Tell Us About Your Spectacular Home Improvement Disasters

Illustration for article titled Tell Us About Your Spectacular Home Improvement Disasters
Image: GOH CHAI HIN (Getty Images)

Six months stuck inside the house and it’s a miracle I haven’t attempted to “open up the space” by “taking down a wall.” (I rent, but no matter, I have HGTV-sized ambitions.)

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I have, however, poked many holes into the walls of my Barbie-sized apartment, and painted much more than just the coffee table in my living room when attempting to “brighten up the space.” (Paint doesn’t taste great, despite what the weird kid at daycare said all those years ago.) I figure I can’t be alone in my desire to renovate my home, and now I want to hear all about your DIY disasters. Do you have too many chairs in your living room? Did you accidentally cut power to the entire house? Are you addicted to shiplap? Do you have pictures of your disappointing bedroom? Share all of that in the comments below. As usual, the most pathetic response wins.

And now, for last week’s winners: these are your terrible tattoos.

In the Flair Tonight, this is fucked up and I love it:

When I was 18 or 19, I got a tattoo of the Cheshire Cat on my back left shoulder. My friend was an “apprentice” but didn’t have a shop, so he had to do it in my apartment. He used a bass string?! It cost me 60 bucks and a bag of weed. Another friend gave me a bottle of liquid codeine for the pain. (It belonged to her kid and I felt nothing, so yay?). The whole situation was classy as fuck and looks as terrible as you might imagine. I’m just grateful it’s mostly faded and I don’t have to look at it.

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CJWizzy6, my god?:

Two friends in college lost separate bets to each other (meaning they likely wanted the tats anyhow, but I digress). Both inner thigh. One has a squirrel with big cartoon heart eyes lustfully reaching upwards to his nuts (yes, pun), while the other has a ruler down his thigh but at a scale where 6" is 1'. Idiots.

Deep State Class of ‘97, nooooooo!:

My sister was always a lousy drinker. She never had fun when she drank. She usually went from crying to angry or vice versa. She also had a tendency to get really bad tattoos when she was drunk. She would end up with things like a lizard or a butterfly paired with a Red Hot Chili Peppers or Sublime lyric.

So when she completed rehab, she decided she wanted tattoo to cover her bad tattoos on her back. While in rehab, she became obsessed with scarab beetles. They are dung beetles. But the metaphor is they take shit and turn it into something useful. OK.

She got this massive back tattoo of a scarab beetle. It took multiple sessions. And it incorporated this bad crystal ball tattoo she had on the back of her neck.

It has been 5 years at this point. I’ve never had the heart to tell her it is almost identical to most of the art used by Journey.

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Jefe, this rules! You win:

Illustration for article titled Tell Us About Your Spectacular Home Improvement Disasters
Screenshot: Jefe (Jezebel Comment (Fair Use)
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I had metastatic testicular cancer about 10 years ago, which resulted in a surgical scar from my pelvis to my sternum. I beat the cancer, and contemplated a decoration for a couple years. For some reason, a working lunch turned down this road, and I told my boss at the time that I was going to get an alien tattooed, coming out of my surgical scar.

Without missing a beat, he turned to me and said, “This is the kind of bad decision making I can finance.” Then he gave me $150 towards getting it done.

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So I did.

Yoda’s Neglected Brother... what:

Illustration for article titled Tell Us About Your Spectacular Home Improvement Disasters
Screenshot: Yoda’s Neglected Brother/Jezebel Comment (Fair Use)
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Nah, this ain’t mine. I’m not allowed to get tattoos.

No. Senior Writer, Jezebel. My debut book, LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands, is out now.

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chocolate covered raisons d'être

It’s a story old as time. Bathroom remodel. New sink and fixture, toilet, flooring, tile around the tub (kept the tub), shower doors. Just a nice refresh. Carefully picked out everything, measured more than twice, drew detailed diagrams with attached parts\supplies lists in a notebook purchased specifically for this project.

Projected timeframe: two weekends max. The one variable I didn’t take into consideration? I don’t what the fuck I’m doing. After close to two months of fumbling around and trying to live out of a half bath in the basement, my then FIL had to come over and bail me out. Yeah, he managed to complete everything in one weekend while I was relegated to gopher for any and all supplies I forgot or destroyed the first time around. The upside was the bathroom looked great when finished and I narrowly escaped being murdered with a butcher knife by my wife. Happy ending!