Shop-a-holics Anonymous

I have a problem.
It stems from an extreme dislike of stairs combined with a small smidgen of laziness.

Namely:
I insist on carrying all of the groceries up to my apartment in one trip.

No biggie, right?
I'm a single, poor college student. How many groceries can I have?

Which leads me to a second problem.
I love grocery shopping.

Don't even get Gem started on the evils that are Walmart, D.I. and the dollar store. She'll wail on and on about my addiction, claiming I insist on going up and down every aisle, back and forth, round and round, til' she's just about ready to die in the frozen food section.

I tell her if she'd rather die, she'd better do it.

Decrease the surplus population.

Then I suggest one of the coffin freezer chests as the ideal location.

She isn't amused.

Oh, but I am.

The point being: I buy stuff.

Lots of stuff sometimes.

And wouldn't cha know. I am quickly running out of shopping buddies. I am at a loss as to why...

This all equals out into a disastrous equation:

Corinner-Elly + shopping + money - Gem = dead arms.

And so I lead a lonely life. Trudging up three flights of stairs, arms ballooning with fifty shopping bags while teetering a gallon of milk from my pinkie finger. FYI: Pinkie fingers are not meant to withstand this weight.

Ow-ee.

This dangerous habit has lead to other tragic events. Like when I tried to balance a pie, a zucchini cake, a bottle of whipping cream, a serving spatula, a bag of groceries, a bag of decorations and my purse while going down three flights of stairs.

Two glass baking dishes lost their life that day.

I need to join a 12-step program.

Or hire a full-time bag boy.

But make more than one trip up and down the stairs?

Never.

CURSES.

What you must know:
A) I made this scrumptious dinner.
B) No really, I MADE this scrumptious dinner.

C) I couldn't figure out how to make the freakin' picture upright.
D) Pounding chicken breasts is therapeutic.
E) I may or may not have taken a bite of yummy-licious cheese toast before I remembered to take a picture.
F) There were no cricket legs in my milk, thank heaven.
G) Chicken Parmigiana is the bestest.
H) Chicken Parmigiana the size of Texas is even bestest-er.
I) Green beans add the perfect splash of color.
J) I plan on rambling until I reach the end of the alphabet.
K) Did you know 'parmigiana' is spelt like that?...
L) I tried 'parmesana' and Blogger got mad at me.
M) Look at you.
O) Look at your face.
P) Frick. I forgot N.
Q) P.S. The pasta was freeze dried cheese-filled tortellini.
R) I don't recommend freeze dried cheese-filled tortellini.
S) Did I mention I made this?
T) I drooling on my keyboard just looking at it.
U) And the sauce was HOMEMADE!
V) I amaze myself.
W) Daily.
X) Almost there.
Y) Hold your breath...
Z) Mmmmmm.


Now I know my A-B-Cs.
Next time you should eat my Chicken Parmigiana.
(It almost rhymes?...)

Me Design Your House?

Wanna guess what amazing feats and masterful skills I performed at my internship today?

Anyone? Anyone?

Well, let me tell ya.

I utilized my amazing design capabilities while vacuuming the lighting center. But did I stop there? Oh no. I vacuumed every stinkin' area rug on the showroom floor.

"Impossible!", you say.

Let's face it, I'm a skilled woman.

And then, oh then, do you know what I did.

I SWEPT.

The entire store.

The last dustpan-ful included my arms. 

So yah.

Notice how I spelt 'yah'. Not to be confused with 'yea' (also commonly spelt 'yay').

This discrepancy is highly irritating to me. I find people, far too often, replace 'yea' for 'yah'.

For instance:

Do I want to learn more about interiors at my internship? 'Yah.'

Do I like decorating the show floor? 'Yah.'

Should you learn the difference between these words? 'Yah.'

Just imagine if I had responded 'yea' to all of these questions. I would have sounded like a completely insane person who is way too excitable. (Do you ever stop saying 'yea'? "YEA!")

The point is: I am an amazing intern, gosh darn it! And I want to do some DESIGNING!

