ACK

I use a lot of onomatopoeia in my daily vernacular. So when I say ack! it's usually followed by a wonk! zoop! or meep!

But here, ACK is short for Nantucket, the magical island of ruddy natives, Vineyard Vines-clad weekenders named Chip and Finn, and grey shingles where I toiled away for the past three days to put together the interiors for one of 11 beautiful homes which are part of a prestigious development that is up for rentals or purchase this summer.

It was hard work. My arthritis is in full-swing, and my hands and legs are so beat up that i kind of look like a bowl of spaghetti with meat sauce. But seeing the finished product was completely worth it. I'm over the moon with how it turned out. Here's a picture of one bedroom.

Of course, I brought my camera without the battery. Of course I left my battery charging at home. So this was taken with my iPhone. But more pictures to come, thanks to my wonderful co-worker who did bring her camera and did not engage in a massive photo-op fail.

xo RJS

Fabrics for less.

I'm working on a project that calls for relatively inexpensive fabrics to be used for pillows, window treatments, upholstery and drapery. This doesn't look like much, because I cannot, no matter how hard I try, cut fabric without my hands shaking wildly it seems, but here are two palates for country homes in Nantucket. All fabrics from Pepperberry, Patagonia Trading, Schumacher, Duralee,  Kravet, and Fabricut. Fabrics between $13.99 - $90/yard.

xo RJS

There's a mouse in my house.

When I was little I always wanted the board game Mouse Trap. Sadly, it looked very complicated and nearly impossible for a child to put together herself, so I've never played that game. But gosh, did it look like a load of fun.

Much like how I'm often fooled by sayings, movies and toys, it turns out, that trapping a mouse in real life is the exact opposite of fun.  It doesn't involve ladders and trap doors and rolling dice. It involves disease infested, long-tailed monsters that you have to trap with large glue traps and just when you think you've plugged every hole and thrown out every last vermin, another one reveals itself near the door to your bedroom, at 9:30 p.m., just as you want to go to bed and your roommates aren't home, and you're left clutching your laptop, perched on the arm of your crappy Ikea couch, desperately texting your ex-boyfriend for help, to no avail, because you never, EVER have any service on your ridiculously overpriced iPhone in your piece of crap apartment.

Or is that just me?

FML.

RJS

Sunday in the 'shire.

Saying I'm not obsessed with all things British would be like asserting that I don't have a nose ring, or a belly button, or terrible budgeting skills. It. Just. Isn't. True.

I, am and Anglophile. And I'm proud of it. Perhaps, also a masochist, as year after year, literally, my thoughts return to all things and people that/who are Engrish. Here's a picture of an adorable house in Kent that makes me melt into a puddle, like ices left out in the Mojave Desert sun....not only because of the shingled roof and bay windows, but because of the lovely family that happens in inhabit it.

Don't you just want to cover that child in Squeezy Marmite and eat her?

Cheers to me making it back to England, and staying maybe for more than one night and NOT in the jail in Heathrow this time.

xo RJS

Designer Dorm Room.

1. The black-watch throw is “from my grandmother.” Sinsteden is reading The Lover, by Marguerite Duras.
2. The plaid pillows and bed linens are Ralph Lauren. 
3. The curtains and paisley pillows are from Sinsteden’s boss, Charlotte Moss.
4. The rugs are from his family. 
5. The armchair is “a hand-me-down from a client.”

Pictures by Dean Kaufman, captions by Sarah Bernard, both for New York Magazine.

When I was a wee-freshman at the University of Maryland, I was reading Elle Decor and Real Simple, but my dorm room was decorated with plastic bins, cup noodle containers, empty water bottles and a Dave Matthews Band poster.

I'm completely blown away by Drew University senior Maximilian Sinteden's unique sense of style. And his name. With no-formal design training, he's started his own interior design company before graduation, and has already interned for David Easton and Charlotte Moss.

Read more about the man-child we're all going to be working for when the economy stops tanking here.

xo RJS

Coachfella: A tale of engrish redemption and why I haven't posted in 3 weeks.

So. Coachella happened. Then High Point happened. And now I'm back. Swamped at work, but it's come to my attention that some people think I've given up on the blog. NO WAY!!!

Blog is my baby. It's just been hard to get back into the groove after all the travel, and the losing of my dignity and shoes and whatnot.

Anyway, post of substance TK soon, but I will leave you with a text exchange that occured between myself and my new engrish friend, Monkey. I'm (917). He's 011 (44). Formatted in the style of my new favorite website, Texts From Last night. I think this says it all.

(917): where are you, you lushy slag?
011 (44): jet.
011 (44): in the beer tent
011 (44): heineken tent. now
011 (44): where are you?
011 (44): come and find me
(917): we are at the enter gate to the festival. near our locker. this is your last chance to find us.
011 (44): where are you?
(917): I just told you. where are you?
011 (44): the very end.
(917): we're leaving.
(917): we left.
011 (44): where are you?
011 (44): meet me now.
011 (44): hey there. your friend lost his phone. I'm going to drop it off at lost and found.
011 (44): sorry, i mean her phone.

Monkey, Gavin, my skinny love, is a boy. FAIL.

xo RJS