We had a lot of action around here this evening. Faithful Reader Jessica (see below) came and got our microwave stand from Ikea, for one thing. She didn't break in, she actually asked me if I wanted to go to Ikea at some point in the near future because she needed a microwave stand. I said why go all the way to Ikea when I already HAVE a microwave stand from Ikea standing there doing nothing in my back room?
Because as you may or may not know, my kitchen is so small there's not even any room to change your mind in there. Thank heavens I don't ever need to go in there to, you know, cook. But when we lived in Burbank, we had a huge kitchen that I did not cook in, but because it was built in 972 B.C., there was not enough room between the cupboards and the countertops for a microwave.
Honestly, how did women in the olden days microwave with that tiny counter space?
And when I lived in Burbank I was like .09 seconds from Ikea. This did not help, however, as it still took 900 hours to park at that Ikea. Oh, it was the busiest Ikea ever. I remember going there one time to buy that microwave stand, and I made the fatal mistake of thinking I'd remember the name of the item once I got to the room where you buy stuff.
Because if you've never been to Ikea, it's like this. They herd you through this place like cattle, through all these chic minimalist kitchens and living rooms and bedrooms until you start thinking you too are chic and minimalist-like, even though in real life you decorate like a gramma in 1947.
But if you LIKE something at Ikea you generally can't just pick it up right there and put it in your cart, oh no. You have to write down the item, which has a complicated Swedish name like Frëudihëuën.
In fact, when you walk into Ikea, they give you a tiny, minimalist piece of paper and a teensy chic pencil like you're going to play miniature golf so you can write down that you like the Sweedeeheedee desk and the Foooderhooder bed and the ABBA dresser, then you go to the stockroom where you buy said items in 47,000 pieces and put them together at home. Because you also become convinced that you will just know how to do this.
But what I did, see, was think, "Oh, how hard can it be? It's the Frëudihëugën microwave stand. When I get to the stockroom, surely I'll remember that." But when I got to the stockroom? And there were 49 microwave stands, all named Freuidenstein and Freidycaten and Frission? Oh, I got confused. So I had to go BACK upstairs and be herded like cattle AGAIN until I found the microwave stand of my choice.
And now it belongs to Faithful Reader Jessica. As does my treadmill, which I haven't gotten on since August.
And our back room looks so much less like a junk room now!
When you used to look into this room, you saw the ding-dang folded-up treadmill. Now you see the Mooglesweedle desk from Ikea. Actually, I kid. This desk belonged to Marvin's mother. I think she had it when she was a kid. She got it at Ikea in 1962.
In other news, I got a new pair of shoes for the dog to eat.
See the chains? Break these chains! My friend Sleeping Beauty pointed out once that an inordinate number of '80s rock ballads mentioned the need to break these chains, a thing she said in passing in 1990, but which has haunted me every time I hear a hair-band song to this day. Anyway, I am pleased with my shoes, and if you have read my blog for awhile you may notice I own many silver metallic shoes.
In college, Marvin had a girlfriend before me, and she looked exactly like Molly Ringwald. When I started dating Marvin, she was jealous and was apparently not crazy about me. One day I went to the mall, and who did I run into? Was it Molly Ringwald II, over there? I will never forgot what we both had on.
She had on this white sort of jumpsuit thing, which I know makes it sound like she was walking through some sort of HAZMAT situation, but in 1986 when this took place, it was the height of chic. She also had on silver metallic shoes.
I had on–I am not making this up–brown plaid knee-length shorts along with a yellow button-down shirt and brown loafers with no socks. Could I have looked more drab and plaid next to her white coolness? I am just figuring out as I write this that I must associate silver shoes with being cool due to that one encounter.
Oh! And the final piece of big news is that poor Tallulah has an injury. Well. The "poor Tallulah" part may be a matter of opinion. She got injured because she was pulling Winston through the back yard by his head, and Winston got fed up. Although I would like to point out that Winston usually ASKS to play with that dog by rubbing up against her and such, but Lula kind of doesn't know when to give it up. So she has a scratch under her dog eye. And she richly deserves it, if you ask me.
I guess you can't really tell it's a scratch, there. But it is. They seem to have already made up, however.
In summation, I hope you will give this matter serious consideration. Thank you for your time.
Sorry. I forgot what I was doing. In summation, I was trying to find you a photo of our back room with the treadmill and I didn't find it, but what I did find was a picture of Tallulah the first week I got her.
Who was a muffin? Who was innocent and incapable of dragging the poor cat by the head? Awww.