I do love spring, though. Just got my first food of the year from the farmers’ market—asparagus, ramps, and spring greens. Awesome. The weather’s doing that, “now I’m hot now I’m cold again” thing, but I got to sit outside and have a beer in the sun the other day. Almost makes the weird rash worth it. Frank’s pretty stressed out about a work-related thing that I am not at liberty to discuss yet, and somehow that’s touched off this strange reaction.
Hopefully the pollen count will go down soon. And while not being able to smell anything sucks on some fronts, at least it masks the weird smell that has taken hold in our kitchen. I can’t figure out where it’s coming from, which is distressing, since kitchens especially ought to smell like food, or like nothing at all. It’s not super gross or anything, just kind of odd. We’ll figure it out I suppose. Just part of settling into a new place.
We’ve gotten the unpacking pretty much done. It’s at that worrisome stage where things are livable but there are still some boxes and areas that are kind of unsettled. It’s dangerous because it’s really easy to just leave things the way they are and two years from now kind of wake up and realize oops, we never did put up those curtains.
Aside from the last couple of assembling/putting up jobs, there are a few pieces of furniture we still need to buy. Generally, our furniture is pretty much crap. Generic Ikea stuff, cheap things that work well enough and have stood up to a couple of years of abuse, but aren’t really built to last.
Which is fine, I mean, everyone starts with shitty furniture, I think. I do feel a bit like I’m getting to the age where I’d like to start replacing crappy furniture with nicer things, and for new stuff, buy them nice in the first place. Which is how Frank and I ended up dragging our bumpy, red-eyed, runny-nosed asses to this crazy weird antique store today.
It was enormous, like four floors, all crammed with old furniture. Some places were packed so tight that I couldn’t even get to the back to see it all. The rent on this place must be absolutely astronomical, yet they were in no real hurry to sell anything. I mean look, I’m no expert in furniture, but everything there seemed at least $500 too expensive. If they had prices on them. Which most of them didn’t. Instead they just had these tags with numbers on them that I presumed matched up with some kind of price database somewhere.
Frank and I were in the market for a liquor cabinet of some kind—perhaps a rolling drinks trolley, or a table with a wine rack underneath. I found one that was exactly what I wanted all the way on the top floor and wrote down the reference number, but unfortunately, it seemed the numbers didn’t actually correspond to anything.
I declined to drag the old guy working there four flights up only to be told that the cart I wanted cost $450, so no cart. It’s frustrating trying to buy adult furniture, in part because everything costs so much, but also because I worry about buying anything too nice. Since we don’t know how long we’ll be in this apartment (hopefully the landlord won’t raise the rent too much, but if he does we’re outta here) so it seems silly to buy expensive things that we might have to get rid of when we move, depending on the configuration of the place we move to.
I guess you need a grown up apartment to make grown up furniture work. Since this whole moving thing, I’ve really come to realize that I want to buy an apartment. I want to be able to know that I can buy stuff to fit my space, to paint walls and fix staircases and replace fixtures knowing that I won’t have to put it all back the way it was when I move out.
I know I’m basically the queen of being dragged into adulthood kicking and screaming, and maybe it’s just the Claritin talking, but I’m ready to be an apartment grown-up, with a mortgage and real furniture and all of that. Probably not from the crappy overpriced antique store, but still. Time to start saving for that down payment in earnest. Right after I buy a liquor cabinet.