Your iPhone is Blocking My View - Rules of Etiquette for Taking iPhone Pictures at an Event

This is an actual picture from my daughter's Kindergarten graduation last year.
This is all I could see. If everyone would have put their arms down, at least
I could have seen her singing her graduation song (that's what everyone is recording).

If you have any elementary aged kids in your life, you may have noticed a startling trend. At any event where kids are showcasing their skills, talent or just general cuteness, massive iPhone arm forests are springing up. They are temporary and only last long enough to block your view and end any chance you may have had to be able to see the result of all those dance lessons you paid so much for. As soon as the recital is over the iPhone arm forests magically disappear. What can we do to end this blight upon our children's events?

Okay, so maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but it is a fact that every two minutes, we take more pictures than the whole of humanity took during the 19th century. (Source) People take pictures of each other, of every move their child makes, of food, of garbage, of license plates, of ridiculous things we see on the street. Along with memes and emoticons, photographs are becoming an ever more increasing form of nonverbal communication. And you know what? It's turning us into a bunch of inconsiderate jerks.

It's true that we're all pretty new to the concept of being able to carry around a camera and a video recorder in our pocket, but the simple fact remains that, just like in a movie theatre, there should be rules of etiquette that go along with using your device to take pictures at events.

For example, you go to your child's Christmas program and in every row in front of you, every single person has their device out recording it. You can't see a darn thing no matter which unnatural way you angle your neck. There's a woman on the end using a gargantuan iPad to film the entire show from the excruciatingly slow parade of children lining up on the stage all the way through to the exit of the little darlings. There'a a woman doing a close-up video of her son, even though he is stubbornly refusing to sing. Then there are the people in the middle who are taking turns holding up devices like a bunch of iPhone whack-a-moles. Everyone's hands are all raised above their heads, smart phones held aloft right in front of everyone else's line of vision. 

In addition to school programs, weddings are another event where the use of devices really should be curbed. Imagine taking a look at your wedding photos only to see that in every single picture, several of your guests have their devices out to record your big day. A crowd of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen have morphed into a crowd of paparazzi displaying their Juicy Coture phone cases and whatnot. It's unavoidable for the photographer, and a huge eyesore in wedding pictures. In fact, this trend has been ranted about by bloggers like Stephanie Fusco at Leopard is a Neutral.

Regardless of how excited you may be to see your little peanut sitting on stage for the first time, or to watch your cousin walk down the aisle, everyone around you is just as excited, and they can't see through your outstretched arms, or past your enormous Berlin wall of an iPad. It's frustrating and rude, but since it's not socially acceptable to tackle other adults at events, let's talk about a better way.

Here are some ideas of how we can all get pictures and video of events without having to stare through a massive forest of smartphone arms.

1. Don't use an iPad. Please, for the love of God, just don't.
2. When taking a photo, be quick, and then put your hand down. You don't need seven identical pictures of your child standing on stage, so don't hold your phone up endlessly hitting the shutter button.
3. If you're going to take video, take a short one, and then put your phone down. There's no reason to film it from the very beginning to the very end, unless you're being paid to do so by the bride and groom/school/what have you.
4. If it's your wedding day, it's okay for you to make a note in the program or have the officiant make an announcement asking people to refrain from taking pictures or video during the ceremony. 
5. Same goes for children's programs. The PTA could organize one person to volunteer to film the whole program and then post it online. That way everyone can sit and enjoy seeing their child, and children don't have to grow up with memories of a crowd of parents looking like a hoard of paparazzi. Also, no one has to sustain a neck injury in order to peer around your iPad.
6. Be considerate of the people behind you. If you can't get a picture without holding your arms up high, then step into the aisle. Remember how annoying flash photography was 15 years ago? Holding your iPhone up high is just as obnoxious as that was.

It's hard not to simply do as the Romans do here in the information age in which we live, but in following these five simple rules, you will create a more polite world, and ensure that no one misses out on pictures of memorable events. Doing this also ensures that you don't get tackled by an irate mom three rows back. So let's get together and see if we can't achieve iPhone arm deforestation, for the betterment of humanity, and your blood pressure.

