Lovely crappers
Somewhere around the year 2000, basements silently but assuredly lost their identity. As a child of the 80’s, basements were the birthplace of nightmares – the acceptable kind that later breed an appetite for horror films. Basements were for hanging out on itchy plaid couches, playing ping pong, watching bad movies, awkward teenage dry humping, and storing Christmas decorations. Basements necessarily smelled like they might give you trench foot, and were decorated in shades of brown that made them look like old photos even when they were current. When you left the basement, it was obligatory that you run up the stairs so the goblin serial killers wouldn’t have time to grab your legs. My parents added a clown mask on the door of the furnace room as their littlle bit of fuckery. I will remember that clown mask until the end of my days when I am murdered by a clown.
The basements of today are no longer this, they are simply just other rooms in the house; pimped out man caves, luxury playrooms, state of the art home theaters, fancy crack dens or hot airbnb’s. They are nicer than most of the regular rooms in our houses used to be. We now have to look to the outside world to get inspiration for our nightmares and future horror movie plots. We are left with things like climate change and tyrannical world leaders. Snore.
While I am nostalgic for the terrifying basements of my youth, I am also a huge fan of sexy basements. Which (finally) brings me to the point of this blog: my gal pal, Dabs, took the last unfinished, nightmarish corner of her basement and converted it into a gorgeous spa-like bathroom. A lovely crapper. I feel like I am the godmother of this bathroom, since I helped micro-manage it with Dabs and browsed relentlessly on my phone to help find her the tiles, vintage towel ladder and kijiji mid-century vanity. Also, like a diligent godmother, I will take care of it if Dabs is too frail or is ever murdered by a clown. But it was definitely Dabs that obsessed about the minutiae and even German-schmeared her flawed brick wall to perfection with her bare hands. For a tall person, she is quite good with her hands. By my measurements, she is about 8 foot 2. But I use a subjective tape measure based on my feelings about the person’s tallness in proportion to my distorted, scoliotic torso that makes it look like I’m suffering from disease that has been eradicated for a at least a century. It’s more of a height aura than a tape measure really.
Dabs’s genes date back to when humans used to mate with gods and narwhals. She actually used to be a ballerina until she ripped her ass right off of her body. They managed to put it back in the right place but it couldn’t ballerina anymore. So she went to plan B and went to medical school instead. Now, she is a world-renowned occult physician and psychic surgeon. Plus, her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And she’s got a lovely crapper in her basement to match. If you’re here to be disappointed, well… I guess you will be by not having something to be disappointed about.
I wish Dabs many years of blissful margarita-baths in her tub. I’m basically just politely waiting a few months before I reproduce it in my own home. In the meantime, I am practicing the art of margarita baths. The key is in the salt. Happy bathing everyone!
Let’s start with old basement of terror before the renos:
Here is the during process. Pre and post German Schmear. Great name and even lovelier effect for your unsightly brick issues. Bob Vila will give you a diy tutorial if you like here.
Drum roll……..
Here is the final reveal. Behold, the loveliest of crappers:
The kijiji find that inspired a lovely crapper:
Some more lovely crappers inspired by vintage dressers for your enjoyment and a song to enjoy them by. The images are all from pinterest by the way. Lord help me if I have to attach a link to each one. I’m just too sleepy. Can’t you guys just image search them? Is that how blogs work?
