We are currently in the middle of a bathroom renovation, as you may have guessed from the title of this post, which for some reason I saw fit to write as though I was rapping it (there are just so many good words that rhyme with renovation!)
While I can think of several things I'd much rather be in the middle of—a two-week trip to Bali, an Evan Dando sandwich—the bathroom renovation is not, so far, proving to be as soul-destroying as I thought it might be. It is not, for instance, as soul-destroying as the kitchen renovation was, though I think this is probably because a bathroom renovation doesn't involve a refrigerator sitting in your living room for six weeks, just a toilet sitting in your garage for three.
(Eh, we have another one, don't worry. And even if we didn't, we have a very impressive collection of mason jars. Wait, you're making a joke about doing what with your mason jars? But I didn't see that on Pinterest!)
Mason Jars: For When You're Too Cool to Rent a Portapotty.
Our bathroom right now is basically an empty shell. Sean demoed the entire thing last weekend—I think the Yankees had lost, which made wielding a crowbar extremely effective therapy for him—and now we're just waiting to put the pretty parts in. Here's a picture of what it looks like right now, except imagine that pile of rubble in the bath being on the floor of our garage instead, which I know is a stretch since you've never been to our garage, but just think of the most horrifying, disorganized, dusty nightmarish hell a Type-A brain could summon and then multiply that by fifty. Which, coincidentally, is the number of years it's going to take me to not be bothered by it. Or maybe the number of margaritas, same diff.
While we did pretty much the entire kitchen reno ourselves, we're wimping out a little bit on the bathroom reno and hiring a professional tiler instead. Yeah, we could probably have attempted it together, but we'd have spent the same amount of money on a marriage counselor halfway through, so at least this way we get to stay married to each other and we don't have to sit on a couch and talk about our feelings.
I'm just kidding. I love talking about my feelings. For example, my feelings about this tile are mostly centered on the fact that I want to kiss it on the mouth.
That's going to go on the floor. The walls will be subway tile in a similar hue, and just to show that we've still got our DIY mojo going on, we're building our own vanity—dark wood base, white vessel sink, brushed nickel faucet—as a form of conscientious objection to the fact that every single vanity we looked at buying was either too big, horrible, nine hundred dollars, or some terrible combination of the three. (I'm very excited about this. If you're planning to visit me in my home sometime in the next two years, be prepared to be told several times that we built the bathroom vanity. Your job is just to hold in your eye-rolling until you close the bathroom door behind you. Also, you may then look in my medicine cabinet, although I'm afraid you won't find anything good. Wait, I take that back: there is a pretty good collection of half-used freebie lip balms.)
So everything's ticking along, and the tiler is all set to start tomorrow, which means we might have a functioning bathroom sometime in the next two weeks. I've figured out what pictures I'm going to put in there, I'm working on hacking a light fixture using some $25 lamps from the Lowe's garden department instead of sacrificing my firstborn child for the "industrial" one I found in a fancy store online, and I even bought a shower curtain on ebay the other day, which still remains just a little creepy-sounding, no matter how many times I re-read the "brand new, never used, in original packaging" line on the listing.
All that remains is to figure out what color I'm going to paint the walls, and even though it's a very small room, I'm leaning towards a dark gunmetal gray. I know, I know, it's unconventional for a bathroom—plus it's the color of my bedroom—but I can't help thinking that it could look really handsome. Well, either really handsome or kind of like a prison cell. Should I risk it?