around with my “purty sticks” but you get the idea.

Gotta run, at some point I have to go in and cook dinner and let the dog (with the breath that’s worse than Satan’s skidmarks) out.

How it starts

How it starts

In Progress

In Progress

“Wait a minute baby, stay with me a while
Said you’d give me light but you never told me about the fire

Drowning in the sea of love where everyone would love to drown
But now it’s gone, it doesn’t matter what for
When you build your house then call me, ‘Home””

Lyrics from Fleetwood Mac’s    Sara

Voodoo Dolls and Teenagers

I started painting a loooong time ago when by boys were toddlers.  I faux finished beautiful custom homes during the construction boom.  I have been making and doing since I was a teenager.  I stopped for a while when my kids were small because I couldn’t find time to wear a decent outfit  much less paint.  As their pre-teen years approached I felt my morph to the garage some since I wasn’t afraid to leave them in the house alone.  I was wrong, of course, as evidenced by my coming in one day to my 12-year-old, with a can of hair spray, a straw and a lighter (making a flame thrower like the one he saw on Youtube.)  I yelled at him for wasting my good hairspray and went on about my business.

Over time, my tweens became teens and I was glad to have my painting as I rose on the weekend and the man and boys slept until 2:00 p.m.  I enjoyed my radio and the outside and found my company in Annie Sloan, Martha Stewart and some gal with the last name Behr.    My boys used to make fun of my hobby saying that shabby chic was stupid and they hated the old furniture in the garage.  They shamed me for my hoard at every turn.  When people came to pick something up they’d scowl off waiting for a grilled cheese and wonder how anyone would like the things I painted.  I made voodoo dolls of them and made their butts itch and shaved off an eyebrow.

Funny how the jeers stopped when we took the first vacation we had in 16 years, last year, because of my painting, my peace, the thing that sets me free.

I’m full-on in the throes of raising two high-school boys.  Painting and crafting still takes me to my happy place in so many ways.  I hope you have found your happy-place as well.

Here are some things I’ve done in the last few:

dressernight standombreharlequin Drexel dresser

Topless Tuesday at the Thrift

toplessI am late for everything.  I have two teen sons, a full time job (I call it my “Big girl job”), the Vintage Warehouse space and have a full load at USF.  So what that means is that when I am somewhere…somewhere else is a sufferin’.  I have to work extra hard at everything to get it done and that includes scoring my good junk and antiques to paint.  And before you get your thong in a wad, I am not all about painting great-Aunt-Gerties prized Berkey and Gay buffet that has been in the family 3 generations.  I am about getting a half sanded buffet that Jolene is selling for her crack habit.  (I am kidding about the crack but it’s funny to say so I do).  I haul these half sanded junkerz in and they roll back out like they have had Botoxx and a full-on ass-lift.  So, I see it as a service to it.

At any rate…   I rolled up to one of my face honey holes (I can’t tell you where or I’ll have to take you out) and on the step were these tops…a bikini, a ragged out bra and a push up bra.  Panic came over me as I feared it was Topless Tuesday at the honey hole and here I was knocking these A and B cups straight out of the game.  A tingle rushed up as I knew that if this were a contest for a discont that I WAS GONNA WIN!.  I quickened my step, rushed the door to see every heiffer in there with a shirt on.  Dang… I had missed it again… me and my full schedule.

Fugly Fraternal Twins

I have a problem.  I like chairs.  Chairs are so interesting and have so much personality.  Old chairs are the best, they come from a time when the wood was real and the people who made them were craftspeople and artisans…not some dude who staples presswood to other presswood wearing earbuds and waitng for the time clock to tick.  These two particular chairs were hideous and putrid green.  They were ornry too.  I tried stripping them and they fought back, sending me for a triage and tetnus party before I asked the upholsterer to strip them so I could pick them up again and paint them.  They sat in my garage a long time.  I just knew that the work and expense to make them lovely wasn’t what I was feeling in the spring, summer, fall…..

