I’m making birthday plans with Jack & Company over the phone:
Jack: “Should I just come over at 10 before we go out? I want to see the dog!”
Me: “Erm. I have to clean my apartment first.”
Jack: “You are NOT cleaning your apartment on your birthday!”
Me: “Oh, yes I am!”
For the past month, large stacks of boxes and plastic wrap have dominated my apartment. I always had something better to do than unpack and clean (Finals, petitioning, not petitioning, working…etc.) so I never felt fully moved in.1
And it was annoying.
So this weekend I decided to do something about it:
And yes, I’m sick of Target, Home Depot and Ikea. Neither I or my wallet want to hear from those stores for a while.
My two favorite things are the fuzzy grass-like2 carpet:
And these guys, who I got from Wal-Mart:
The bug-eyed stuffed birds bring amuse me. I always mimic their deer-in-the-headlights look when I see them.
My dog however, has not been amused by my decorating and cleaning activities. He’s totally convinced that the vacuum’s sole purpose is to scare him…
…and he’s probably right.3
1 There was always something I didn’t have yet like oven mits, lamps, power cords, rugs, etc.
2 It doesn’t look dirty in real-life. I swear. It just photographs funny.
3 He always runs out of the room or hides in his crate when I start the vac… my downstairs neighbors probably think I’m OCD or something…
My mission of the day was to find something to slap on my bare apartment walls.
I went to Ikea and Target…what did I get?
That’s right. I bought stickers. Totally grown-up. I know.
Stickers on the walls, law books on the floor: it’s an academic nursery. Fancy!
I couldn’t bring myself buy prints at Ikea or Target since I know how to paint. I’ll throw something together this weekend. The stickers are the only mass-produced thing I’ll buy.1
I also spent an ungodly amount of time moving around furniture only to realize that my original layout was the best one. At least I know for sure now!
1 This is more of a “being cheap” thing rather than a snobby-indie kid thing…contrary to popular belief, I am not indie. I am Kylie Minogue actually…
Jill made a surprise visit to the apartment today.
Jill: “OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT SMELL?”
Me: “What?”
Jill: “ Why does it smell like that? Ugh, what is that?”
Me: “I just finished mopping with febreeze water… you’re not overwhelmed by freshness?”
Jill: “I’m overwhelmed, but not by freshness. I feel like someone tossed me into Martha Stewart’s dryer or something… ugh. This is truly horrible.”
I’m not a neat freak per-se, but clutter does hurt my ability to concentrate.
I finished moving the rest of my things out of the fraternity house this afternoon. The only problem is that my apartment is now on the Lindsay Lohan level. There are boxes everywhere, and it’s just, well, sad.1
In fact, my apartment was so bad that I fled to work…but after 8 hours I realized that I have to go back sometime…
So tomorrow I’m taking on all of the clutter. Clean house style. I may even tape a flower to my head and pretend that I have gap teeth to show that I’m serious.
I will be unpacked and organized by noon and it will be glorious because it signify2 being legitimately “moved into my first apartment.”
Full report to come. We’ll see how this goes…
1 Actually, it’s worse than sad because I had to dump some boxes of unpacked shitkram onto the floor in order to use the boxes today.
2 Kinda feels like I’m shoving myself into adulthood… cleaning the apartment isn’t this significant all the time! (assuming “without deciding” that it is significant now…)
