Other people's houses

I went on the East Sac Remodel tour yesterday. It was fun -- kind of a smaller tour than usual with only 6 houses (and we skipped one due to a Hatfield/McCoy type feud), but there were definitely mixed results. Most of the houses looked nice, although I'm not into taking some 1940s home and putting in granite countertops (which it seems like nearly everyone does). One had a cool kitchen, and they'd kept the original cabinetry as much as possible, and even matched the new moulding to the old stuff. It was amusing though, because I could walk through the rooms going "Pottery Barn, Pottery Barn, Pottery Barn . . ." I'm serious, the mirrors, the light fixtures, the draperies, the rugs. Actually, several of the places had really recognizable PB stuff, but this one practically looked like the PB model home or something. On the sad end was a house that a divorced guy had built that was huge -- something like 3500 sq. ft., but totally un-lived in. For example, the designer (and you could tell the whole place was professionally designed) had chosen several frames, and the guy hadn't put any pictures in them, so there were all these empty frames, or frames with the Target models still in them. It felt so lonely.
The funniest one by far though (and by funny, I mean in the disturbing way) was a house that when you walked in, had all this white furniture, and rose-colored walls. As you went in further, it turned out that EVERYTHING was rose-colored and white and flowery and chintz and toile and feminine and HORRIBLE. AAAHHH! I wanted to run away screaming. Fuzzy white carpet. Flowers. Lavender bathroom. Pink girl's bedroom. We started theorizing that it must have been a single woman that lived there, until we saw the family photos -- a dude lives there, too! A dude poops in the lavender potpourri bathroom! There is not a single comfy leather recliner or sand-colored wall in the place. The guy has got to be either totally emasculated or cheating. Poor thing. Even worse, was they had those Glade Plug-ins all over the house -- there were like twenty of them choking me with their stinking floral reek. Could your house possibly smell bad enough to need those things? Even if you have a dog? What's that about, anyway?

Okay, I need to get away from electronic media (TV and internet) and get to my book, "Round Ireland with a Fridge," about exactly that. Dude makes a bet that he can hitchhike all around the perimeter of Ireland while toting a refrigerator, and that people are nice enough that they'll stop and pick him up. It's funny so far, but I'm barely into it. G'night, all.