One day I started the painting and got my revenge on the twins with distressing and waxing and fauxing years of character onto their wooden bones as if punishment were the only thing these two knew.  Happy with the result,  I labored over the fabric and decided that I wanted a clean palette of french linen and a European look.  I think, aside from our toil and bloodshed, they turned out to be quite serene and civilized!  These have taken yet another ride- to the Vintage Warehouse Lakeland and are ready for their new forever home where they promise to behave.

Margarita and Boogers

I promise you that this post will read nothing like the title eludes to.

I confess that I stray from shabby chic yumminess when the job calls for it.  I do beach cottage, many faux finishes and other looks as well.  This was the case Sunday, when my HGIC (head girlfriend in charge) texted me to tell me there was a dresser loose on a street close to her.  I ordered her to “Get it!” as I was busy at the warehouse and decided to make her my immediate employee that I would repay by way of dog sitting or taking her to her car dealer to drop off her Jeep for an oil change that would otherwise hold her hostage in the “Customer Lounge” all day.  BTW, why do they call it a lounge?  I have never seen a lizard or a cocktail come out of there…. Liars….

At any rate, my friend dropped off the dresser while I was away.  It wasn’t what I expected.  I had expected a very french ornate deal.  I got a faux bamboo number.  It was jacked up with thick shiny/gloppy paint and hand prints from the owners younguns on top as well as lots of grime.  Inside, (and I know you like to know what was left behind) there was a little Minnie Mouse sweatshirt.  I assume it was outgrown… I removed it with my drawer tongs and disposed of it.  The inside was as clean as could be.  The drawers were all turned around. The good news was that was all that was wrong.  They were not on their tracks  Once put in the right places and on correct tracks, all drawers opened like buttah!

The top had to be stripped to the original finish, which was in perfect shape.  The rest got painted in white with gray dry brushing and the lyrics to the beginning of a Jimmy Buffett song…or so I thought.  I had gone through life thinking that these were the words:

Livin off Sponge cake,  Watchin the Sun bake……..  Wasting away again in Margaritaville.

I awoke the next day with the instant thought to go to www.lyrics.com to look up the real lyrics.  “Nibblin on Sponge cake….. Wasted away again in Margaritaville.”  Now that was different!  I had to repaint and reword the dresser.  Jimmy would be ashamed of me, for sure.  Besides, how can someone live off sponge cake and waste away at the same time?  It cannot be done.  I know, I’ve tried.  Here is before and after of “Margarita”

Now…BOOGERS.  This has nothing to do with Margarita..but it was and has been on my mind today.  Raised in the south, we have many uses for the word booger, none of them what you think.  Here’s how I was taught the word that I detest but probably often say:

Booger- defined

1.  Man, that storm was a BOOGER!  (meaning it tore down a single-wide and Bubba’s front porch coke machine)

2.  “Boy, you better get outta that old truck bed, a BOOGER will jump on ya!” (a southern parenting technique to get children off of or away from dangerous places or situations, inferring a spider, roach or snake attack.)

3.  “Honey, I saw Gerdine down to the Piggly Wiggly and her hair looked like a WOOLY-BOOGER!”  (Even this is a variation on the term, it means a heinous hairdo and assumes the woman resembled a drunken Teamster.)

4.  “I love you, BOOGER.”  (A term of endearment usually meant for children.  This probably confuses them.  Refer to #2.)

I hope this clears up BOOGER CONFUSION.  It is common here in the central part of Florida.  You’re welcome  🙂

Here is a picture of a little corner of the Vintage Warehouse!

-Dana

Mystery Disease

where good stuff lives..

Lots of cool stuff happening here at Shabby Chic Addiction!  Did I tell you I was asked for a radio interview about how I got started in the yummy decor and goodie business?  (Only a hundred times?!?!?) Well now, you must hear it for yourself!  You’ll find my interview segment starting at minute 20:10. Que it up so you won’t have to listen to people who have nothing to say about junk or shabby chicness or decorating. http://view.liveindexer.com/ViewIndexSessionSL.aspx?indexPointSKU=5L82bV9S4UfAZgwaEY0%2fmQ%3d%3d

That interview was fun and I learned something about myself un the process!  I had it in my head that I have always been a junker, a shabby magnet, if you will.  The interviewer said she had watched me over just the last year after I proclaimed to her that I was going to change my house to a romantic shabby chic look.  And it all started with my headboard!

