Eric B. does not Facebook, Tweet or blog. He uses the internet to cruise for sex, like god intended. He has leopard print in every room of his house, save one. And he does not apologize
Heather Corinna is the undisputed diva of online erotica for chicks. She publishes Scarleteen.com and is a sex guru to thousands of teenagers.
Richard: The air is full of pollen, birds on every tree branch are fucking their little bird brains out, Kellyanne Conway is wearing white(ish), and Cadbury eggs are half-off at Walgreens. Ostara be praised, it's time for spring cleaning.
The good news is, this house is clean. (If you read that phrase and simultaneously heard it whispered in your ear by the ghost of Zelda Rubinstein, congratulations: you're a homo of the 1980s. If, on the other hand, you simply looked at the decor, and said, "Ugh, so 1980s", you're just a garden-variety homo. Nobody's perfect.)
The bad news is ... well, where to begin? That awkwardly laid, wrinkling carpet? The appallingly upholstered, overstuffed living room suite? The two tones of wallpaper, separated by a chair rail that dear, departed Zelda and her biggest wiglet could skip under without ducking? The wildlife "art" that a freelance accountant purloined from a temporary H&R Block outpost at the end of tax season? The poor transom that's been hemmed in by a drop-ceiling and usurped by a weird-ass air vent?
Or maybe we should get to the heart of the matter and deal with that sea of hunter green? That goddamn, 1982, Northpark Mall food court hunter green, that only looks right when it's lit by some neon pink lettering that reads, "ARCADE!".
I say stash the vacuum, slap on some Duck Heads and a couple of Swatches, and turn this shit into a booze-free night club for teens, who'll think it's fresh and retro. You can even charge extra if you get Adam Ant to play a midnight set. What, like he's got other plans?
David: After Richard's recent exploration into minimalism (a Lurid Digs first -- see the post prior to this one), it seemed fitting to slowly ease our way back into the horrors of clutter and mismatched colors by taking on another fairly tame bedroom.
So here are some quick pointers for this sad beige space
1. Want to generate excitement in your room (and a sense of owning a personality that actually has dimensions?) Do not allow the carpeting to jump the molding and start crawling up the walls. The atmospheric effect is too cocooning -- which for many men is a libidinal buzzkill. Especially should your evening be hook-up-centric.
2. Go ahead and LIVE A LITTLE -- unravel your battery charger's cord and place said batteries on a flat surface like a table or even the seat of a chair.
3. Get rid of your old Boy Scouts pup tent -- that you're presently using for a bedspread -- and splurge for something with colors and patterns from Bed, Bath and Beyond.
O.K., so that's it for our attempt to unpack minimalism. We miss our hoarders and design-challenged gay dwellers. Look for their return next week!
Richard: Going bare isn't for everyone. It's hard work and requires loads of planning. If you think over-the-top is daunting, just try going under-the-top.
Seriously, any idiot with a Walmart gift card can buy a bunch of crap for the casa. Scuffed table? Put a doily on it! Hole in the wall? That inspirational cat poster will cover it just fine. Maximalism can be artful, but the way most people do it, it's more properly called "thrift store tornado aftermath". Or "hoarding".
Minimalism, though? That takes balls. Designers can dream about a minimalist room, but if that room hasn't been properly drywalled, taped, and painted, fuck it, game over. Do you trust your contractors to pull off stunts like that? If so, please pass me their numbers, because at last count, I had 27 in my contacts list, and tragically, all were born without clues.
This sparsely decorated monk's bunk is what I'd call "mostly successful". If the walls were a more personal color and the outlet weren't so plastic-y, maybe we could assume they were thoughtful choices. However, it's more likely that we've stumbled into an apartment complex whose owner went hog wild at Home Depot's annual Dover White sale. That said, I'd fuck the shit out of the navy/gray headboard and bed--so long as they've been Scotchgarded for easy clean-up, of course.
David: There's nothing like self-awareness married to consideration to ease the potential pain you might cause a loved one who harbors a cleanliness fetish. And because this guy is aware that he's a slave to his various ADD compulsions, he is keeping things real for his mom by:
• Bringing his own snacks, lots of snacks (like his favorite cabernet to compliment his Captain Crunch), carefully assembled on a placemat for end table protection.
• Having a dime on the ready should he need to go down to the corner to make a phone call to report a fire. (Do phone booths even exist anymore?)
• Lugging along an ugly blanket to protect an even uglier sofa from any beverage spills or free-flying body fluids that might erupt after abandoning ESPN to make a scheduled appearance on Chatterbate. (Or maybe he'll be Skyping with his FB in Prague -- despite the time zone shift due to DLST).
Our lone style recommendation would be to get a decent size painting hung over the couch, preferably something monochromatic so as not to clash with the clashing sofa patterns. Or a large mirror would work too, great to watch himself scooting across the floor in his socks, doing his best Risky Business impersonation.
Richard: Ignore, if you can, the linens, which are anything but linen. Suffice it to say that the owner of this poorly feng shui-ed Airbnb cubbyhole doesn't give two bumps of Boudreaux's Butt Paste if his guests break out in rashes after sleeping on 110% acrylic dropcloths.
No, there are bigger issues looming here, like cracks in the bottomless abyss of Cost Plus World Market home decor. The first is those wall hangings, which...I mean, given the stats on most Scruff profiles, I know that there's a shortage of rulers out there, but don't people own straight-edges anymore? A scrap of picture molding? A disused curtain rod? A vintage Kris Lord dildo, perhaps? Shit like this isn't whimsical, it's sloppy, and positioned so low to the bed, it presents a real safety hazard for the vacationing couple who've stumbled home from Senior Frog's to engage in a clumsy three-way with their coked-up, swing-shift bartender. Though I suppose the sheets will clean up nicely.
Then there's the other problem, which is WHY IN THE NAME OF BARBARA HERSHEY IS THAT MATTRESS LEVITATING? Is someone expecting a booty call with Beelzebub? Drop the molly, girl, you in danger!
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