Fabric store virgin

I have an old desk chair that was my grandma's that I want to refinish for Fred as well as a bench base that I need to make a top for and upholster to be a piano bench and extra seating at my kitchen table. I'm not a total fabric store virgin, but pretty close. I have been wanting to get a sewing machine and learn how to upholster for a while now. Let me just say, sewing machines can be stupidly expensive. And since I don't always finish the things I start, I didn't want to spend a bunch of $$$$ on a sewing machine. I started looking on craigslist and struck out. So when my local fabric store was having a sale I decided to just take the plunge and go get a basic inexpensive one. If I didn't stick with it, it seems as though I could put it on craigslist since the selection there was nil. So I got to the store at about 10:30 with the specific intent of buying a sewing machine. Despite the fact that the store opens at 10:00, the sewing machine store doesn't open 'til noon. Apparently a store within a store?! Confusing. Well fabulous. I now had 1.5 hrs to loiter and make myself crazy with indecisiveness. I may have to rethink this new hobby. All the fabric is OVERWHELMING! I don't know what it's all used for. There are 2 kinds of people that work there: the minimum wage socially awkward girls and the old spinster ladies, neither of whom are overly helpful. Oh and the gay guy, he was in charge, a job that appeared about as easy as herding cats. So I finally get my sewing machine and pick out 2 fabrics for my chair and bench with the help of my fabulous designer friend Teresa over at Wavy Glass Interior Design. She's so awesome that she helped me via Facebook while on vacation in the Dominican Republic on her 40th birthday. I have high standards and when I say she rocks, she fucking rocks! Go check out her stuff. Now. You can come back here any ol' time. Anyway, I get my number and stand in line for round one of the cutting table. It felt like forever but that may have just been because of this not so cute little girl singing "Let it Go" at the top of her lungs. Lets just say I am not a lover of all the children. I basically can't stand other peoples' kids. I like my friends' kids, but strangers kids are the reason I was 30 before I had my first one and even then I still cried the first week after I found out I was pregnant.*officially climbing on soap box* Could her mother, grandma or aunt have at least attempted to put a muzzle on her? And yes I'm totally judging only because they all were completely oblivious to the numerous dirty looks, sighs and eye rolls that were coming from not just me. If your child is having a total melt down or being seriously disruptive and you are scrambling to get the hell out while trying not to die inside, girlfriend, I'll stand beside you, tell you to keep your chin up and you got this. But if your kid is acting the fool and you don't give a shit about the rest of us in this special circle of hell called the fabric store on a Sunday afternoon, then I secretly want to knife you in the parking lot. Moral of the story is when I get the rare opportunity to be out shopping without my kids I sooooo don't want to listen to yours m'kay? *down off soap box* So I finally get up to the table, make a complete guess at how much fabric I need, and off I roll. Then I'm like, sonofabitch!!!! I needed foam for the bench cushion, which also needed to be cut by the yard. I briefly consider coming back another day as I had really reached the extent of my sanity. But I decided to plow through because I figured as long as mini Idina Menzel wanna be was gone, I could make it. I get smart this time and pull my number from the little deli ticket machine before going to get my foam because the line was all the way to China by now. When I attempted to pull out the foam I wanted, 3 more pieces came with it because foam sticks to itself, as everyone but me realizes. I end up getting in a fight with the giant pieces of foam, wrestling them to the ground in an unsuccessful attempt at putting back the pieces I didn't want. The pressure's on now because I can hear the numbers being called and for some reason this time he is quickly getting to my number and I still haven't got the rest of pieces of giant fucking foam to go back in the cage they have them stored in and I can't get my piece in my cart. "Number 85"........Fuck that's me! They call out your number and give you exactly 3.5 seconds to get up there before going straight for the overhead page. "NUMBER 85!!!!!!" Then another 3.5 seconds before moving on to the next number. So I abandoned the unruly muthafucking foam and raced up there. I'm flustered. I have sweat dripping from my boobs. I gotta get out of here!!!!! Joe's texting me asking when I'm gonna be home, even though he TOLD me he had nothing to do today. So what? Now he has something to do????? Bullshit move my friend, but whatever. I get my foam cut, pay, and bust outta there like I haven't seen daylight in 100 years. I get home and muster up the energy to paint Fred's desk chair and recover the seat. I had some leftover Benjamin Moore Chelsea Gray so that's what I painted it and I picked out this super cute orange alligator pleather for the seat. So here it is, my first reupholstering project!

   

           

         before

         

    strike a pose

               

   

   a little repair work

After

Love! 

So of course now I'm cocky because that was so easy. I'm lying to myself when I say it was a real upholstery project. It was scissors and a stapler. But who cares, it's adorable! 

Later that week I moved on to the bench I got at this place called Redo Des Moines. It's literally a couple storage units that these people fill up with all this raw stuff they find. I don't know where they get it and I find it interesting that they don't really give a straight answer when asked directly. Estate sales? garage sales? curbside? ditches? dumpsters? where ever! I don't really care because they've got cool stuff for dirt ass cheap! Remember my designer friend Teresa, she found this bench for me. 

I wanted something that could double as a piano bench and extra seating at the table when we needed it. I looked for MONTHS and was not finding anything that was the right size, look and price. Teresa sends me a message one day 'found your bench'. Honestly, sometimes she pisses me off. She's so damn lucky with the stuff she comes across. Like it's really not fair actually. But none the less, this was THE bench. $45. Sold.
The people at Redo said it was 95 years old and I believe it because the finish was disintegrating. Also, somewhere along the line someone had tried to restain it but they didn't do it properly so the purplish stain was just wiping off with a wet rag. So nobody better comment about what a sin it is that I painted it. After that I made the bench top out of plywood and that stupid foam and batting and attempted to sew the corners of the cushion cover. I really wanted to use my sewing machine! Bad idea. I screwed it all up. Second attempt was just to staple everything. Good idea. I did a good job. The next Sunday morning I decided to put touch up coat of primer and paint on the top of the bench frame because the purple was coming through in a couple of spots. I set the upholstered cushion, right side up, over on top of the deep freeze, did the touching up real quick, and left Joe and the boys home while I went to the gym. When I got home, this is what I found.

Upholstered cushion, right side down, set back on the freshly painted bench. I almost fell down the stairs trying to get to it, as if my rushing was going to fix the damage already done.

I tried to keep my cool because it was my New Years resolution to not get all sideways pissed about things and I figured the first part of April was a good time to get going on that. Normally this is a situation that would have made me go absolutely off my fucking rocker crazy. But instead I just called him and informed him of what he did and that I was going back to the fabric store. And after I finished it AGAIN, I decided I would officially let him live because it turned out better. Third time's a charm!