I Went to Six Weddings in Eight Months

For some reason, wedding season last year went from October to June and I went to almost one a month. Add in the wedding showers and engagement parties and thats...a lot of events. The best part about it was definitely the people. I met people from all over the United States and several foreign countries as well.

It was really cool to see the Slovakian traditions at Eva's wedding, especially the trick pitcher she and Billy had to figure out how to drink from. I also loved Suellen's wedding where I met and danced with people from Brazil, Spain and Germany. I loved meeting an entire chapter of Pikes (Pi Kappa Alpha - my Dad's fraternity) at Rebecca and John's wedding, and John had the best groom's cake, made in the shape of the Astrodome! I have never before sent a bride and groom down the aisle to the sound of cap guns shooting like we did at Meghan and Donnie's wedding, and I guess I should have worn a dress to that one because my daughters wanted to dance with everyone else's mom instead of me! Lora's maid of honor had the best speech I think I've ever heard, I laughed really hard and still remember the advice she gave Lora and Bret, "If you are ever angry with each other, take off your clothes and see if you still feel like fighting while you're naked", or something to that effect. My favorite part of Lauren and Cordero's wedding is split between seeing Cordero cry when Lauren walked down the aisle, and seeing Alexis and Lola (the flower girls) very carefully and hilariously placing the flower petals everywhere but the path.

I went alone to the two out of state weddings, and Eric accompanied me to the other four, and our poor daughters only got to go to two. Eric wore the same clothes to three of the weddings. If you look closely at the photo booth pictures you can see which shirt was different. Obviously I needed a new outfit for each one, because fashion. Vivienne had been sick the week before Lauren's wedding and threw up at the rehearsal dinner and the reception. That was so awesome, she wrote sarcastically. I've already written about the foot infection I got trying to look cute for Suellen's wedding so I won't detail that here. I will say the most surreal part had to be when I found myself with a curling iron, curling Eva's hair. Eva has spent her whole life trying to tame or straighten her gloriously beautiful natural curls. So I didn't see that one coming. Each wedding was touching and each bride was stunning, and I did cry a lot.

Now I have a ton of photo booth pictures:

And I made a lot of new friends:

I was a bridesmaid in two of the weddings:

And somehow Kristen convinced me to sing with her at one of them:

I went to one wedding on the East coast:

And one on the West coast:

Two of the weddings were for my best friends' younger siblings:

One was for my cousin (okay she's actually my half first cousin once removed but we just skip all that and call each other cousins because that's simpler than explaining that my dad and her grandpa are half brothers):

The rest were close friends:

In all it was a very exhausting eight months, and I witnessed an awful lot of love happening, which was beautiful, and I have almost perfected crying without smudging my mascara. So congratulations to all the happy couples, half of whom have already celebrated their year anniversary before I got around to blogging about their weddings. Here they are in order of their nuptials:

Eva and Billy Newcomb

Lora and Bret Grigsby

Meghan and Donnie Lunsford

Suellen and Nick Weller

Lauren and Cordero Martin

Rebecca and John Zerwas

And many congratulations for all the honeymoon babies! There are five so far!

10 Reasons My Dog is an Asshole

Bad language warning: This post is full of the foul language that my dog incites.

Poo warning: This post is full of dog poo stories. You've been warned.

My dog, Hunter, is the biggest jerk on planet Earth. Now, I love my dog, if I didn't, he'd be out on his cantankerous ass because he has just grown into the most annoying, inconsiderate douchebag. He's a Miniature Pinscher, and my husband bought him about six months after we started dating. I warned him that minpins are considered an aggressive breed and it would be hard to get an apartment to rent to him with a dog like that, but, as per usual, he paid me no heed and went and bought this little shit from a breeder outside Austin. That was 12 years ago, and he's never been an easy dog, but lately he just doesn't give a flip who he pisses off. So, in recognition of the fact that my dog is just a giant a-hole, I've dedicated this blog just to him. Here are 10 reasons my dog is an asshole.

