Today is New Year’s Eve, and I’m still not sure where I’m going to spend it; probably on the beach, but we’ll see.
There has been plenty to blog about lately, but not a lot of will to blog it. I’ve had adventures here in Seattle, and in Las Vegas… my friend Tristan’s e-book has dropped… just all kinds of blog-worthy things that I haven’t sat down to blog.
Anyway, here are three shorts from the last couple days. Happy New Year to all my friends and readers! Sure hope the 2012 apocalypse doesn’t cramp anybody’s style. ______
So my cowsin I and his family came over for dinner last night. I made mussels with sausage and beer; they brought crawfish. So we had an awesome messy seafood dinner.
As soon as I got in, cowsin C asked me if my little nephew L could play with the broom. Sure, I said, and then little nephew L started SWEEPING MY FLOORS. The kid’s not even 2 years old, but damn that kid loves to clean. Later I gave him a dry washcloth, and he went to town on my coffee table. “Oh, he loves to vacuum,” says his mom.
Awesome! I kept asking him to walis (sweep) the house. The kid could have been named “Wallace.” _______
Deen vs. Minnelli
It was not a fever dream, as some of my skeptical facebook friends suggested. It was real, it was real, it was reaaaaaal: Liza Minnelli was a guest on the Paula Deen show.
Inevitably there was a too-much-butter moment. There was plenty of fake cooking show chemistry, where they embarrassingly act like they’ve been best friends for years and years. And, no surprise, there’s the moment of ecstasy when they taste the German chocolate cake with too much butter.
Anyway, Paula and Liza sliced their cake, picked it up and ate it with their hands, goozing with foodgasm ecstasy. Then they kissed.
I won’t make too much of them kissing, sometimes people gotta kiss. The amazing part was when they took their freshly baked German chocolate cake with too much butter out to the chicken coop and FED IT TO THE CHICKENS. Here are the comments that we made.
“Oh my God, they’re feeding the cake to the chickens.” “Whaaaaaaat?”
“You know there’s eggs in that cake.”
“That seems disrespectful.”
I feel like some poor people would have enjoyed that cake. Not to say that Paula Deen’s well-fed chickens did not… _______
My New Bed
The day after I got back from Vegas, I gave myself a mission: to buy a queen-sized bed. I had one before, but then I sold it to a newlywed couple when I was leaving for China. When I finally moved back to Seattle, I pulled out the xl twin which I had stashed away in my storage unit, and slept on it for over a year. I had meant to buy a new one all this time, but my money had other priorities, including travel, electronics… mortgage payments, etc.
So finally I got my December paycheck, and it was finally time for Operation Bed Time.
- Step I: Mattress. I went to the mattress store and picked out a mattress and box spring that I liked. Got it all done before 11am. Bam. Delivery scheduled for the next day. Great start to the mission.
- Step II: Frame. I broke my “no new Ikea” rule for the second time for this… simply because beds are cheap there and they look solid enough. I picked out the Nyvoll in dark brown and scheduled it for same day delivery. Bam, check it off the list.
- Step III: Wait for delivery. I treated myself to some kalbi and kimchi at Toshio’s, came home, cleaned my kitchen, moved some furniture around, prepared myself mentally to put together my new bed. I’m all over this.
- Step IV: Receive delivery. Ikea delivery arrives late, after 9pm. Boxes are soaked on the ends to the point where the cardboard falls off. The wood has absorbed some water, and is a little warped on the ends. Guh. I sign for it. Disappointing, but still on schedule.
- Step V: Assembly. I put dutifully follow all the instructions and assemble the bed over the next few hours. By then end, my hand start hurting from all the screwdriver action, as there are several screws that go straight into wood, without a pre-drilled hole. I don’t have a drill, or the Scandinavian ice-pick-looking tool the assembly illustration booklet wanted me to punch screw holes with, so I had to do it animal style. Rowr! Still on schedule.
- Step VI: Mystery packet. What is this business? I found a plastic packet, separate from the other instructions, with it’s own set of illustrations, exhorting me to add these extra metal braces on the inside corners of my bed. Again, screws were going straight into wood. My hands hurt too much from all the animal style screwing with my little screwdriver, and it was nearly 2am… But I’m almost done! So I screw the brace in, only to realize I had the wrong corner. Guh. I puled the brace out… animal style, and started screwing it into the correct place. Ouch, my hand hurts, my hip hurts from sitting on the ground all night, and it’s late. Go to bed, leave it for the morning.
- Step VII: Borrow a drill. The next morning my neighbor came over with his power drill and screwed the braces into the proper corners for me. I am a winner.
- Step VIII: Slats. The bed is assembled. Lay down the slats; mattress and box spring arrive in an hour. Soooo, I lay down the slats, and they’re the WRONG SIZE. It takes me a moment to realize that I had a queen sized mattress on the way, but a fully assembled full-sized Nyvoll. Dammit.
- Step IX: Mattress Arrives. Delivery guys confirm, yep, you built the wrong sized bed. Why didn’t I check the size on the boxes? Oh yah, because they label had been soaked off in the delivery truck, remember that detail? Dammit. I feel like weeping.
- Step X: Plan B. Call Ikea Customer Service. “Bring it back,” they say. How do I do this? I call U-Hall and rent a cargo van; it will be ready in six hours. I am heart broken.
- Step XI: Disassembly. I take the full-sized bed apart, animal style. Now my hands really hurt, and my hip joint which gets sore when I sit on the floor is now clicking when I walk.
- Step XII: Cargo Van. So I pick up my rental cargo van and park it in my alley. The bed is now in several big parts, which I load into the cargo van by myself in the dark alley. It’s raining hard as I drive back to Ikea.
- Step XIII: Exchange. I get down to Ikea and park in the loading zone. Unload my bed in parts, and wheel it over to the exchange counter, take a number. As I’m waiting, by boy B texts me, wanting to get a drink. Grrrr. Can’t do it.
- Step XIV: Home again. I park in the ally again, unload my new bed in flat-packed boxes, return the damn rental van, and come back home. It’s 9pm. I’m tired. I veg on the couch for 2 hours.
- Step XV: Final Assembly. I rally during the 11 o’clock news and start building my new bed, this time I’m sure it’s the right size. Too late to call the neighbor for the drill, so it’s all animal-style, sitting on the floor and crawling around on my knees just like the night before. I finish it before the end of Last Call with Carson Daly, and drop in the box spring and mattress. I stretched the fitted sheet over the mattress and got out my comforter, updated my facebook status, and slept in my new bed for the first time.
So sleeping in my new bed is exquisite. It’s a “firm” mattress, but the top is soft, and it feels like I’m sleeping on money; money that cares very deeply for me. When I wake up in the morning, I feel like I fell asleep in an expensive spa or some kind of rainy northwestern all-inclusive resort. My new bed makes me want to live longer, so I can spend more time in it. I’ve never felt this way about a bed before.