the paper doll

 

Dear Internet,

It's been one hell of a week (see the mind fuck that is financial aid for grad school). 

So, I'm giving you the first of my many, "I can totally do that myself projects." 

I've been lusting after/over a Tripod Lamp for ages (yeah just click on that link and see why I was lusting not purchasing).  Who the hell pays 275 dollars for a lamp, Internet?  A LAMP!!!  Seriously. I do not understand the economic crisis we're in if people pay 275 dollars for lamps.

I searched Target and Wal-Mart for a knock off version but even theirs were around 100 bucks.  FOR A LAMP.

So I got to thinking.  A tripod lamp is just that.  A tripod.  A quick eBay search and viola a vintage tripod for $13.51.  Now all I needed was a lamp kit (around 9 bucks from Lowe's) and a lamp shade (19.99 at Target).

For around 42.50 I had a tripod lamp.

Now I know the cord is mighty ugly but I'm thinking if I spray paint that sucker it won't be as  noticeable.  And yes the lamp shade is a little on the smallish side.  But it has those nifty designs that glow at nite.  AND IT WAS ONLY 42.50!

When A came home she said it was stunning and couldn't believe I made it.

So take that high priced lamp. 

Overall, this is a super simple project and a great way to add impact to a room. 

Try it.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Ps-In case you didn't know mine's on the right.  Fancy smancy one on the left.

Desire

Hey Internet,

If you look over there to the left you'll see I posted some pictures of my living room as it is.  Through the magic of Photoshop you can see what I want my living room to look like below.

Whataya think?

XO,

The Paper Doll

 

Shame Work

Some of you guys will probably find these posts self indulgent and boring but I'm following along here so I can get some things down on paper.  I really do encourage everyone reading to grab a copy of the book and follow along too. 

The book is a pretty easy read and the podcasts make working out fly by.

In the first post some questions were asked of us that I'm now going to answer here.

1. What scares you about this journey?

I think in doing any sort of self work there's always the fear of revealing.  Revealing old wounds.  Injures.  Hurts.  Uncovering scary parts of yourself.  That Marianne Williamson quote everyone attributes to Nelson Mandela about it's our light not our darkness that we fear most.

For me I'm afraid if I dig too deep I'll have to make some hard decisions about people I love.  That it will change how I view them.  That I'll unearth resentment for how I was treated or things that happened to me in the past. 

That people won't love or accept me or understand what I'm doing.  That I really won't be good enough.

2. What scares you about staying where you are?

Never being able to fully experience joy, love, or acceptance.  Particularly self acceptance.  Being stuck with a loop of hurt from old things I need to just let go already.  Never being able to turn off the voice in my head that tells me I'm not good enough.

3. What makes you hopeful about the journey? what would you love to find?

That I'll finally be able to look in the mirror and really love what I see.  That I'll find a tribe of women that would move a body.

#96: Get Measured for a Bra

Dear Internet,

My how the universe works in mysterious ways.  I didn't go to the gym at all last week due to the aforementioned crude and I wasn't all that enthusiastic about going yesterday.  But I had a new podcast to listen to and I felt tired and I knew I'd feel better if I just pushed myself and went.  So, I did.

And right there slapped up on the front door was an advertisement for bra fittings.  My gym does promotional events every month or so and Essentials Bodywear just happened to be the company they were hawking  for April. 

I signed my name by the 12:45 appointment and took my lunch break today to get measured for a bra (number 96 on my list of 100).

See I come from a long line of lingerie ignorers.  Every year for Christmas in addition to whatever we were giving my mom that year my dad and I had strict instructions to buy her plain white cotton panties and bras.  She wore those things until the elastic was shot, then they became dust rags.  My mom, she was very practical.  Lingerie just wasn't a priority for her. 

And like mother like daughter.  I'll wear a bra until the underwire is poking through and there are holes in the cup.  If I don't have plans for a hot date I really don't care what's going under my clothes.  My underwear drawer is a sad sad thing Internet.  I make do with Target brands and plain utilitarian undergarments.

But that has all changed.  The error of my ways has been revealed.  The good news is although I was wearing cheap bras I was at least wearing the right size.  38D.

