First, if you are new… the raccoon is explained here. Sort of. As much as this sort of thing can be explained at all.
Second, it was brought to my attention that you are expecting to see the horribly-embarrassing-thing I referenced last week and that you will be angry when I tell you this is not that post.
You can blame Paul for your lack of entertainment. He says no more blogging until I have made a serious start on the kitchen plans.
I don’t know why he needs to emphasize serious… I mean, do I not seem serious to you?
And for the record, to HIM this is a blog. But to me, it is the mechanism by which I will foist my personality upon the world.
So I tried to explain— I have no time for the banality of kitchens… the personality-foisting is all-consuming. Please leave me be.
Paul said—fine, but consider yourself warned. I will NOT go get anything off of Craigslist until I see some real ideas.
And he doesn’t know it, but I’ve been trying to get this person to email me back for nearly two months.
You think I am joking… but it is not the chairs I am after.
This is the Craigslist-seller who cannot possibly have sold the item… but WILL NOT ANSWER you. No matter that you’ve emailed five times from multiple different accounts… and lit candles and chanted… and asked for special novenas from the Craigslist gods.
At this point, I would happily pay $5,000 for an insane set of furniture from 1969.
Because the longer they do not answer me, the more frantic the raccoon gets.
Why? Let me show you.
WHAT ARE THESE?
These towers? Pillars? Obelisks of awe?
THESE MONUMENTS TO MY SOUL?
I can barely hear myself think over the screeching of the raccoon… It is clawing at my skull and demanding to be let out and accusing me of thoroughly botching the acquisition.
Also? Are you kidding me? OBVIOUSLY the ELEGANCY speaks to me.
Equally obvious is how the raccoon’s name IS Elegancy, and I just didn’t know.
This is a revelation that pleases me to no end.
Anyone named Elegancy is surely an old-school drag-queen-extraordinaire, and there is no one else I would rather have live in my head.
It also explains why he is so intimidating, and sometimes says– HONEY PLEASE, your legs!
Wax them before we all die of fright.
Which is more helpful than you’d think– without him, I might abandon grooming entirely.
So. Anyway. Even though I have no interest in discussing the kitchen, I’m heeding Paul’s warning just incase I need to convince him that we should spend $5,000 on what he will most certainly consider trash and I will consider the reason for my existence.
So this is what I have to say about the kitchen:
It is a sad pit of despair. And it is FINE.
I mean, yes. It’s hideous. Our “island” is held up by stacks of two-by-fours. But it’s FINE.
It’s MORE than fine.
Believe me. I know the difference between fine, and NOT FINE.
Not fine, means filth.
Not fine, means your husband questioning the necessity of the plastic that must cover everything.
Not fine, means coming home to discover that your husband interpreted the plastic-rule as applying to ONLY HALF of the room.
Not fine, means your head exploding and him saying—you’re overreacting… which everyone knows is the CUE FOR THE NUCLEAR EXPLOSION.
On the other hand:
Fine means no filth.
Fine means having a fork in a drawer.
Fine means being able to get something to eat, on an actual plate, that you can then put in the dishwasher.
And since we can do all of those things, the kitchen is FINE.
Now this post is over. And I am so pleased with it!
Possibly you are disappointed by the lack of actual discussion about kitchen plans, but I feel the information about raccoons in drag more than makes up for it.
If you disagree, you may be in the wrong place.
I will love you EVEN MORE… if you share me with your friends.