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Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Shutter Up (or, can she make a headboard out of moldy old boards?)

After redecorating my bedroom, I decided it was time to reintroduce my cute white cottagey wood headboard. It had been on hiatus to support a previous round of redecoration. I looked in my shed, the garage, the storage loft thingy, and no headboard. How it went missing, I'm not quite sure—but now I have an excuse for a project. Yippee!



Ever a fan of attempting to make cool new things out of someone else's trash, I've been peeking in thrift stores here and there to find inspiration, to no avail. So I decided to visit of the coolest stores ever, The Salvage Studio, always a wonderful source of creative ideas. Somehow, I came away with these shutters that were lined up against the wall behind the store, as if grounded from showing their damp ugly faces on the showroom floor. Understandably.




Yeah, I do believe that might be mold on a couple of those.


But all lined up like this, they're the perfect width for my full size bed. I've just got some work ahead of me—dry them out, sand them, X14? And then what? Paint them? How should I attach them together? Slats pointed up or down? Oh, the options. Oh, the mildew.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Gilbert: The Homeless Casanova

I hate to admit I didn’t pay much attention to him the first couple weeks. Usually, the ones with the saddest eyes grab me. This one leans against his chain link door, bored eyes slowly moving left to right and back as people walk by. Some of them stop to comment on his girth—and an impressive girth it is. If he minds the observations, he doesn’t show it. Gilbert’s got the poker face perfected.


He’s a pit bull mix—so many are. I think he might be mixed with warthog, a’la Pumbaa. I’ve always had a soft spot for Pumbaa, and now for Gilbert. And unless he’s a playboy, which I admit is a slight possibility, I’m pretty sure he has a soft spot for me. Dogs don’t shamelessly smooch shelter volunteers like that without meaning something by it.

Pumbaa, the audacious, happy Disney warthog

It was probably the massage that did it. I entered his lair with a few standard hot dog pieces in hand, which he accepted graciously. I sat down on the floor, and after he sniffed my chin for a second, he turned and plopped his hefty rear down in front of me, pointing his nose toward the opposite wall. What else could I do with that massive back facing me? So Gilbert got a massage. A really good one, I presume, because when I told him I was ready to wrap up, he tilted his head back, gazing at me with happy eyes. I leaned in, unaware that he was going lay a liplock unlike any I’ve had in… well, anyway. I was able to extract myself from this stealth, suctiony move pretty quickly, though, and I gave my suitor-to-be a conciliatory hug. Satisfied by that and the extra handful of hot dogs I gave him before exiting, he settled back into his sideways sit, poker face back in place.


But, wait—what was that glimmering in his eyes? Little hearts, I think. I believe Gilbert might just be my Valentine.


"It is estimated that up to 200 Pit Bulls are killed EVERY DAY in Los Angeles County, CA, shelters alone because there are not enough homes for them. Imagine the number across the entire United States..."Pit Bull Rescue Central