My Bedroom Makes Me Tired, and Not In a Good Way

I'm super sick of our bedroom. I've redecorated most of the rooms in our house at least 10 times over, but the master bedroom has this behemoth of a headboard that makes the space impossible to revamp with minor changes, so I just keep putting it off. I justify my laziness (and frugality) by reminding myself that we want to move, that if I do anything wacky in there I will have to redo it for sale, and that it's just too much trouble to sell all the furniture in there and totally redecorate only to find my new goodies won't work in another house. Well, first of all I'm beginning to think we're never going to move. For sure we will lose our shirts if we sell our current modest mid century ranch in this economic climate, and for seconds we can't even find another place we want to live. Well, not one that we can afford, anyway.

So maybe I should stop stalling and just dewit?

Graham Atkins Hughes

Well, if I do I want this bed. And that wall color. What do you think? Too predictable? Part of me would love an antique pencil post bed or a very simple art deco burlwood semicircular headboard, but dizamn they are hard to find in king size. And you know I would rip out an eye tooth (preferably not mine) for this bed in a king:

via Karly and her crazy sourcing skillz

Honestly, it's hard to find ANY awesome bed in a king size. It's almost enough to make me scale back to a queen. Almost.

I would actually prefer to go sans headboard, but I have two windows behind the bed and I'm thinking about doing an entire curtain wall, so a proper headboard that's actually attached to the bed is a must. I don't want to wake up with my head jacked up to the wall, eating curtains. Curtain munching.

Rees Roberts

Although, at least curtains are soft. If I had this magic mountain wall behind the bed, I might get rock burn when, uh... you know. I do like that bed, though.

Commune Design

Whatever I do, I think it needs to be low and lean because we have a giant hideous fan over our bed, and I would prefer not to draw attention to it. Imagine if those antlers were spinning around like a giant horny wheel of death, and then imagine how bad that would look framed by a canopy bed. Bad. But we live in Texas and it's very hot and I'm not getting rid of our ugly fan. I would like for someone to give me that bed, though. Also the bedspread, if you please.

Rees Roberts

Did I mention how hard it is to find a cool king size bed for cheap? I suppose we could always just get something sleekly generic like this, and then do a weirdo wall treatment behind it. I could get rid of the curtains and do simple roman shades. Then I might go crazy and wood panel the wall, or wallpaper it, or... something.

Shoot Factory

I do know I would not be mad about living in this room. Look at it! It has shiny wallpaper and dark ceilings and an awesome fireplace, and there are golden balls everywhere.

And the best part is that when it's bow chickka bowww bowm time, you shut out the peeping toms with a very high class antique screen. Then you can turn on the mood lighting and crank the Barry White down low, which would be super easy since the lights and stereo are there in bed with you.

Damn, I hope that sexy bed comes in a king.

Shoes, Glorious Shoes

I feel pretty confident in declaring that I own a vastly awesome shoe collection. It's not a status oriented kind of collection that screams, Look at me! I wear the latest Tory Burch by day and the newest Louboutins by night. Which is not to say that I don't appreciate fine, expensive shoes. I do have the odd pair of Marc Jacobs heels bought on deep (VERY deep) discount. It's just that mostly I'm far too poor (and cheap) to buy them. What I do own is a little piece of the 20th (working my way up to the 21st) century: black satin dancing shoes from the 30s, alligator pumps from the 40s, Delman spike heels and malachite green French Room snake skin platform pumps and some lucite heeled rhinestone studded beauties from the 50s, a swinging pair of Walter Steiger silver snakeskin t-straps and crazy spectator oxfords from the 60s, loads of wooden platforms from the 70s (both wedged and spiked), a killer pair of Charles Jourdan stilettos from the 80s, and I haven't even mentioned the boots -- 70s western, 80s Frye and Hanna Makler (the boot lady), 90s Italian, and a whole host of other players.

Despite the fact that my closet, Ben's closet, and even the office closet runneth over, I love each and every pair. My shoe loving grandmother would be proud, and naturally I own several pairs of her shoes, too.

The good thing about vintage shoes is that they're unique, and if you're crafty with the Ebay, they're often cheap. The bad thing about vintage shoes is the comfort -- or the lack thereof. You can get lucky and snag an uber plush pair, but more likely you just tough it out. And look hot.

Unless you have a toddler. And then you buy new shoes. Brand new, never worn shoes.

Enter my new Lucky Brand Lexi clog boots, bought with an internet coupon (duh) at Endless. Less expensive than those damn Swedish Hasbeens, and less orthopedic looking than those Jeffrey Campbell boots, they are comfortable, they fit well, and they go with everything. I plan to go dark and boho chic with them, all neutralish textures and patterns and crazy shiny shit galore. Like so:

Graham Atkins Hughes

Commune Design

Elle Decor

Not sure of the source, but I'm pretty sure that's a Vistosi chandelier. Mmmmm...

Francois Halard

Andrea Ferrari

Yeah, I like black. But I also like brown. Tune in for later episodes in my shoe shopping diaries, wherein I confess to both major and minor boot purchases...

I really hope Ben isn't reading this.