Speaking of headboards…  look at the picture of one of our vignettes at the warehouse!  This is just a tiny corner of the joint!  I can’t share any more than this pic because we haven’t finished sorting, staging or preparing for our sale.  Our plan is to make it a monthly junk purge set to the tune of  the Sanford & Son’s TV theme song.  April 20, 21 and 22 will be the first. But enough of this shameless self-promotion!

And on to a more serious topic:  The MYSTERY Disease. First, let me tell you what it’s not:

Not Snookie-Preggers  (the kind of pregnant when you ALREADY feel sorry for the baby)

Not the Sundrop Dance disease (where you dress and dance like you never wish to get laid again…ever.)  www.sundrop.com  see the “Drop it like it’s hot commercial”  Hot, yes…hot mess!

Not Middle Aged Zumba-itis (Where you are 40+ and insist on going to zumba classes with full-on head to toe zumba logo embellished clothing.  It’s sad..Don’t.

These are the true symptoms of the MYSTERY disease:

1.  You wake up with an idea to find old shutters and paint them in a haphazard manner to use them as a corner accent in your home.

2.  You drive 46 miles around your town on the hunt for abandoned shutters to paint.

3.  You are excited for garbage day in the historic district in hopes to get good junk before the city hauls it away.

4.  You learn to breathe through your mouth so you don’t notice the musty smells of old things.

5.  You start calling dust and rust “patina” and consider everything with it much more attractive and valuable.

6.  The bright lights of the discount mega stores begin to hurt your eyes and sensibilities. (I call it Junk Vampirism).

7.  You happily trade your only day available to sleep in late for an early rise to go “pick” at yard sales and flea markets.

8.  You consider used layers of lace and denim with cowgirl boots as appropriate garb to wear to the grocery, a flea market or even an evening out.

Ladies:  If you have identified with any of the 8 symptoms above you may be at risk for the mystery disease.  Unfortunately there is no cure.  Victims with a severe case can expect to experience frustrated husbands who are constantly asked to move furniture, fix old junk and endure mismatched pillowcases and frilly bed linens.   This disease may alienate you from friends who are creeped out by patina.  The good news about your disease is that you will be very happy with your treasures, you will make new girlfriends who love patina and you will crave the thrill and adventure of a dumpster full of vintage furniture and finds.

Oh, and it’s contagious, and I have it..so with computer viruses and such..Get Well Soon!  🙂

Addiction, eviction and prediction.

Exciting News on the Junk Front!

I have been lucky enough to score some warehouse space with two other gals!  (Code for:  Husbands finally saying, “Move these six dressers and buffets out of my garage or I will leave you for a stripper at Showgirls!”)

At any rate, these gals, Kim and Mendy are wildly creative and have a great eye for all things vintage, industrial, urban chic, eclectic and blingy.  We have become friends over our love of chicken wire, chalk paint and burlap.  We have so many goodies that we have decided to raise the door on our hobby once a month for a fantastic purge!  It will be fabulous!  There will be suitcases and furniture, fur covered benches, head-boards, dining sets, lawn and garden delights and so much more.

You see, we now have a girl cave.. where w can come and craft, collect, recycle/repurpose/reuse, paint and teach, share and drink fizzy drinks, while we work on our dance moves.  Why hadn’t we done this before?

Oh yeah, because our children were small and our plates were full.  It seems that we now have a keen eye for what we like, what tickles our fancy.  We want to share those goodies, to build our sisterhood and fill central Florida with things we can cherish in our homes.

It all sounds so pretty and communal doesn’t it?  Well let me tell you how it’s really rolling out:  For the last 3 days I have had to pay my 108 pound teen son tn bucks an hour to help me haul 14 loads of my garage to Wallace Road.  He is learning to drive so he insists on doing so.  We have run 2 red lights, a stop sign and damned near mowed down an old lady biking the Fort Fraiser Trail.  We put the fear of God in her so bad that I was sure she filled a Depends in crossing that stretch of the trail.  I have managed to beat up my rig pretty good and dismantle my femininity as I haul huge furniture around like a gypsy teamster.  In my mind I’m Rachel Ashworth.  In reality, I am Horace McGillicutty.

