slime

I might be what could be described as ambitious in a variety of definitions. It's pretty characteristic of me to attempt to do everything I possibly can by myself. It goes back to learning to tie my shoe laces. If I can do it myself, I will, or I'll fail trying. One such near-failure ended with my full-size mattress practically flying off my roommate's SUV onto Rt 123 in Clemson.
Anyone who knows me well is aware that I've recently moved into a new apartment in Worcester. As can only be imagined I had very little to move with me, seeing as I'm only a year out of college and was forced to leave much of my belongings 1,000 miles away in SC. But, as I'm not only ambitious, but thrifty, I've come across a lot of free stuff including a few pieces of furniture that I've resolved to refinish. The first two pieces - my little kitchen table, and my desk - were refinished in the comfort and confidence of my father's barn where I had every tool at my disposal, and frequent unrequested advice that, in the end, helped those refinished pieces to emerge quite nice.
Well...today was not that. I was given an old bureau by one of my mother's friends that is serving as a version of a sideboard in my kitchen. It's dark maple coloring and ornate, discolored handles certainly clash with my modern, clean yet funky, design in my kitchen. I'd resolved to refinish it after moving in, and decided to tackle that task today.
If only I'd seen it all coming. First of all this piece was so old that the screws securing the drawer-pulls were nearly fused together and required some serious elbow grease to get them apart. As if that wouldn't make removing the fixtures difficult, they were also evidently made from the softest metal around as I nearly stripped the head of each screw in the process. Imagine me sitting Indian style on my kitchen floor, drawer in my lap, securing the hold with one hand while attempting to push and unscrew with the other... the whole time thinking "righty-tighty, lefty loosey" and double checking that I was even turning in the right direction. I finally quit with only 2 drawers remaining and I started the sanding process. Now, lucky for me, there's a porch off our kitchen where I chose to do this next task; convenient to avoid sawdust all over the apartment, and the fresh air was sure to speed up the drying paint.
Surprisingly enough, the sanding went smoothly - no pun intended. Aside from inhaling a good amount of what easily could be dust from lead-based paint considering the age and condition of everything related to this piece, I was able to get all the drawer-fronts sanded and coated with one layer of black paint. *Pause*

Earlier in the day, I'd been raiding my mother's open paint collection in search of black furniture paint. After finding a can and quickly asking permission to use it without really reading the specifics on the label, I left to begin my project. *Continue*

Now, based on previous experiences with both wall and furniture paint, it's always been customary to rinse out the brush after using it so that the paint doesn't dry, and the brush is then re-usable.
Once I'd finished my painting for the evening, I went inside to do just that. Making certain the water wasn't too hot or cold, I stuck the brush under the water stream and began to attempt to squeeze the paint out. First, I noticed that the water was still running clear...strange. Then, I noticed the paint wasn't coming off the brush - instead it was all over my hands!! And wouldn't come off! My hands were completely black, like I'd gone doing handstands in an oil spill. Panicing, I tried to rinse them off with soap and water to no avail. It only made the paint tackier. At this point I was at a loss. Carefully turning off the water and trying not to coat everything in some sadistic Midus touch of black slime, I wrapped a paper towel and called the only person I knew would help... My mom.
"Is the paint latex or oil-based?" Mom asked
Oil, after actually reading the label.
"Soap won't work then. Do you have any Mineral Spirits or Vaseline or baby oil?"
No... I don't even know what mineral spirits are.
"I'll just have to send your father up. I don't know what else to do. Don't touch antyhing."
So I'm stuck here with black hands for an hour? No way. I start to think about anything oily I have and I recall my bottle of olive oil in the cupboard. Nearly breaking it open in desperation, I poured a little in my hands and rubbed frantically. Amazingly enough...it was working! So, half an hour and half a bottle of olive oil later, alternating with soap and water, I was able to get the majority of the pain off my hands. It was most definitely with relief that I realized I wouldn't be walknig around with black hands for weeks.
So, for any ambitious do-it-yourselfers out there, either avoid oil-based paint or make sure you're well stocked in olive oil.