I won the first battle.  And I wasn't convinced that what Julie had in her bag of tricks was really going to make all that much difference.  I was wearing the right size.  It was a pretty decent bra.  What did I need with her expensive stuff?

Oh how I was wrong Internet.  I stuffed my boobs into that 62 dollar contraption and the hills came alive with the sound of music.  I'm not lying I could hear singing, and bird chirping.  I almost twirled around right there in the bathroom. 

That thing did stuff.  It put my breasts where god and everyone could see them.  It lifted.  Separated.  Supported.  Instead of having a boob fat roll I had BOOBS.  Tits even.  But not in a slutty way.  In a natural this is how a woman is supposed to look way.

Julie didn't even have time to give me her sales pitch I just yelled from the stall I'll take it.  Then she explained I couldn't have that one.  She'd have to place an order for me and mine would arrive in 2-3 weeks.  The singing stopped Internet and Julie had to come in a pry that thing off me.  I didn't want to let it go it was the best thing that's ever happened to my breasts.

So I ordered two and very reluctantly put my breasts in my Target bra and slunk back to work.

Grand total-122.46 cents for two bras.  Loving your breasts-priceless.

-The Paper Dolls wants to buy the world a new bra

Freeing Myself from Shame

 

I started an Internet Read-Along for the book I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't).

We're just one chapter in.  So far the Internet community and podcasts really haven't done anything for me but the book is great.  As a woman growing up in the South I'm well acquainted with shame and shaming.

We even have a special little phrase we use to judge, shame, and blame, Bless her heart.

If you say, "Bless her heart first," then you are free to shame, judge, gossip, bitch, moan, and anything you can think of.  You can even follow up a bad statement with, "Bless her heart" if you think you were particularly cruel.

And since playing nice and keeping up appearances are especially important to us tea swilling southerners I think shame is wide spread epidemic here.

I grew up in a very small town.  Shame was practically spread on bread and served with every meal.  There was an undercurrent of it in everything we were taught.  Don't pull on your dress.  Don't say that.  Don't wear that.  Don't drink that.  Don't get pregnant.  Don't do drugs.  All fine and dany if it weren't for, "the because of what people might think," that followed all those rules.  Whether it was said out loud or not you knew your mama didn't want you wearing that Nirvana shirt because what people might think.  And those people might talk.  And they might tell Nana.  And then what would Nana think.  Letting your child out in public dressed like that.  And then your momma would feel ashamed for not being a better mother.

Give me any situation and I guarantee I can get to shame in seven degrees or less.

As I've begun to peel back the onion of my self awareness I've discovered that way of thinking of teaching your children has poisoned me.  I'm a victim of shame.  I have pools of it from when I was a kid.

To this day I still feel ashamed about something that happened in the 4th grade.

THE 4TH GRADE PEOPLE.  I can recall exactly what I was wearing.  What the teacher said.  What the other kids did for their assignment.  Click my heels and I'm right back in the 4th grade standing up in front of the class lying about why I didn't have my homework.  And the teacher is shaming me.  Mrs. Davis.  Gah.

And that's only one of the things I feel shame for.  Let's not forget the hundreds of others.  And for mostly really minor stuff.  Stuff that shouldn't pack such a punch.

I mean it was one dumb homework assignment.  I still got all A's.  I still managed to graduate high school and go on to college.  Hell, I even have a good job. 

But can I focus on all that?  No.  Just that one time in 4th grade I screwed up.

Shame is a deadly thing.  It cuts you off from all your strengths.  It tells you how stupid and messed up you are.  It doesn't allow for growth or change.

And yet it's everywhere. 

I encourage anyone reading to check out the site and pick up a copy of the book. 

It feels really nice letting go of shame.

-The Paper Doll thinks y'all are beautiful

Over the Counter (and Under)

Dear Internet,

Where to begin?

I had the crud most of last week.  You know those god awful commercials with the animated mucous people?  Yeah they took over my body and invaded my sinuses.  And made me collect my spittle in a cup for inspection.  Turns out other people aren't really interested in what you hack up.

In fact it's sort of nauseatingly gross to them.

