Diane Lane Is A Liar
By: Elizabeth Is Dead
Tags: Life Lessons, Satire, Life, Humor, Design

Diane Lane Is A Liar

When I used to think about what it might be like renovating an old home, I always pictured Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun.

Image Copyright: Touchstone / Everett. (Fair Use.)

When I used to think about what it might be like renovating an old home, I always pictured Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun. A writer in the prime of her life buys a tumbledown villa that — with a little love and pizza grease — she turns into a beautiful architectural escape from her cheating scumbag ex-husband.

High on the idea of making this Touchstone Pictures masterpiece my reality, I bought an Italianate-style home built in 1855 and got to work.

I was the Diane Lane of central Pennsylvania.

Here is a list of 10 things that deadbeat Diane Lane failed to mention/deal with/accurately depict while renovating her Tuscan villa that I think you should know:

“Thank you for your order. Your estimated date of delivery is in 2090.” Due to supply chain issues related to COVID-19, everything from a hinge to a dishwasher is on backorder until my children’s children are long dead. Don’t read the previous owner’s obituary if you don’t want to know she died in your kitchen. Because I did and, well, she did — and now all of my food tastes expired. Mountain Dew is the GOAT. I don’t know why, but I would have pegged contractors as Pepsi guys. I was wrong. My house is a neon green, spermicidal boneyard. If you use the wrong tools, your ceiling will collapse. The HVAC people used a sawzall (still don’t know what this is) on my ancient ceiling to make a small hole for an air vent. But, instead of making a hole, they made an abyss for me to stare into while I think about my life’s many regrets. And while I seem to recall something collapsing in Under the Tuscan Sun, Diane and her crew somehow made it seem like a total “whoopsie daisy,” which is precisely why Diane Lane is a liar and not to be trusted. Anything can be paper if you’re desperate enough. I needed to order bathroom tile but wasn’t sure how much, so I asked the contractor to write it down. He proceeded to grab a carton of cigarettes from his truck, rip off the top, and scribble what I needed on the back like the mother-effing Marlboro man. Referring to the toilet as a “shitter” sounds worse when it’s coming from the man who wants to use your shitter. The guy who installed my fantasy brown kitchen counters took a dump in my bathroom before he installed the counters. Show some respect— don’t drop your fantasy brown before you lay mine. Anything can be toilet paper if you’re desperate enough. I’ll let this one speak for itself. When a contractor starts talking about what he likes in a woman he’s dating (yes this will come up), he will describe you. Turns out you’re his type. Yes, he could be your dad, but he can’t help it if the other women in this town are all liars like Diane Lane! “Those are still the wrong hinges.” This continues to be the most commonly uttered phrase said to me as I try in vain to get the right cabinet hinges for my haunted kitchen. If you don’t have a designated smoking section, that’s on you. Most contractors that I’ve worked with smoke cigarettes. And, unless you give them a place for their butts, they will put them wherever including, but not limited to, your porch, your yard, between the cracks in your fence, the cavern between your eyebrows, in all of your planters, under stones, beneath doormats, and buried deep below the place where your hopes and dreams about this house have gone to die.

So the next time you decide to purchase and renovate your very own Under the Tuscan Sun home, heed my advice and maybe just watch the movie instead.