April 13, 2009
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The floor guy thinks I can mix cement. He thinks because I’ve been watching him with the trowel that I’ll be able to create a reasonable fax simile on some leftover plywood and we can play with the stain. I HOPE he thinks he because it’s acid-based stain and I’m not touching it.
If anyone out there knows anything about doing concrete floors and countertops, I’d love the input. All he’s done is the kind where you mix the dye into the concrete. He wanted to get all artsy with some new trowel today, but I didn’t like the idea. The pictures I saw on the website of the company that sells the stain showed a flat, smooth, glossy floor. They achieved design through diluting the stain and applying one color over another, starting light.
He’s never done this and it’s freaking me out but I definitely don’t want Marmoleum now and he’s really good and really cheap. Another plus is that he’s Derek’s floor guy, and the two are kind of impressed with each other so Derek will be back to put the toilet and sink in and not fuck me over. I’ve already paid him so it’s kind of a concern. Especially since he hardly ever calls me anymore.
Remember when I found the glasses in the driver’s-side door? If you recall the type of person his wife is you might have anticipated what I did not. She let me play soprano 1 this morning because the piece was impossible. I think she picked it out especially for me. I know that sounds paranoid but she chooses the music and she likes the top line. I only get it if she can’t play it, and up ’til now — it’s taken almost two years to get through all her music — she’s been handing over the top line in harder and harder increments.
Still, I didn’t put the two together. After we were done she wanted to show us some paintings she’s done. I’ve been going there every Monday for over two years and suddenly she wants us to know she paints. She goes upstairs and carries down these two, FANTASTIC watercolors. One was an iris and one was a crocus.
They were so good I was stunned. I rarely like other people’s art, even gallery art. I’m standing there, with the others behind me, getting up close to see if there’s something not right, and they are just perfect. I look over at her, kind of at a loss for words, and I get this sort of out-of-body, hazy feeling, STILL not putting two and two together.
She needed us, and maybe, especially me, to see that even though she can’t keep a man in his own bed she knows a thing or two about painting.
Comments (2)
*hug* I imagine it’s incredibly embarrassing and a woman feels like she needs to prove herself in other ways. I’m glad she’s doing it successfully. As for the DIY stuff, don’t ask me. Granted, I watched several hours of home and garden television with my mom yesterday, but that doesn’t mean I can implement any of those projects. The problem at my house is that I don’t care all that much. I have grand plans for way in the future when I want to knock out a wall upstairs, put in a big white board downstairs, and repaint a couple of rooms, but none of it is at all pressing.
I’d soooo much rather be an incredible painter than a good _________.