I just thought it sort of a feat.  Who know my body could produce a substance of such color and slime.  I was proud of what my sinus cavity created.  The Musician on the other hand not so much.  I believe gag would more aptly describe his feelings about the matter.

So while I should have been gorging on eggs and chocolate I was huffing Sudafed and praying to the gods for forgiveness because clearly I had done something to anger them the pain in my throat, head, and nose was so bad.

Today I feel better.  Well better in body but not spirit.

See, when I tore out of work in a fever induced stupor on Wednesday I left my anti-depressants.  I spent most of Thursday knocked out.  So by the time I realized my error on Friday the building was on lock down for the Easter holiday.

I went 4 days without my meds and I could feel the difference.  Well not until the Musician hurtfully asked, Are you off your meds?

Aside from the dickery of the comment he was right.  I WAS off my meds.  I was a crying.  Short tempered mess.  He didn't handle it well.  I didn't handle it well.  It was perhaps one of the worst weeks of our coupledom.

I know there was a lot more to it than just not having the drugs in my system.  I was sick.  Easter is especially hard for me.  It was one of my mom's favorite holidays.  I bored.  Oh god was I bored.  And the University has completely screwed up my financial aid.

So I had a lot going on.

But it makes me worry about the future when I do go off my antidepressants.

It also makes me worry about the Musician and me.

I need someone who can handle me.  Meds or not.  And we barely squeaked by this week.

I did, however, make a decision about the couch.  I'm going with the white.  And the corner version. 

Once I got tired of Oprah and felt a little better I measured out my space and marked where the loveseat and couch combination would go.  And then I marked the corner couch dimensions. 

Results were overwhelmingly in favor of the corner version.  It'd just be too much furniture if I got the couch and the love seat.  And it would waste a lot of space.

So I'm putting in an order for the white corner Ektorp because ofcourse it isn't available in my local store so I'll be paying the 200 dollar shipping and handling fee.  Yay!

I also have a lot of house projects and things to up date you on.  Turns out when you're high on Sudaded you can get a lot of stuff done.

Pictures will be forth coming.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Grace in Small Things: 24 of 365

1. the new album i bought by little joy it's the perfect blend of old motown and indie rock
2. cutting my hair tonite
3. finishing the dining room chairs
4. first podcast for the book read along i joined
5. packing my lunch today

Calling All People with Opinions

So Internet,

The most exciting thing that's happened is I bought deodorant.  Sixteen dollar deodorant.  But damn it I got three free samples!

Oh there will be more posts about said deodorant in the future, Internet, I can promise you that.  It was sixteen dollars I've gotta get my money's worth.

And now I need you to help me with something.  I need a new couch.  I've been thinking about the Ikea Extorp because you know I'm a masochist and enjoy screaming at the Musician and trying to interpret picture directions.

The only this is...the color selection is umm lacking.  I love the white and think it would look great in my chocolate brown living room.  But I have a dog and a very messy best friend roommate.  How practical is a glaringly white couch?  Will I be afraid to sit on it.  To eat.  Drink.  Sleep. Least I mar the thing.  And ooh I just thought about red wine. 

But then I heard white's the best because you can just toss it in the wash with some oxyclean (or a rip off version because I refuse to support that man who screams at you about superior whitening power).

So white or not?

And if I don't go with the white what other color?  I'm not real smitten with any of the others.  And I know there's always Bemz.  I already ordered some samples from them.  But it feels kinda stupid to buy a couch only to have to spend more money to recover the thing.

Also, do I go with a sofa and a love seat or the corner version?

I've never bought furniture in all my 26 years.  I operate on the hand-me-down system.  So maybe I'm putting too much thought into this.

I mean it's only a damn couch FROM IKEA!  It's not like an investment piece.

But still I need help.

Help?

The sooner we all solve this problem the sooner I can talk about things other than my house.  Like how I have a huge girl crush on this girl. 

-The Paper Doll believes you are the answer

Grace in Small Things: 23 of 365

1. Lindsey for actually reading about my deodorant problem and making a suggestion
2. that I can afford to spend 16 dollars on deodorant
3. that I know that is ridiculous
4. that I bought it anyway
5. that I'm one step closer to completing an item on my 100 things

Depressing News Update

Dear Internet,

I'm sick of talking about my house.  Seriously, all I've done lately is put up poorly done photoshop pictures.  I haven't talked about anything. 

