Dear Martha,

I don’t usually pay much attention to what you’re up to, but I had access to your newest magazine and took a stab at it. First, I’d like to thank you for the lovely ideas. Second, I’d like to mention that I’m poor..and couldn’t afford your project.

The specific project I am referring to is your article on printmaking, stamped clothing, and linens. Your idea to use the technique on curtains was a stroke of genius to me, Girl Who Bought Cheap, Boring, Stark White Ikea Curtains. Now, I should preface this by saying that I am on a budget. No, really. I mean..come on. I just started college. And I am recently re-employed, so I’m being reeeeeeeeeeeal careful. So I’m stuck with these ugly white curtains with HUGE, tab tops. And I decide to use your stamp idea on my curtains. I made the trip to Michael’s for supplies. I needed stamps, shapes, stencils or rubber molds of some sort. I needed fabric paint. That is all I need. This should have been easy. This should have been cheap. And you let me down, Woman. You let me down.

My trip to Michael’s for supplies forced me to get creative. If I had done this project the way Martha suggested, I would have spent about $25 for rubber stamps (which, I found, did not hold up to the thick fabric paint and were too small of a print) or about $20 ordering rubber molds online.  Just for stamps!

The greatest thing I learned about this project is that a stamp can come from just about anywhere. If you want a circle pattern, use cups of different sizes. If you want something unique, try cutting up some fruits and vegetables and using those as stamps. If you have twelve lifetimes to do this project, consider making or buying some stencils or hand-painting if you are so talented.

The general idea: Use some cute stamps or get creative with shapes and fabric paint to turn plain white curtains in to something that accents my vintage pink walls and creamy antique furniture.

Supplies: Tulip Fabric Paint in Linen and Pink ( I had to mix to get the color needed,) $5.99 each for the big bottles.. I could have made due with the smaller ones for sure.

Large foam stamps from the stencils/kids art section in vintagey-floral $.99 each

Paint brushes for applying paint to stamp evenly $1.00

Large sheet of cardboard to protect work surface – Free courtesy of minimally invasive dumpster diving at local coffee shop.

A few pieces of paper – or, better yet, an old pillow case to do a few test prints and plan out your pattern.

Technique:

FIRST. If you’re one of those neat people, you’ll want to iron your curtains first. Once the paint has been applied, you won’t be able to do any washing, drying, or heating for 72 hours. I am not one of said neat people. I like my curtains rumply and tired looking. Once you’re done ironing (or not ironing, whatever, no judgments here) position the cardboard under your curtain, with one edge of the curtain lined up with the edge of the cardboard. We will work section by section, repositioning the cardboard as we go.

It is DEFINITELY a bad idea to dip the stamp directly in to the paint and start stamping away.  The paint goes on too thick, goopy, and uneven. Sponge applicators take a lot of effort to get the right amount of paint on.  I played around with different applications, and it seems that a good old 1/4 – 1/2 inch thick paint brush does the trick wonderfully.

Squirt your paint on to paint holder of choice. I have a big stack of plain white dessert plates that I purchased from the thrift store for about 70 cents each. You can also use an everyday plate. This paint comes off clean from hard surfaces once it has dried.

Use the paint brush to apply a thin, even coat of paint to the foam stamp. Press stamp in to curtain, careful not to smudge as you pull the stamp up. Observe. Prettttttttttttty…

Continue stamping to your hearts content. I kept it simple, and suggest a single stamp pattern if you’re artistically challenged like me, but I’ll bet people have done much prettier things with several stamps. I’m just not that talented.

Allow to dry (you know, all 48 seconds before the sweltering summer takes to it,) and then consider alternative situations for the ugly ass tab tops. Take a moment to admire, and then mentally kick yourself in the face for not ironing like you should have..

(The curtains cost $15 for two panels, Ikea. Paint and supplies are from Michael’s,  around $18 for everything, plus a few extra foam stamps for future projects)

]]> http://carsenis.com/2009/09/07/dear-martha/feed/ 0 http://carsenis.com/2009/09/04/changing-directions/ http://carsenis.com/2009/09/04/changing-directions/#comments Sat, 05 Sep 2009 04:01:09 +0000 admin http://carsenis.com/?p=189 \

So, maybe this blogging thing wasn’t such a good idea.

Mainly because it seems I’m just paying for hosting to procrastinate writing anything up here.

