Get Gladstoned

The seventh level of hell must include many poor souls who decided to off themselves while in the midst of home renovations. Now, don't get trigger happy and call 911 yet -- I'm not really that desperate. But I'm close. Just look at what a long weekend's worth of work hath wrought:

Dontcha wish your household was hot like mine? Dontcha... dontcha?

I really thought we had turned a corner in our kitchen renovations, but I was sadly mistaken. Even my normally temperate darling Hunny Bunny is pitching a 10 alarm hissy fit because every single thing that can go wrong has. Last night we went to bed after one am and when I awoke, I hoped to find that this mess was just a dream. But, alas -- hell no. It's a waking nightmare.

I think I'm going to head over to Toronto's Gladstone Hotel to get grounded. Its homey atmosphere just might cut my melodramatic crap and whip me into shape. Maybe.

On my first night there, I plan to stay in the Teen Queen Room, where I will bust out my Swatch phone, call Karly and whine about my kitchen. Then I will make moonpie eyes at my posters of Simon LeBon and Corey Hart. Please do not tell me if you are too young to know who these people are. I probably won't like you anymore.

On night two I shall to visit the Skygazer Room, where I will ponder the mysteries of the know universe, chief among them being: how can Louise Nevelson still make artwork when she's been dead for 20 years?

Night three: I will restore my faith in humanity while relaxing in the comforting grandmaesque Faux Naturelle Room. Only one catch -- apparently I will also enjoy "a jumb-o-tron view of a bevy of husky wood nymphs frolicking in a forest glade via a giant erotic fun fur canyon scene covering the largest wall in the room." Oh. I see.

On the fourth night of my vacation, I will chillax in the Snapshot Room while drinking in the photographic scenery of Toronto in fall. I find that trees always diminish the night terrors, don't you?

Night Five will find me in the Canadiana Room, where I will pray to god that the antlers don't eat me while I'm sleeping. If I'm lucky, I will be visited in my dreams by those guys from Strange Brew -- you know, the ones who had to drink themselves out of a tank of beer. Now that sounds like a vacation, eh?

On my last night I will stay here, in the, uh, Blue Line Room. Well, let's just call a spade a spade, shall we? This is the sex room. I can think of 800 hilarious things to say here, but I'm just going to let this one go for fear of somehow incriminating myself. Anyone care to say what I won't?

Well, friends, it's back to work I go. No real rest for the weary!

A Simple Plan

A hundred years ago I wrote the last installment of our kitchen renovation saga. Surely you have been waiting with baited breath to see the finished product, and sadly ye must wait yet a while longer. Because my kitchen currently looks like this:

SIGH. No, that is not the inside of a messy snowglobe, that is indeed our humble kitchen, which is currently being worked over by the bandit twins, Hunny Bunny and Mattypants. Matty has been installing our soapstone counter for the past fews days, and it appears we are finally in the final stages (hooray!). But for now, I am trapped in the back room due to swirling drifts of dust and stinky epoxy. DOUBLE SIGH.

So, here I am, fantasizing about hotels again, and the crazy ass Faena Hotel in Buenos Aires, Argentina, is the latest to catch my gimlet eye:

Tacky, overwrought, and stuffed full of enough red velvet and marble to make Liberace blush? Yes, yes, and yes. Swoon. And the best part is the dining room...

Do you see the UNICORN HEADS? With evil ruby eyes? Sorry about all the yelling today, but the dust is getting to me. And then there are the unicorn heads, which obviously warrant a little extra screaming.

I may need some time in the spa, so I can chill the bleep out.

Afterward, I will catch the evening show with an ersatz Liza Minelli -- someone in drag would be most suitable -- and if s/he doesn't belt out "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," I may get stabby.

Then I would dine with 19 of my closest new friends on what would most assuredly be tiny portions of minuscule quail and midget greens, followed by a mandatory chocolate milkshake.

After drinking far too much wine (yes, I am preggers, but this is MY fantasy, ok?) I would fight my vertigo while staring at the hypnotic crystal bead thingie hanging over the stairwell.

Then HB and I would retire to our deluxe suite, where we would sit back to back in our matching chesterfield couches, enjoying our alone time together.

When alone time is over, we'll head for a relaxing bath in our bathroom, where a big bang explosion of carerra must have occurred in the not so distant past. I really don't know what to think about this... lots and lots and lots of marble? Check. Swan faucets? Check. Mirrored cabinet? Check. Vessel sinks? Yes, those, too. Oh hell, I'm just going to enjoy my bath. I'm not here to do inventory.

Night night time is when the magic happens. Sorry, I could provide details, but HB is a little shy. Oh, fine. After playing with the unicorns, sweating in the spa, eating a mini brace of quail, drinking far too much, and relaxing in the tub, we're just going to pass out. Cold.

I told you it was magical.

Hats Off to the G Hotel

Ok, let me start by saying:  I totally understand that Hats Off to the G Hotel is the lamest post title ever.  But would you still love me if I promise promise, cross my heart, hope to die that there is a reason for the broadway style titling madness?  Yes?  Oh!  You're the best, I'll fill you in momentarily.  Ok, on with the show. You dudes should know by now that my number one design weakness is a bangin hotel, so when I stumbled upon the G Hotel in Ireland (online, not in person, unfortunately) my heart skipped a beat or twelve.

Hello insane parlor, do you mind if mommy sips a few cocktails in here?  I forgot to bring my 3D glasses but I trust that the hallucinations will be fantastic nonetheless. 

The G Hotel (here's where the stupid post title comes in) was designed by, up until now, hat designer Philip Treacy:

Ok, everyone, we're going to vote by round of applause, which do you prefer:

-the floral arrangement next to our designer 

OR

- the hats that made him famous:

If your answer was none of the above (for shame, did you SEE that hand hat?) what about his newest hotel design offering:

Some of you (RAINA!) may need to overt your eyes from the star-burst mirrors, might I suggest that you gaze upon the INCREDIBLE LIGHT FIXTURE instead?  I've been doing some math trying to figure out how to get one of those suckers into my bedroom, in gold of course, but unfortunately, I just can't make it work so this picture is all I have to warm my heart at night.

I wonder how bad it is for a plasma screen to have a logo showing at all times.  Matt and I have a logo, I think it would be a nice touch to have it burning bright in our living room when the TV is off, which is pretty much always.  

Also, to the G Hotel employees who are reading this post (I'm totally famous, right?) please steal those chairs one by one and send them to me.  Once they are all missing, the hotel owners won't have a use for the table, so you can send it, too.

I have to admit, I am not really so crazy about this room.  Maybe I would like it better if I were there and the drinks were flowing?  Mmmm, probably not.

I think this is the day spa, but I'm not feeling very relaxed.

Let's look at more pictures I like because I really do like this hotel.

This front desk looks an awful lot like Mr. Treacy's hat designs, which is just fine, but it's really the puppy dog that's stealing my heart.

Oh Look!  There he is again!  With a friend.  Where do you suppose I could get some of these for my house?  And, more importantly, do you think my real-life dog would be intimidated?

I wasn't originally going to show you this because I think it's snooz-er-iffic BUT there is a hot zebra, so it's all good.

Speaking of snoozing, I wouldn't be too mad if I had to sleep in this room for a night or two.  That painting over the bed reminds me of Nagel, which makes me giggle.  For fun during my waking hours, I'd burn that hideously printed chair.

If all the smoke fumes get me down, I'll take a dip in this pool.  Michael Phelps will join me.