I am proud to say that the hubs can now park his Prius in the garage.  I still have several loads to go before I can call myself completely relocated but I am well on my way to tenancy.  I am tapped out of ten bucks an hour pay so I am single-handedly hauling stuff over to Wallace Road.  I double backed on my flip-flop yesterday and almost tripped with a huge armoire on top of me.  I would hate for the men who also have space out there to find me, Flat Dana, underneath a three hundred pound armiore with birds painted on it… ultimately killed by a flip-flop and a passion for ruffles.

If you aren’t busy, come see us.  I predict you will find something that makes you remember a time long ago, or something that makes you feel happy to look at.  For us, it’s that… and a place to make and do and gather.  Our warehouse sweet warehouse.

Vintage Warehouse Sale

Friday April 20th, 2012

4-8 p.m.

4310 Wallace Road, Lakeland , FL 33813

(Warehouse is across from Publix on Bartow Road in Highland City)

Follow Signs!!!!!

 

Dealers, Pickers, Decorators, Photographers, are welcome!!!

 

Shabby Chic, Industrial, French Country, Primitive, Unique Cottage Treasures, Repurposed  and Salvaged Items!

 

Hosted by Shabby Chic Addiction, Modern Vintage Home, and

One Chic Vintage

Call :863-944-4789 (Dana)

Pause

The above video is the theme song to my drive-bys, pick ups and midnight junk runs.

This is a song we Zumba to. (Zumba:  a dance class for crazy people who think they look like Usher and Janet Jackson dancing when they really look like Cee Lo on meth.)

At any rate… This is the song I hear in my head when I am on a curbside furniture rescue. I prefer to call it rescue and NOT theft.

It’s sometimes a surprise as to what is lurking in the forgotten corners of abandoned or thrift purchased furniture. Just this week I came across these tidbits:

1.)  In a set of 1950’s french provincial night stands:  1 pair of tweezers and a pair of cuticle snips, a lace hanky and a picture of someones ass. Literally, a picture of someone’s ass~ circa 1960.

2.)  In a dresser:  A fake fingernail and  2 hits of acid on stamped paper.

3.)  In a roadside rescue dresser:  A crayon,  a nickel, a twenty-dollar bill, all wadded up and stuck between drawers… and  a tooth.

4.)  In a cabinet: A shoe lace,  cassette tape of David Bowie, a chicken foot and a  cowboy boot.

So, with these little details I have assumed that many people who I cosmically or financially transact my furniture from are an eclectic group of  highly groomed, drug addic,t voo doo enthusiasts with a flair for country western?  Also, I figure I am up $20.05 , two hits of acid and an ass picture.  Surely the street value of the latter two would be worth at least a ten spot.  (KIDDING…..I WOULD NEVER SELL THEM ON THE STREET!  That’s what Craigslist is for…)

It does take some doing to figure outl what all is left behind in a piece of furniture.  You see, it shifts in transit and things become visible again when once they were hidden.  The tooth and the fingernail, both gag-worthy items, came rolling out at me like marbles when I pulled out the drawers.  I handled them with tongs that I have rigged up with spongy grip so I don’t have to touch them.  The single tooth did help me understand the mystery of so many toothless people in my county.  (Evidently the tooth fairy is heinous and just yanks and stashes teeth in furniture so that her quota doesn’t go over… something like that.)  I imagine the press-on nail became a resident of the night stand on a drunken evening when lady and her man were having a squabble about which youngun pulled up all the onions she was growing in the yard and chucked them into the above ground pool.  I imagine that the argument grew hotter and in the midst of her finger-waving monologue about how there. “Won’t gonna be no damned onion rings at Skeeter Mae’s birfday party!” that the one nail flew off and hid in the drawer next to her Lucky Strikes and Vaseline.

So, I am replacing the song, “Pause” by Pitbull (Video attached) with a shout out to my boy David Bowie as I blare the cassette (turned MP3) song “Let’s Dance”  and deem it my new FAS (Furniture Acquisition Song).

Anybody want to buy a cowboy boot?  Size 10. Mens.

My pulls were once knotted telephone cords