10. His sniffer is broken, I guess?

Everyone knows that if you drop food on the floor, unless it's something that's bad for him (just so y'all know, bad food for dogs doesn't end with chocolate. They also shouldn't have raw onions, grapes, raisins, or macadamia nuts) it's his job to eat whatever falls on the floor. He gets really excited about it too, he runs over to you with his little nubbin tail wagging as fast as it can and hunts around for whatever morsel of deliciousness has just fallen into his domain. But he can't find it. Like, ever. I have to help him find it by reaching down and pointing to the doggy delicacy. At that point, I might as well have just picked it up off the floor.

9. He has extended his territory to include meals that are abandoned for the 10 seconds it takes to get up and get a napkin.

When he was a puppy we spent lots of time training him as to what food he could eat and what he couldn't, but now that he's older, Hunter badger don't care. Hunter badger DGAF. If you get up for even the most cursory and brief errand, you'd better take your food with you, or he'll jump up and help himself. Brisket you've been smoking since dawn? Why thank you. Homemade lasagna that took hours to prepare and will give any canine the shits? Don't mind if I do.

8. He collaborates with my daughter to scheme against me.

Vivienne knows she's not supposed to feed Hunter. Hunter knows he's not supposed to eat people food. So they hide in her closet as she feeds him her lunch. One time this included a chocolate chip granola bar. The next day my husband heard a sickening splat come from the kitchen, and when he walked in to investigate I just heard an emphatic OH NO OH MY GOD coming from the other room. As I ran in in a panic I caught sight of hunter doing his squatting walk in circles around what appeared to be a small lake of doggy diarrhea. My husband (who might be just as evil as my dog) stifled his laughter, lied an apology about needing to leave for work and then escaped, leaving me to wallow in my tears and liquid dog excrement.

7. Now that he is geriatric, the poops are never-ending.

Hunter was crate-trained as a puppy and as an adult dog almost never had accidents. This is no longer true. Now he just straight up poops whenever and wherever it pleases him. I will frequently enter my bedroom to find him lounging on my bed, surrounded by a carpet full of poo and I'm just like, WTF dude, you didn't bark or scratch to get out or anything! Worse than that are the times he not only poops on the floor, but he will walk through his own poop, and then continue to run about the house, leaving little doggy crap-tracks in his wake.

6. He will totally bite you.

My dog is mean. The only reason he is still alive is that my friends and family have graciously not sued me to compel his removal from this earth when he bit their ankles. Granted, he's tiny and has never done any real damage, but in today's overly litigious society people have been sued for far less. Thank you, loved ones, for allowing this dickhead to live.

That one time Huntie helped bake pumpkin bread.

5. His bark will split your eardrums.

When anyone comes over, hunter goes absolutely ballistic. He starts bouncing off the walls at a million miles per hour and screeching like a hell monster who has somehow escaped oblivion only to torment those of us still walking the earth. Oh, he also does this if a text message goes off, or if a phone rings, or if the television makes a high-pitched tone of any sort. Straight to the front door he runs doing his weird protective run/hop to massacre the ankles of any uninvited (or invited) guests who might be lurking about our property.

Is it weird I use him as a pillow? He doesn't seem to mind.

4. He will just wake anyone up whenever he feels like it.

Since I've been working from home while simultaneously being a stay at home mom, Vivienne's snack time frequently takes place in her room, far removed from mommy and her laptop. Because of this, we end up with pretzels and Ritz crackers in the oddest of places, like shoved inside someone's underwear drawer, or stacked on top of a pile of books, or smashed into crumbs in a barbie purse. Hunter knows this and takes intermittent scouting trips to find these little gems. His favorite time to do this is about 45 minutes into Vivi's nap. He goes and bats open the door, jumps up on the bed where she's sleeping, walks all over her and noses her around looking for spare goldfish. As you can imagine, this makes Vivi mad, which makes mommy mad.