I think..I think it’s because I don’t have a direction. Rather, I think it’s because I’m having difficulty picking one particular direction. I want to talk about travel, about photography, about food, religion, school, love, home improvement, and shoes. But the blogging advice I received said that I think pick a topic and stick with it…which doesn’t sound like fun to me.

So, I’ll make you a deal, Internet.. I’ll write religiously if you don’t mind if I change my direction as often as I change my underwear.

…and now I’ll have to change my direction quite often. Otherwise, you might think my underwear is pretty gross.

Now, let’s talk about curtains.

]]> http://carsenis.com/2009/07/08/in-the-land-of-half-written-blog-entries/feed/ 0 http://carsenis.com/2009/06/19/updates-ha-get-it/ http://carsenis.com/2009/06/19/updates-ha-get-it/#comments Fri, 19 Jun 2009 07:03:59 +0000 admin http://carsenis.com/?p=174 Boy and I have been working out our issues on the DL for the past few weeks, and yesterday was our first official date. Not sure if that makes us officially together again or not, but it doesn’t matter much anyway. I knew things were back to normal when he started laying out the ridiculously obnoxious duck farts in the car. You know things are good with Boy when he’s okay with you stewing in his fart clouds on the way home.

We went to see Up (not in 3D. Because everyone I know gets sick from 3D and is consequently LAME) and it was the greatest Pixar experience ever. We laughed so hard. That’s probably my favorite thing about Boy. That he laughs unabashedly at animated movies like a small child, like it’s the first time he’s ever seen anything that funny, like he just could not be having a better time. It’s hard not to watch him instead of the movie when he gets like that. Even people in the theatre with us are amused at such genuine laughter.

Up was incredible. I’ve never seen an animated movie that pulls you in and engages you so thoroughly, then takes you for a ride, and then drops you off somewhere near where you started but feeling like life is just a little more bearable. I love how Pixar manages that.

I’m gonna leave this thought unfinished.. I think it’s better that way.

So, While I was in Europe I developed two very minor looking oddities on my body: A small bump on the top joint of my right middle finger, and a bump on my wrist that made one wrist look clearly unlike the other wrist. After some intense Googling efforts (thanks, Google!) I found out that I had a wart on my hand. Gross, but minor.

Research for the bump on my wrist was a bit more intense. Do you know what comes up on the screen when you Google the term ‘bump on wrist’ ? CANCER. CANCER and lots of scary sounding things like lymphadenopathy and sebaceous cyst.  NEEDLESS TO SAY IT WAS NOT LOOKING GOOD. So, I needed a little bit of time to prepare myself for the awkward conversation with my doctor wherein we discuss exactly which methods of hand removal I should be considering. It took a month, and then the bump starting bulging out at me, and then it grew small arms and a face and started talking to me..so I went to the doctor this morning.

And wouldn’t ya know, I just have a ganglion cyst!

It turns out a ganglion cyst is a collection of jelly-like fluid in a pocket under the skin usually around the hand/wrist area. It’s fairly common. DO YOU KNOW HOW THEY TREAT IT?

Well, it’s actually pretty simple. First, the nice man in the white coat sticks you with an incredibly painful shot to numb your hand. Fun. Then, the same man pulls out the serious needle. You know, the one that is going to SUCK OUT THE JELLY-LIKE FLUID FROM YOUR HAND. And it’s not as quick as it sounds, ya know. He’s gotta jab the extra thick needle in there and move it around to get the fluid out of every little bit of that pocket. It doesn’t hurt..because I was numbed..but I was watching the whole time and that alarm went off in my brain that was telling me that THIS IS NOT NORMAL, NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPENING!

When the doctor was done he showed me all the fluid and stuff that came out of there..and it kinda looked like clear aloe vera gel with some bloody stuff in there.  So cute. Then I got another needle for the cortizone (so that it won’t come back, apparently.) And then the other doctor came in and poked my arm for my last HPV vaccine. For those who are counting, that is four needle pokes.

It was not a good morning.

The last few weeks of my trip played host to every ridiculous insecurity two people can harbor in a relationship, and consequently the boyfriend and I were not on speaking terms. I knew what this meant, but I was determined to enjoy this trip anyway.

I visited Paris and London (details to come!) and both visits were amazing. I had the chance to meet some wonderful people and see things I never thought I’d see.

I flew home from London.

My family was knee-deep in moving preparations.

My boyfriend was noticably absent.

And the absolute state of panic that comes with returning to reality from an extended vacation set in like no other.

Boy and I broke up about 3 hours after I landed in Los Angeles.

