THE ANTI-MARTHA LOOMS IN THE WORLD OF DECORATING

SUMMARY: The Anti-Martha moto: Why stencil when you can tattoo?

I was visiting my friend Tina the other day when something struck me about her shiny new house.

Everything matches.

The teal carpet nicely coordinates with the teal in the living room set, and the stencil border along the walls repeats the fan leaf motif in the upholstery, and when you look into the kitchen, you can see touches of teal so the two rooms don't clash like Republicans at a party fund-raiser.

I said, "Gosh! You must have spent a fortune on a decorator."

Tina replied proudly that she had done it all herself, thanks to helpful hints from all those decorating shows.

You know the ones: How to build a room addition out of crafts sticks, leftover linoleum and hot glue, and then decorate it in a lovely faux marble finish using a latex wash and crumpled up plastic wrap.

The airwaves are clogged with crafts and decorating shows; I even watch a few myself. If I had more furniture, I'd spend most of my time refinishing it.

Actually, I'd probably do more crafts, too, if the sight of the glue gun didn't send the cat into hiding for days at a time.

I blame the whole thing on Martha Stewart. Not only does she do everything better than the rest of us, she has spawned a slew of imitators who manage to do at least two or three things better than the rest of us.

My self-esteem has been damaged; I think I'll sue.

I have noticed, however, a disturbing phenomenon: Women who refuse, categorically, to make the slightest attempt at prettifying their surroundings.

Their place mats don't match their china. The only dried flowers are the Valentine bouquets they haven't thrown out yet, and the faux finishes they labor on are achieved with nail polish, not spackling compound.

A dark, and woefully unaccessorized, force is arising: The Anti-Martha.

The Anti-Martha's motto: Why stencil when you can tattoo?

There was a time when I envisioned the Anti-Martha as a sort of Roseanne-figure brandishing a marble rolling pin at hapless passers-by.

But I've come to realize she's a much subtler phenomenon.

Now I see her as a pre-Versace Courtney Love, with bigger, blacker roots and an assault-type glue gun.

The Anti-Martha doesn't use potpourri and she has mini-blinds, not window treatments. If her furniture, carpet and wallpaper clash, it's the landlord's fault, not an artistic statement.

Check the walls: The only wreaths you'll find are left over from Christmas.

When someone mentions she could use a few knickknacks around the place, she burns little lop-eared calico bunny dolls as a protest and scatters the ashes in mysterious patterns.

It's probably wiser not to ask why she needs all those crafts sticks.

The Anti-Martha isn't like those college boys who insist on calling their beer-can pyramids modern sculpture; she knows the rules. She just doesn't care.

Personally, I've learned a thing or two about making my home environment more appealing, like taking the old newspapers to the recycling center at least once a week and recycling pizza boxes into attractive, yet affordable, plant stands and magazine racks.

Now if I could just find a use for all this cat hair. ....