3. His pee could dissolve bedrock.

If it's raining outside (which is constantly lately) he doesn't venture any further than the patio to do his business. He has absolutely ruined one of the front wheels on the barbecue pit from peeing on it until it's positively rusted through. I know what you're thinking, why would I allow this? I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS HAPPENING UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE. When we moved into this house Hunter had only ever lived in apartment complexes and I had to train him to be able to go to the bathroom without his leash on. I walked him outside and introduced him to the joys of marking the bushes and trees in our back yard. After I got him comfortable with it, I just let him outside when necessary and paid no mind to where he was doing his thing. I had no idea the little $#!^ was just letting loose on EVERYTHING on my back porch!

2. He's an attractive Nuisance.

Just look at this literal son of a bitch. Don't tell me you don't want to cuddle the crap out of him. But don't you dare, unless he has met you and had you vetted via his apparently broken sniffer. If you reach down to pet his royal cuteness ESPECIALLY if you squeal in delight while doing so, expect to get your face chewed off suddenly and without remorse.

1. He's a cuddle monster who won't relinquish my heart.

The fact is I love this little jerk. He has crapped his way into my soul and I will never not love him. When he finally goes to doggy heaven I will undoubtedly be inconsolable, and will probably do something creepy like have him mummified and then bury him in a sarcophagus with all his toys and blankets and rawhides so anthropologists of the future will surmise he was worshiped as a god or something. He literally hugs me when I pick him up. He wraps his tiny paws around my neck and leans his little head on my shoulder and then sighs the cutest little snorty doggy sigh like he couldn't be any happier. My dog is a little shit. I want to hate him, but I can't. I'm going to keep loving his grumpy ass until death do us part.

Misadventures in Aesthetics or the Unnecessarily Long Story of My Ghetto Fab Nails and Foot Infection

TL;DR:
I went to an unfamiliar nail salon and walked out with ghetto nails and a foot infection. I had to have bandaids and meds on my painful feet for a full week, at which point I went and got the polish changed on my fingernails and now I have a pretty manicure and uninfected feet. Things I used to cure my infected feet: Neosporin, Hibbiclens, prescription topical antibiotic ointment, bandaids, and prescription oral Amoxicillin.

I didn't take a picture of my infected feet, because that's just gross.
Notice how the gold brought out all the yucky colors in my skin as well?

I have been to five weddings in the past eight months. That adventure will be a separate blog, because, seriously, FIVE WEDDINGS IN EIGHT MONTHS. In addition to this, I have been more sick than I have probably ever been. I had continuous colds from October to December, in December I got the flu, in January I got a secondary sinus infection from having the flu. In February I had strep throat. I was okay in March and April, and I am currently getting over a stomach bug I got from my baby.

My constant illnesses caused my nails, which are normally so very long and healthy and might I add gorgeous naturally, to peel, chip, and develop horizontal and vertical ridges. Biotin didn't help. Calcium didn't help. A wedding on the west coast was looming, and I'd be damned if I was going to show up in California  with ratchet nails among all those perfectly put together California girls. No. So I had already decided I'd go get a full set of acrylic nails. I was at Sally Beauty supply in Pflugerville, and there's a nail salon right next door. It's not my normal one, but I was there, and pressed for time, and they were advertising 20% off.

I rocked all these sexy shoes with toe bandaids.

Ladies, always go with your gut. And if you have a nail salon you regularly go to that you know is clean and safe, just go there, don't even bother walking in a random place. I went into this place and it was dark and dreary inside. I almost just walked back out, but I didn't want to be rude. I was seated at a foot spa that had obviously just been used by another client without being cleaned. As the nail tech started working on me, she pulled each instrument from a paper envelope and they didn't appear clean, just as if they'd been put in a paper envelope after they were used on the last customer. The nail tech cut too close to my skin on the outside of each big toe, and ended up slicing my skin a bit. I swear to you I could almost feel the bacteria feasting on my feet. I thought I'd end up with MRSA for sure.