And I preceeded to spend the next month hiding in my hole and burying myself in other things to do, like pack and then move and then boss people around regarding where three foot tall prints of my toddler face should be hung.

When I’m in a state like this, it’s nearly impossible for me to do anything creative (like blogging…or taking pictures..hense the lack of updates.) But it’s been a month, and I’m workin’ it out, so it’s back to work for me.

Speaking of work. No one ever tells you how unenjoyable working is when you could be traipsing around London again! I love my job, but it’s no jog through Trafalgar Square, ya know?

Will write again soon. With pictures. I promise.

-Carsen

In comparison, the south of France seems like an entirely different country. Everyone here moves at the same pace as New Yorkers, which means no one stops to say ‘hello’ (unless you’re buying something from them, or they’re trying to hit on you..)  It’s been a bit difficult, because I was so used to how it was in the south: everyone’s friendly, you can easily ask for directions, things are very easy to find, etc.

The biggest difference between here and Grasse (so far,) is my hosts. My host here is lovely and friendly, but she is more professional about the homestay. It’s more like a B&B/Homestay hybrid. It’s nice, but she charges more money to show you around Paris which makes the experience forced.  We’ve had a few good chats, though. I think she likes me. The noise level here has been the hardest thing to adjust to. We are in a relatively quiet, virtually tourist-free neighborhood. But the building I’m in makes every little movement in the apartment above me sound like someone in re-arranging an entire room full of furniture. This is particularly noticeable because I go to bed around 11, so that I can wake up early and get to museums. The rest of Paris, however, does not go to bed until much later. I’m pretty sure my host doesn’t sleep at all. I swear I can hear her ripping things up at 1 hour at intervals throughout the night. Needless to say, the paper ripping and furniture arranging going on at 2 AM has not made for restful sleep.  So, I’ve whipped out the earplugs. Popped them in to see if they work, and I will have you know that I have been sitting here typing for several minutes now and I cannot hear my fingers hit the keyboard. I cannot hear the banging going on upstairs, and I cannot hear my host having a gossip dinner with her friend in the next room. My head is completely silent, and it feels so good.

So, I’ll update tomorrow about Paris. I have to take a nap.

Two. – The life I lived in Los Angeles was only part of what I wanted for myself. I’m not in school right now, and I really want to be. My job is wonderful, but not a career path. Moving forward is what matters here, and I’ll be doing that when I get home.

Three. – I do know myself as well as I thought I did this whole time.

Four. – I am not as mature as I thought I was. And I am perfectly content with that.

Five. – My boyfriend. He is that wonderful. It takes a good man to know when to be my support, it takes an even better one to support without me having to ask. Sometimes he only says half of what he means, sometimes he says things and I have no idea what he means at all, and sometimes he says nothing and makes perfect sense. It’s ridiculous, but we’re workin’ it out. Some distance and several quiet nights where all I could think about was how badly I wanted to tell him what I saw and share it with him have made that very clear.

Six. – My family. My sister will be my sister even if I do not like her all the time. Even if I am still harboring childhood bitterness ten years from now, she will still be my sister and we will still be friends. She will still be the first person I idolized growing up.  I do not know why, but my father and I cannot seem to comprehend each other. I think it might be because we are too similar, and that is very scary for both of us. I DO like my brother! And I love my mother, even if she drives me crazy and live in a house full of people who openly do not.  With all of the crazy floating around, we might never find a balance that makes this life peaceful when we all co-exist, but maybe we can find some with a little space. Maybe we’re so weird that getting closer is not the trick, maybe we have to get a little further apart.

Seven. – Speech is a bit overrated. I arrived in France with survival French, some basic knowledge, and a rough sketch of the culture. The French I do know is awfully handy, but the greatest moments I have had have been when I couldn’t use words. When I couldn’t get my point across, and I didn’t know how else to do it, and I had to get creative. Note pad and pen, pointing, jumping up and down and flailing my arms to immitate what I am trying to say. French people – they like you better when you are less inhibited. People in general, I’m guessing, will like this news. Also, you would be amazed and how much can be said with a facial expression or one word. Or how much conversation can be sparked by walking around with something interesting in your hand. Or how many friends one can make with people who do not speak a common language with you. It’s amazing how much conversation can happen when you learn to stop talking.

