Floor-to-ceiling ribbon wall installation
Hand-dyed lace doilies to be used as table runners
Vinyl records melted and morphed into decorative flower cones to dot the aisle
Sanded and spray painted cowboy boots to act as twangy centerpiece vases
Tea cups mounted to platters lacquered onto candlesticks to create shabby chic… shabby chic… shab- I don’t even know what the hell I’m making.
A self-proclaimed Anti Craft (akin to the role of Anti Christ to the world of Glitter & Glue Sticks), I typically respond to claims of “quick and easy” do-it-yourself projects with a sassy “Fine. You do it YOURself, homie”. Knowing my strengths but most of the time weaknesses in this department, I am often and always content with the hand-bought, home-made-in-someone-else’s-home approach to things. That was until I began organizing our upcoming hitching party, and the hand-crafted look we so desperately desired wanted nothing more than to suck some dollar bills from my pocketbook. Add the word wedding to any purchase request, friends, and watch prices balloon like my waistline over Christmas.
Fellow thug, Jamie Foxx (so foxy one ‘x’ wouldn’t cut it) once spoke the wise words “blame it on the juice”, and I am here to tell you that, spurred on by copious amounts of coffee and a cheap-bone that will never be broke or broken- I was overcome with the sudden urge to behave wildly. Wildly, crunk and crafty. Yes. I- the same girl who brought you the Pimp Stick Double Torpedo of Love Valentine’s project- would save some cents and tell those expensive artists to take their hand-stitched, custom creations and shove them (after unsuccessfully pleading, one more again, for a discounted price, of course). In the world of arts & crafts, I decided, I could do bad all by myself.
I eyed what looks to most veteran/ remotely functioning diy-ers like a simple to-do list with the greatest of worry:
Floor-to-ceiling ribbon wall installation: Mounds and miles of patterned ribbon, a rope, the hot fire of a thousand glue sticks. What should be a simple task requiring one to simply glue a piece of ribbon to a rope caused me severe anxiety. I am only a little ashamed to admit that three strands in, I pondered my hefty weight and the rope’s strength. I would leave a note that read only “Crafting made me do it”, and I’d leave this world on a particularly sturdy yard of plaid, all festive and forlorn like.
Hand-dyed lace doilies to be used as table runners: Somehow bleach seemed like the right thing to do. Doilies now look like an aged coyote suffering from leprosy. At least I think that’s how they look. Must remember to point spray bottle away from face regions. Also, must remember that retinas don’t take too well to bleach.
Vinyl records melted and morphed into decorative flower cones to dot the aisle: After trying to bake the records into bendy submission, I realized that I’d already managed to murder three Pop Tarts, two slices of toast, and one pot of boiling water that day in my kitchen (where tasty comes to die). A poor 45 served as a blasphemous Johnny Cash sacrifice. Per usual, after five minutes I was scratching and twitching to get out of the kitchen, so taking a short cut (the road less sensical) I grabbed a staple gun and went to town on the unassuming vintage finds. I’m out of records to maim now. Thanks to four rouge staples, I am also out of eyelids.
Sanded and spray painted cowboy boots to act as twangy centerpiece vases: And hour of fruitless sanding left me perturbed. I realized I had been furiously rubbing the rough grit of the sandpaper against my hands the whole time. My boots remained bumpy. My remaining 9, errr, 8-and-a-quarter fingers looked spectacularly shiny and smooth. Purposefully inhaled paint fumes from a can of #1026 Candy Apple Red to ease my crafting woes.
Tea cups mounted to platters lacquered onto candlesticks to create shabby chic… shabby chic… shab- I don’t even know what the hell I’m making. : With all the necessary supplies laid out before me, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what they were for. I decided 11 am on a Tuesday was just the right time for a shot of whiskey…out of said precious tea-cup, naturally.
Currently, I am dripping fresh blood onto the pristine cross stitch fabric interrupting my freedom as it looks up from my lap. Driven still by the desire to take old Southern items and give them a modern twist, I’ve decided a dozen cross stitched hoops are just what this retro/ country wedding needs. This might surprise you, but I’ve never attempted to master this art of needlepoint before today. In fact, friends and family have been known to hide all needle-like objects from me after the Great Infant Nose Piercing of 1989 incident. Like the fallen projects before them, these hoops are born of inspired ideas and a creative mind. They will find their resting place somewhere next to some small-pox-ed doilies and a tipsy teacup or two. Two hours into my latest do-it-myself endeavor, I’ve stitched a crooked ‘s’ and a shape that ( if you look past the blood spatter and disregard the smell of tears) looks almost in a way kind of similar to maybe a heart-ish figure. I’m pretty sure this tiny art I’ve created translates into this:
As I bleed forth to glue another edge or zig-zag-wobble stitch another masterpiece, I try to remember fondly the one, ONE, wedding project I’ve been able to pull off so far. I invite you to come back tomorrow and check out a thrilling little Bloggy Wedding sneak peek I’m thinking of calling “Paper Cut: I bleed crafty wedding genius”. I also invite you to act incredibly impressed with what will probably strike you as the most elementary of artwork. Literally, it kind of looks like a room of hyper school girls got a little happy with the glitter.
A final word of advice to brides contemplating a hand-made-until-your-hands-fall-off wedding: Crafting to protect your budget? $1,246.83. Protecting your eyebrows, eyelids, cheekbones, wrists, calves, big toe, pinky nail, belly button, home’s air quality, Johnny Cash’s sacred legacy? Priceless.
Check back tomorrow as I brag incessantly about what most consider a feat not unlike tying my shoes.
Are you a crafty, do-it-yourself-er?
Wanna come over?