Paneling is the Devil

I live in a faux wood jungle and I'm slowly losing my mind.

That's melodramatic, I know, but it's somewhat true. The play room and the living room are painted and it's nice but every other room here feels like the inside of a tree. I'm not a squirrel. I don't enjoy trees.

So I found myself in the paint isle in Wal-mart trying to pick out colors for our kitchen. The problem with the kitchen is it is inherently hideous. The linoleum floor was last replaced sometime in the '60s and its gold and orange and yuck all over. The counter is red...ish. There's this dark, faded like red trim that actually makes the dark paneling look even worse. It's like a cave in there. I really want to paint the place white with like an olive green trim, but I think that would really clash with all the gold and red. Heh.

But unfortunately for me, home improvement is not something I'm experienced in. And the help at Wal-mart are not hired because they take an over-whelming joy in life. I guess people skills aren't exactly required. So the old man working the paint counter doesn't tell me that the color I pick out for the walls is too peachy, and that the red is too bright even though I show him what I'm going for. The red trim is pretty, but the walls, yuck. And I guess you might be thinking that I should have asked Josh for help, him being an artist and all. But his art skills don't transfer to picking paint. I've seen the office, he's just a little shy. You can barely make out the colors of the walls. In the end though, it turned out I went a little too bold. I guess we should have let Riley pick out the paint.

In a way, he did have a lot to do with my ultimate decision because as I'm staring up at this big wall of paint swatches and he is whining because he wants to go home and take a nap and I have never picked out paint before I say to myself, "This moment is going to go down in history as the moment when I finally lost my mind." And then I decided what I had in my hand was fine. Blah.

I am now legally certified to serve alcohol in the state of Delaware. I had to sit through a three hour class and I guess it was pretty interesting. I was just distracted by the fact that Riley was probably at home screaming his head off for Josh. And that's when I decided that when I finally get off this route, I won't be getting another job for a while. My certification is good for four years, anyway.

I'm starting to think I will never get off this route. I quit Monday and I am waiting for a replacement to call me so I can train them. Until then, I have to wait but I've already quit and so now I'm anxious. Whatever, if I stay another month then I get another paycheck. It will only cost me a fraction of my sanity and probably my whole soul. Zombies don't really care that they're zombies, right? Here's hoping.