My gorgeous gold heels

Then came the manicure. I haven't gotten my nails done since my wedding, since, like I said before, they're normally perfectly fine with no polish. It's been eight years since my wedding, and I know that nail polish trends have changed, but I wasn't sure what people were getting done. I had gotten a gold polish on my toes to match my sublimely awesome gold shoes I was planning to wear to the wedding.  I thought my manicure should probably at least sort of match my pedicure, so after consulting my friend Kristen I settled on a glitter fill for each of my ring fingers, and a gold gel polish for the rest of my fingers. The nail tech was too distracted and did not use the glitter fill I selected, and when I picked a gold gel polish, she pulled out a gold glitter I had not chosen, and added them together saying, "the one you chose was too dark, this one will lighten it". The gold on my feet was a true metalic gold, whereas the glitter she chose for me was an orange-bronze gold. Not only that, she put it on all my fingers. So I ended up with a manicure that cost me $70 and made me look like I was headed to Vegas. Not even the cool part of Vegas either, my manicure made me look like I was ready to hit up the Golden Nugget with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth as I took drink orders from sleezy old men.

I went home and tried to convince myself I didn't hate it. Later that evening, I awoke with both my feet throbbing in pain. I was mentally kicking myself for going to that place because I just knew it wasn't clean, you could tell from looking at it. Even though I don't get manicures very often, I get pedicures with relative regularity. I've been cut in pedicures before, it always heals by morning, or it might sting a little when I'm washing my feet in the shower. Never has it ever felt like this. My toes were red and swollen, and absolutely throbbing. Luckily (I guess) I happened to have some prescription anti-biotic ointment and Hibbiclens from when my daughter had a skin infection. So I scrubbed my toes with the Hibbiclens and smeared antibiotic ointment on the painful parts, took some advil and went back to bed.

In case you thought the "after" picture looked better just
because it was of my palm instead of the back of my hand.
Truth in advertising: the shoe pics have filters, but the nail
pics do not.

The next day my feet still hurt. Obviously I didn't have the time or inclination to return to such a place, since I had gotten this work done on Sunday and was leaving for California on Wednesday, and in the meantime needed to finish up work and make an arrangement for a song Kristen had somehow convinced me to sing with her at this wedding (and that will be another blog too.) So I went to California with my Neosporin, Advil and bandaids and rocked them the whole weekend, telling my sob story to anyone who would listen. I also took some leftover Amoxicillin for good measure. Don't look at me like that, my doctor told me to stop taking them after 10 days instead of finishing the whole bottle. After I got home my feet finally felt uninfected, and I was glad I didn't have to get any amputations or IV antibiotics.

This past weekend was my best friend's little sister's wedding which I was in (yup, two weddings in two weeks) and she wanted us to all get together to get our nails done (scary music plays). I told her I was not letting anyone touch my toes again, maybe ever, but I definitely needed a polish change on my fingernails. The place we went was just miles above the ghetto place in terms of cleanliness and professionalism. I picked a polish color, they used it. Just that color. They didn't cut me, at all, and they made sure I was happy before I left.

Thoughts on Hoarding

My sister once told me that everyone hoards things, and there are different levels of hoarding, 1-5 with 5 being the kind of people you see on the show "Hoarders". I trust her, because she just knows things like this on account of the fact that she reads constantly. You might think to yourself, "What? No. I do not hoard anything." But you do, most likely. You may not realize it though. Here are the definitions of hoarding:

noun
1. a supply or accumulation that is hidden or carefully guarded for preservation, future use, etc.: A vast hoard of silver

verb (used with object):
1. to accumulate for preservation, future use, etc., in a hidden or carefully guarded place: to hoard food during a shortage
2. to accumulate money, food, or the like, in a hidden or carefully guarded place for preservation, future use, etc.

This means, if you stockpile anything, at all, including groceries, say, in your pantry (carefully hidden away), then you hoard. Maybe a level 1, but you do. Unless you are living in a bare room on a mat on the floor with one set of spare clothes to wear when you're washing the other set, with a few things like one book, one toothbrush and one towel, and go out every day to seek your food, then you hoard things. I'm betting most people reading this blog don't live like Japanese monks. That's okay, there is an acceptable level of hoarding, at least according to society. 

