Making the Queer Eye Guys Cry

I am working on re-decorating my apartment, using the same old crap I have been lugging from place to place since 2001. So how do you turn an apartment into something aesthetically pleasing to ones self and to visitors who happen to drop in, either announced or unannouced, like the guy next door who knocks to periodically check to see if I have found all my electrical outlets. He is an electrician named Vincent. What, you say, in shocked incredulity. I know. I did, too. Electricians are named Hank, or Guy, or Jim, but never, oh, never Vincent.

I digress.

At least my apartment is looking far less college-dorm after the homecoming game kegger, and more homey with that fifties aesthetic flair. Hey! I have only been here for six months.

A decorator would tell me I have to update.

Decorator: This place is so negatively eclectic 50s. Dear, you really must drag yourself, albeit kicking and screaming, into the 21st century.
Me: You don't like my current decor?
Decorator: Decor? No one EVER had this for their decor. This would embarass Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.
Me: But, maybe we can just go with it. You know an eclectic positive 50s experience. A 50s Chic Thing.
Decorator: Like what? You wearing a string of pearls while you Hoover the carpets?
Me: Ok. Point taken. What about a 60s positive eclectic? Could we do that?
Decorator: Oh god! You mean Jimi Hendricks posters and black lights? Only if you plan to stay stoned for the rest of your life.
Me: Crap. Ok. So what do I have to do to update?
Decorator: Well, first of all, get rid of... of... of... everything.
Me: I think I will buy a Wurlitzer and play sock hop music, instead.
Decorator:...
Me:...
Decorator:...
Me: That was a joke.
Decorator: A very bad joke. Now, if you insist on keeping your eclectic mess of things, we need to... we need to... we need to... I'm sorry, I can't do this. Take my advice. Pack up the dolls and the toys and get something more contemporary like a bar height table and an eclectic chic ocean blue futon cover. And that flowered mess you call a comforter has to go.
Me: That's easy. I only have to turn it over and it is blue plaid on the other side.
Decorator:...
Me:...
Decorator:...
Me: I was serious about that.
Decorator: I was afraid of that. Martha Stewart, you will burn in hell for this.