Resolving to Tear. It. Up.

I’m not big on New Year’s Resolutions.  Seriously, I have enough guilt already, I don’t need to make myself feel even worse by failing to cease one of my (really not that bad) vices.  Besides, when was the last time you ran into someone in August who looked all crazy fit and they said “yeah, it was my New Year’s resolution to stop drinking, eat healthy, and go to the gym”?  Don’t lie, it was never.

I do think, however, that the New Year is a grand time to look back on the last year to consider what you’ve accomplished and compare that to what you’d like to achieve.  This is where the drinking comes in.  Once you’ve nursed your hangover it’s time to get crackin.  I have lots of goals delusions of grandure both personal and professional for 2009 but I also have a ridiculous list of crap I need to take care of around the house.  Mainly, some big, expensive, overly-involved renovations.  I swear on all things holy, I will not let 2010 peak it’s ugly head around the corner until my guest bathroom is completely gutted and looks a little more like one of these rooms:
Because I’m working with a laughable budget and Matt is a genius with concrete, I’m guessing there’s going to be a lot of this going on.  Minus the lame bench and utterly useless mini-counter.
Overt your eyes from the vassal sinks and focus on the counter, tub and poufy things.  See, concrete, not so bad. 
But then again, I do love the idea of a concrete floor and tub juxtaposed against a wooden counter:
Don’t give me none of your “where do you put your junk” jive talk.  Here are some solutions:
Nothing makes my heart race like neatly folded, matching linens.  Sigh. Of course, one day I’m going to have a gaggle of kids running hay-wire around this joint so I may need something a bit more practical:
Nice.  But in dream fantasy land, this Nakashima style counter would be the crown jewel of my bath:
I know, I know, why bother even showing another bathroom after this, it’s potty perfection.  But we’ll move on none-the-less:
Lemme tell you,  I really don’t like chandeliers in bathrooms.  And don’t try to sell me on those new-fangled chandelier shower heads either, they’re even worse.  It’s like, I’m trying to relax and take a bath then BAMB!  I’m assaulted with an electrocution fantasy.  You’re talking to a girl who shuts the toilet lid when she blow-dries her hair, so, nope, no convincing.
Here are some other things I don’t want in my salle de bain:
  • Glass or fancy painted vassal sinks.  Or any other vassal sinks.  I’m ok with raised sinks, but no bowls, please.
  • Anything not gold.  
  • A big deep cabinet, common in rentals.  Hey home builders:  these things are too deep.  All the stuff in the front gets knocked over when we’re trying to reach to the back.  A cabinet should be no deeper than a towel folded in quarters (the only way to fold a towel, right?)
  • pedestal sinks.  pretty, yes, functional, no.
Here is what I do like:
God give me the strength not to knock down all the walls in my home in order to achieve this look.  Breathtaking.  And, well, are we sure the kids will need cabinet doors?
Since I don’t have the stunning view, a wall treatment link this should do the trick:
I’m going to pass on the clock and the embroidered “sanctuary” towels.  Gross.
A big, bold shower curtain should liven up the joint, too:
While I’m not a fan of the country-cute, I’m not too mad at the idea of patch-work.  What I really love about this curtain is the scale.  I want mine to reach all the way to the top of my 10-foot ceiling.  Lika-so:
Ok, you got me:  it’s not a bathroom, but that is EXACTLY what I want my shower curtain to look like.
And it shall surround this tub:
I love how the legs look all robot-y.  Ok, ok, we’re scratching everything and moving in a new direction:  Gold Transformers!  I want everything to look like a giant pixelated transformer dipped in gold.  Where are my smelling salts??!!
If I can’t wrangle a bunch of shiny robot toiletries, this Starck tub should fill the void.
Or, I could just scrap the tup altogether:
Left: Murdock Young; Right: Sorry dude, I can’t remember where I found this.
Ok, so there’s a tub on the left, but that oval glass shower is clearly the star.  And yes, I know, I know, kids need a tub.  What’s with those babies, why can’t they just shower like normal people?  And get jobs?
When I was in Virginia in October, my mom and I went to go pick out faucets for her renovation project. Surprisingly, she didn’t choose any of my selections:
Note:  that dolphin comes in gold.
Who says no to a gilded dragon head faucet?  A crazy mother with “professional architects” that’s who.  Whateves ma, you’re going to be crying a river of tears when we have the renovation face-off.
And finally, just so you can get a firm grip on what I’m up against, here’s the dreaded bathroom as it stands today:
See, it’s going to be great, so long as we get rid of every. single. thing. in there.
There you have it, 2009 goal numero uno.   Of course, if I were going to make a real-life, honest-to-gosh resolution, it would surly be one that all of you would appreciate:  I would work on my spelling.  But, hey, I’ve managed 30 years without knowing the difference between sense and since, what’s one more?