It got me thinking though, about the odd things people hoard. Rich people, for example, hoard things like cars, jewelry and fine art. You might again think to yourself, "What? No. Rich people collect things like cars, jewelry and fine art. To that I say, "collecting" is merely an acceptable form of hoarding. Here are the definitions of collect:

verb (used with object):

1. to gather together; assemble: The professor collected the students' exams.

2. to accumulate; make a collection of: To collect stamps.

3. to receive or compel payment of: To collect a bill.

4. to regain control of (oneself or one's thoughts, faculties, composure, or the like): At the news of her promotion, she took a few minutes to collect herself.

5. to all for and take with one: He drove off to collect his guests. They collected their mail.

The definitions both use the word "accumulate" and that is what they both are, the accumulation of things not currently being used. Here are a few things that I've realized I hoard: dental floss, mascara, and tea. So I took pretty, instagram-esque pictures of my odd hoarding collections (see what I did there?), each of which I totally have a valid reason for, just like I'm sure the old lady on hoarders feels she has a need for the endless stacks of old newspapers and fourteen cats and 5 unopened blenders.

After I took this picture I found an additional woven floss in my travel kit. I have issues.

I have bad teeth, and after two root canals and innumerable fillings I have developed a definite cavity paranoia. This woven floss is what I have found that works the best to clean my gums and between my teeth. For some reason, it was really hard to find after I discovered it, so I got into the habit of buying it every time I saw it in a store rather than waiting until I needed it and chancing not being able to find it. Piled underneath the one I'm currently using there are the sad rejects of times that this happened to me. Except the Colegate one, my dentist gives me those every time I get my teeth cleaned. 

You know, in case the Queen of England ever stops by.

I have such a tea obsession that people give me tea as gifts, and I love it. Tea is an excellent gift for me, even though I clearly already have too much. This doesn't even include my loose-leaf collection which is much harder to stack. Don't ask me why I need three different kinds of chai, or why I bought two boxes of gingerbread spice tea at one time. I have what I believe to be a valid reason, but it's just the hoarder talking.

Putting my hoard on a silver platter makes it prettier.

There are probably people who have more mascara than me, but I think having four at once, including one that has sat unopened since September constitutes hoarding. The smaller two are samples, but I intentionally went and got the D&G sample even though I already had the other three tubes, because free mascara, that's why.

Refurbishing the World's Stinkiest Dresser- Girls Room Post #3

I sold Bella's dressers before I bought a new one. This may seem ill-advised, but I really had no choice, since I had to raise the money to purchase new stuff. I thought it would be no biggie, and I could go to garage sales or scour Craigslist for something I could redo. What I found was that people on Craigslist are totally delusional about what their old crap is worth. It was damn near impossible to find a dresser for under $200, and that was for something that probably didn't cost $200 to begin with, like, a particle-board out-dated Ikea piece that you can't even refinish. Forget about solid wood, apparently, solid wood furniture is worth its weight in gold to the citizens of Craigslist. 

Finally I found one I could afford and refinish, in Coupland. Coupland, for those of you who have never been there, is a tiny town between Hutto and Elgin which is pretty much adorable. It's all rolling farmland and a post-office and a little white church. I don't know the people who sold me this dresser, but either they have a terrible hoarding problem or they are professional Craigslisters. When we showed up to the address they gave their yard appeared to be sectioned into parts, one part was full of old office furniture, one part was filled with old children's plastic outdoor play-houses and climbing toys. One part was for long-dead appliances. And it smelled. It smelled really, really bad. They were offering the dresser for $25, and when we got there I realized I had my work cut out for me. I really didn't have any other choice though, given that it was wood, and 1/10th the cost of most of the rest of the dressers I'd found.

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?

When we got it home I examined it more carefully. I realized then that the dresser itself smelled really bad. I guess the smell of the property covered up the smell of the dresser while we were purchasing it. It had names carved into it with ball-point pens and knives, and when I removed the drawers I found that not only were there no failsafe to keep them from just toppling out on a little girl's head, but a mouse or two had been living inside the drawers and the interior was crusted with feces. Yay!

