I’m a graphic designer, so logic says I should have some kind of artistic ability outside of being able to put together sexy designs for the web and magazines. Every now and again I attempt something that will require me to draw or paint, mostly because I forget that the last time I tried it made me want to rip my eyebrows out. Last week I was overtaken by the desire to cheer up my very beige apartment, and since I’m not exactly at a place financially right now to make it rain, I was trying to do it on the cheap.

I started out thinking that I would just buy a couple of canvases and some paint, and oh I don’t know, just paint some abstract crap that would be bright and pretty and would look nice on my walls. About 25 minutes into that project I was suddenly reminded of the level at which I SUCK at painting. Suck, suck, suck. Everything I touched turned to ugly. I was so angry and annoyed I decided to take a walk before I punched through a wall or something. (I clearly would not be a candidate for “art therapy.” I can almost guarantee whoever was trying to facilitate that shit would wind up with a paint can dumped over their head.) I wandered to the mailboxes in my apartment complex, and that day’s mail just so happened to contain a flyer for Michael’s. I took that as a sign, hopped in the car and entered into arts and crafts hell.

I spent so much time picking out supplies I was actually sore the next day from squatting on the floor deciding if this patterned paper went with that shade of white paint. Because one shade of white is CLEARLY not enough. And do you know what I left with? One fucking can of spray paint and 5 pieces of scrap book paper.

I got home, started to spray paint some frames I already had to frame the scrap book paper I bought (I know that sounds insanely lame, but seriously, the patterns are really cool and it does look like cool framed art once you finish). Not only did I break one of my frames because I have all of the grace of a motherfucking herd of elephants, the piece of shit spray paint I bought at the arts and crafts store clogged and could only be un-clogged by using mineral spirits. Because, you know, I just have a vile of mineral spirits hanging around my fucking apartment.

ANOTHER trip later (made worse by the fact that every store in town was packed with college kids and their parents buying shit to try and make the cinderblock cell they have to share for a year with a stranger “homey”), I had a replacement frame, new spray paint, and a massive headache from spending too much time up close and personal with the previous aerosol can of paint.

But holy fuck, is my apartment spruced.