Like how it seems like Monet sneaked into town and painted all the flowers one nite so when I woke up my yard was full of color.  Things I didn't even know bloomed are bursting with pink and purple. 

This has only added to my desire to clean and neaten.

I've also gotten down to 80 on my list of 100 things (just 20 more to think of!).  Number 80 is go green.  If I let myself I would so become a hippy (although I don't think I could ever manage to listen to Phish regularly).  I'm talking hippy in the only eat free range and organic.  Only use natural products.  Buy less.  Hippy.

I don't want to just throw out what I'm using so as I run out of products I'm replacing them with natural ones.  Which has lead me to this discovery-nothing in nature can combat my underarm funk.  Seriously.

I've tried Tom's of Maine.  I've tried those magical deodorant stones.  They don't work.  And with the brutal Southern summer just around the corner I need help.  I need all natural sweat help.  I don't mind a little stink.  In fact I think a little stink is good.  It's who I am.  I just don't want to STINK.  Did you get that subtle difference?

I'm also very aware that "regular" deodorant may be the culprit for breast cancer and I'd like to keep my breasts thank you very much.

I'd also like to now talk about something more interesting.  I don't really post for days and all I come up with is a discussion about deodorant?  God, I've gotten lame at blogging.

Now I shall list some things that have been bothering me:

Our governor is being really silly and thinking about not taking the federal stimulus money.  This could mean that thousands of jobs will be lost.  This could mean my own pay could be seriously docked.  This could mean a lot of bad bad bad stuff for our state and with me going back to grad school I really need this job.  It's the first time in all this bad economy stuff that I've begun to sweat a little (aaaand we're back at deodorant).

There's also a proposal to start charging state employees an extra 25 dollars a month in health insurance premiums if they're overweight.  25 DOLLARS A MONTH!  This makes me sad for lots of reasons mostly because for the first time in my life I'd be considered overweight.

Which leads me to this f-ed up little tidbit.  Sometimes when I'm out I hope people think I'm pregnant instead of just fat.  Seriously, Internet I've had that thought.  Maybe people will just think you're pregnant.

What the hell?

Of course I haven't been to the gym this week and all I ate for dinner last nite were chocolate covered peanuts so I'm not really doing anything to help that situation.

Let's see, what else depressing news can I talk about?

My kitchen's a wreck.  I have to go to a co-worker's father's funeral.  My puppy has to have her who-ha taken out next week.  My registration for school's all messed up.  And I'm about to start my period.

Good times.  Good times.

I shall now go back to posting pictures of my house.

-The Paper Doll is just keeping it real

Living Room Layout

Living Room Mock Up Take Two

No Words

Dear Internet,

I keep wanting to tell you about my trip to Ikea this past weekend but all that comes to mind is:

1. Ikea=total clusterfuck.

2. Now I completely understand why Edward Norton blew up his apartment and developed a split personality.

You guys know this though.  You've been to Ikea.  You know about the arrows on the floor, and the screaming children, and THE FURNITURE THAT COMES IN BOXES. 

BOXES INTERNET.  BOXES.

There's nothing new I can add to the Ikea discussion.  Except maybe the experience of going to Ikea in the South.

Oh how I love you South but my your people just don't get Ikea, do they?  They gawk.  And fondle.  And wonder how the hell to pronounce Domsjo and such.  They ram you with their strollers rather than stray from the beaten concrete path. 

And heaven forbid they drop their spawn off in Smaland.  There might be drugs in the magical forest.  Or worse people of a different ethnicity.  Better you stay with me and scream the whole time we're shopping.

I did manage to get out of there with a bookcase, a salad spinner, a whisk, and a magnetic knife holder.  The last few items were out of defense.  I'd been there so long I needed something to shove in my big yellow bag and those things just happened to be within my reach.  I also imagined I could Mcguvyer something up with the salad spinner and whisk if I needed to invent a mechanism to get me the hell out of there fast should the arrows never lead to an exit.

Ikea=mandatory trip for all couples contemplating marriage.