This swiffer is not cutting it.

I was sort of tempted to put it out at the curbside, but then I'd be out $25 and still have no dresser. I thought, I can scrape out all the mouse turds, and then I bet the smell of the wood-stripper and the new finish will cover up the dresser's stank. I put on some rubber gloves, a face-mask and some goggles because I was NOT going to come out of this with tuberculosis or black plague or god knows what horrible illnesses one gets from handling mouse turds. After much scraping, scrubbing, bleaching and cleaning, the dresser still stank.

Seriously? Who sticks gum to their own dresser???

When I went to pull out all the drawers to refinish each, I realized how badly worn the dresser was, I actually had to pry out all the rusty nails and rebuild each drawer from scratch, and one needed a whole new bottom. So I had to go to Home Depot to get some more plywood of the correct thickness, and wood filler so that the nails would have something to be hammered into.

The drawer with its new bottom, and a few dryer
sheets that did no good at removing the stank.

When I went to remove the drawer handles I realized they were affixed with not one screw through the center, but two through each end, this was a problem because I had purchased some absolutely gorgeous drawer pulls that would now need to be centered between the two holes on each drawer, and then I wasn't sure if I could fill and properly cover the original holes. In the end I had to go back to Hobby Lobby to purchase some crown-shaped embellishments to cover the appearance of the holes, even after they were filled, sanded and painted over.

This is what the inside of the drawer looked like when I pried it off its base.

After I used the wood-stripper to remove the old finish and ball-point pen ink, then sanded it down, it still stank. But I soldiered on, white-washing it using several coats of a pickling finish so the wood grain would show through.

Old finish stripped, dresser sanded, drawer pull holes
filled, check, check, check.

It. Still. Stank.

I had to use wood filler to cover the previous owner's carvings.

At this point, I almost admitted defeat. Those people had managed to somehow ingrain their stink into the wood itself. I bet I could have  put the whole shebang in a wood chipper and I'd have ended up with a pile of stinky mulch. I then grabbed the Febreze and used almost a whole can of it, soaking the inside of the drawers and leaving each out to dry in the sun. I also put several dryer-sheets in each drawer, and a bowl of baking soda. After all that, it stank slightly less.

A closeup of the pickling whitewash.

It almost looks useable.

I now had to ghetto-rig a system to keep the drawers from falling out on my daughters' heads, since I know them and I know they'll just yank the drawers out willy-nilly with no regard for their own personal safety. So I got some pink parachute cord and drilled two holes in the back of each drawer, one on the right and one on the left, and then drilled corresponding holes in the back of the dresser itself. I measured the parachute cord into lengths that would allow the drawers to be opened fully without falling out of the dresser, then laced them through the holes and tied sailor's knots in the ends of each. For a final safety measure to ensure the knots didn't come undone, I melted each with a lighter and fused them into a little plasticky-nylon ball.

I had to melt the tip of each string and push it through the hole with a nail.

Once through, I used the same method to push it through the hole in the drawer.

I then knotted each end, and for good measure, tied them together in the back.

Finally, I affixed the beautiful knobs I found at Hobby Lobby, and covered the holes on either side of each knob with a pink princess crown embellishment.

I got these on 50% off sale which Hobby Lobby has literally every week.

I affixed the crown embellishments using silicone sealant which dries clear.

Then, when I got the whole shebang into the girls room I realized, ALL TOGETHER, NOW, it still stank.

Face, meet palm.

I then launched a massive search for some sachets. I looked everydamnwhere, and finally found some at Kirkland's. I let Bella pick out two to start with, since they were pretty potent, and we brought them back and put one in the top and one in the middle. That finally killed the stank enough that I could put my daughter's clothes in there without fear they'd end up smelling like they lived in Oscar the Grouch's trashcan.

This is how far the drawers will pull out with the safety ties on the back.

The finished, albeit STILL EFFING STINKY dresser.

Success! I had finally turned that sow's ear into a silk purse! Was it worth it? Hell to the naw. I will never, ever do that again.