I’m compiling a list of books to buy, what are your must-read recommendations?
Adam is obsessed with this song and has been humming it or whistling it or shaking his booty to it all week.
(And now it’s in YOUR head! Yay!)
It should surprise no one who has read this blog for more than ten minutes that I don’t share his enthusiasm for this particular song, but more than that is the fact that without fail, Every. Single. Time. I hear its familiar strains, (and especially when the hook kicks in,”… Mr Saxo-beat”) all I see is this.
Jon Hamm. Sweaty. Shirtless. Avec saxophone.
ADAM WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?
This is perfect. I especially enjoy the Moonlight Sonata Remix.
(I feel like that last sentence belongs in the “Shit White People Say” Hall of Fame)
(Hahahahaha HA that link was broken all day and no one told me and I didn’t notice because I was at work. FIXED NOW :)
In case you’re not following me on Twitter (or in case you’re too shy to send me a request since my tweets are protected because they’re THAT GOOD) here is a screencap of the chaos that reigned in my house last night, beginning when Adam picked up his beard trimmer and said he was going to shave his head.
Read from the bottom up, sorry for the poor image quality.
There are torrential rain storms outside so Adam and I have decided to to carry heavy furniture and then drive great distances and then move it around some more.
We’re dropping a huge dining room table and hutch off at my sisters place an hour or so away, and then going to see a man about a couch.
Why didn’t I use this large dining room table to eat off of when I had my entire family over for Christmas? Because it was funnier to make them eat off of a bench like ANIMALS, of course!
Actually we don’t have a dining room. Or any room, really, that would house such a piece of furniture. So it’s been sitting in our shed being scurried over by all manner of rats and pests (no doubt) and finally we said we were going to sell it and my mom (it was originally her table) made a funny shape with her mouth and damn, we all knew THAT wasn’t happening anymore.
But LO! Life worked out and my sister was moving to a larger house, one that can easily accommodate a large dining room table and so BAM, here we are.
And of course it’s raining, why wouldn’t it be?
And of course her husband is away, so I have to be on the other end of lifting things, so Adam can glare at me through beads of sweat while he yells “Lift! LIIIFFT!” and I can say petulantly, “Adam I AM lifting! I have the muscle tone of a malnourished eight year old TB patient, THIS IS ALL I’VE GOT!” and then we can move that damn furniture foot by foot in tiny shuffling steps while we each mutter obscenities at each other and this damn gorgeous solid wood piece both.
And then we’ll probably go for sushi and ice cream. Maybe take in a matinee.
BUT FIRST we’ll go see a man about a couch. You know, the couch I’ve been obsessing about for oh, SIX MONTHS and first I wanted it soft grey with tufting, and then I woke up and realized that in no way will anything I own NOT be covered in man-hands and dog-hair, so I decided on leather but not your typical chocolate brown leather because that would be too easy, oh! and it also has to be used because that’s the only way I can think of to assuage my vegetarian guilt.
So, I’ve been lurking on craigslist with such a fervor that opening the homepage and typing in “leather couch” has become second nature to me. I do it in my dreams.
And I had this idea that this couch would be manifested just in time for us to pick it up, since we are driving down to the city in our big truck anyway, and then LO! life worked out again and there it was, listed literally as I sat there lamenting the hordes of pink and green and white (WHITE) leather couches dominating the used furniture section.
And it’s not exactly what I’m looking for, but I’m starting to realize that unless I have $3000 I’m not going to be stumbling on a vintage, mid century Danish couch in soft caramel leather any time soon.
(Plus I googled the guy who was selling it, because, well, the deal seems a little too good to be true and I wanted to make sure we weren’t being lured into a sex-dungeon scenario (because y’all, I KNOW about those) and he’s a firefighter. So. I mean, psychically speaking there’s bound to be some good sexy firefighting energy in this here couch. Who doesn’t need some of that?)
And now the only roadblock (besides actually moving all of this furniture with my feeble arms, and overcoming my anxiety of talking to strangers, even if they are sexy firefighters with GREAT taste in furniture) is convincing Adam to sell our old one so that our living room doesn’t become a Couchroom.
He loves our old couch, it’s seven feet long and he likes to nest in it, eat in it, sleep in it, and you know, probably a whole ton of other stuff that I don’t (and don’t want to) know about that no doubt goes down when I’m not home.
Lazy Sunday my ass.