Eight. – You should try – try very hard – not to care most of the time. Very few things are worth caring about. An overblown fight with my dad that is just not worth continuing is just that — not worth continuing. Someone, somewhere in the world hates me for the fun of it? Well, that sucks, but I can’t fix everything so I guess I’ll learn to live with it. . If I run around caring about EVERYTHING on the planet, I will be my mother in ten years.  I do not want to be my mother. For the record, though, I also don’t want to be so focused on not becoming my mother that I accidentally become exactly my father. I’d appreciate some traits from both of them, but I’m watching my back on both sides.

Nine. – Relax. It’s okay. The world goes around the exact same way even if you do not have a productive day or make tons of money all the time or if you sleep until 2 PM on a Wednesday.

Ten. – Sex and nudity and all that? Yeah, those things are only a gigantic taboo in America. We like to teach our people that nudity is weird, sex is bad and unhealthy, and that you are weird if you do not believe that. That is such a ridiculous thing to teach people. It’s natural, it’s inevitable, and it is NOT that big of a deal.

This trip to France was meant to be my escape from home, my little slice of heaven, my space to live and learn. It turned out to be a month of lessons, strange thoughts, and  tiny observations. I needed this trip. I had no idea how much until I got here, but I needed it.

Perhaps I should preface this by saying that I NEVER do this. I’d also like to say that I am writing this in between bites of mid-day breakfast pizza and shots of orange juice, so we all know where I’m going with this.

Sure,  I have a glass of wine with dinner. Sure, maybe two or three. Maybe I’m feeling tipsy.

Easter, however, was very different. I have no shame because I’m in Europe and I can legally drink here and if I didn’t have some fun drunk in Europe stories to tell my friends they would all be tremendously disappointed in me. I have no shame, but I do have some regret. Especially today. The morning after. Dun dun dun.

It all started when my hosts offered to include me in their Easter festivities. They’re not that religious, so this was basically just an excuse to make a ridiculous amount of food, eat it all day, and feel like you’re honoring tradition. SOUNDS FAMILIAR, NO?

This meal was amazing. My hosts were up at the crack of dawn frying up potato nests, making salads, plating cheese, arranging radishes, and putting chocolate fish in their tank (see tomorrow’s post.)

And you can’t just drink anything with a fancy meal. You drink wine. You drink lots of wine.  This is not a big deal for the French, because they drink massive amounts of wine all the time. It doesn’t feel massive. It doesn’t send them in to a tizzy.

And then, after first and second courses, you need a different wine. So, we switch wines and dive in to the next courses. But after those courses, you need something completely different. You. Need. Port.  I’d like to say that I was handling my drunkness very well. I was feelin’ good. Just. For the record.

Then we went on to dessert, and Jean-Claude pulls several bottles and small shot glasses out of the cabinet. More port and some surprisingly good mint liquor.  Then we eat more. WE ATE MORE. We ate chocolate fondue with fruit, but you need a different beverage for that too! You. Need. Cidre.

Finally. FINALLY this meal was over. I know, because everyone except for Jean-Claude was clutching at their stomachs and groaning.

My new friends and I took a walk around Grasse, I walked off some of my drunkness, the tiniest French girl at the table earlier got hungry AGAIN, and then we returned to watch some personal dramas play out in front of us. More on that later.

My purpose in telling you this is that after our walk the sun was setting and everyone was sitting on the patio. What a nice time for WINE, do you think?

Somebody did.

So, this continues a few more cycles. I have 3-4 more glasses of wine, and I finally realize my limits when I am stacking and balancing things on my face and allowing people to take pictures of it.  The proof of which is exhibited below, unfortunately.

I had a talk with myself about how far I was going to let this go, then (wisely,) brushed my teeth and put myself to bed, and that was the end of it.  Because drinking copious amounts of alcohol comes with no consequences, right? Right?!

I woke up this morning and had breakfast. There was a weird haze and a general uncomfortableness, so I put myself back in bed. Something happened to my bones and they started to kind of grumble beneath me. And then I fell asleep..a very deep, lovely sleep which lasted most of the day. It was then that I realized what was happening and took a Tylenol, put some bread in my stomach, and knocked back the OJ. And that was my first drunken Easter in France.

Lessons learned from this experience :

• Keep count of your drinks. No, really. Keep count.
• Just because it comes in a very small glass does not mean that it will only affect you a little. You already knew this, but that knowledge would have been put to good use that day.
• Keep cameras away from friends when you are drunk.
• Tylenol makes the world stop going ’round.
• Hangovers DO exist, Carsen. They are not myths that your parents tell you to stop you from drinking.