I can do it! I can. I completed this project last semester in my 'Design in the Home' course and received entirely positive feedback about my interior choices.

First, I designed my floor plan layout and completed a rough sketch. Next, I decided on a warm color scheme with amber, bronze, goldenrod, etc. Then I found materials that would fit the desired 'feel' of my rooms and finalized the floor plan rendering.

I decided on a deep chocolate brown wood for the cabinets with almost no visible grain. This would be contrasted by a highly reflective copper counter top and tile mosaic back splash.

The entire apartment would have cork (no, really) cork flooring with various chocolate speckled area rugs for comfort in the bedroom, etc. It's different, I know, but I love how unique it is. Not just the same ole', same ole'.


My instructor insisted that these choices lean towards a '50s retro theme. I, however, beg to differ. The cork might lean towards that, but in MY design, is a whole lot more stylish. The picture I included shows what I mean. The fabrics are satin-y, the surfaces glow and the lighting is romantical. Posh, eh?

For textiles, I chose a woven fabric with stylized circles and a warm brown leather. Paint swatches included a soft yellow and a slightly darker variation for contrast.
 Notice how the tile pulls out the chocolate brown from the cupboards, the copper from the counter tops and introduces a sheek granite grey.

So, whaddya say?
Don't you think Osmond Designs should hire me on full-time?
Me too.

But... it may not happen in the near future.
After all, I am one-heck-of-a vacuum slave.

I Should Have Stayed in Bed.

Last night we had a visitor around 11:30PM. I thought I had heard the doorbell but decided I'd rather pretend it was the TV.

Apparently, subsequent frantic ringings were lost on my ears due to extensive face washing.

I hadn't yet finished when my newest roomie Lacy-Hacy interuptedly knocked at my door.

"What?", I demanded as I turned off the water, face still sudsy and dripping.

"Uhmm..." she mumbled sleepily, "There's someone at the door. She says we're flooding her apartment."

"And... she wants us to...?", I slowly worded.

"She needs the landlord's name or something.", she yawned, her head slumped against my door frame, eyes closed.

Handing over my phone and it's contents, I cautiously peeked around the corner.

"HI CORIN!!", my cheery and apparently well-acquainted neighbor shouted.

"Hey... you...", I replied awkwardly while darting back into my room.

Before long, she was gone. Lacy-Hacy was once more burrowed in her comforter and the apartment was again quiet. But the reverie didn't last...

Just as I was slipping off to sleep, the screeching of the doorbell pierced my eardrums. I decided to ignore it.

"I'm asleep. I'm asleep. I'm asleep-sleep-sleeping.", I told my brain.

A few second passed before it happened again.

I was determined not to be the one who finally gave in. After all, there were three other perfectly capable people with fully functioning legs nearby. And I could almost guarantee that they'd heard it.

Ring.

Ring.

...

*silence*

"Ah," I sighed, "they've finally given u..."

RIIIIIIIING!

  

Slamming a pillow over my head, I stubbornly held my ground.

I waited.

One minute. Two minutes.

"They're finally gone." I sighed in relief.

Nestling into my bed's softness, I began to relax.

"Bzzz." my phone vibrated, "BZZZZ."

It was a torturous sound.

"Who's grand idea was it to put my phone number in the ward directory!?!" my tired brain screamed, "Is this gonna last FOREVER!?!"

In my last attempt to utterly ignore the world, I sent the call to voicemail.

But that didn't stop her from calling.

12 MORE TIMES.

Suddenly, I was beginning to feel guilty. She's probably a logical person, right. She probably knows that normal people sleep at 1 AM, right? She probably knows that there is absolutely nothing else we can do in this situation, right? She probably just... (*ring!*)

RANG THE DOORBELL FOR THE UMP-TEENTH TIME!

"Mother of all SIN!!!", Lacy-Hacy yelled from her room.

All sympathies were lost as I trudged from my bed.

"What do they want me to do?" I grumbled as I stomped down the hall, "Do I look like a freakin' plumber?"

I slowly pulled open the door.



I stared blankly at the man, eyes glazed over.

"Sorry to bother you," his eyes darted away, "I'm the landlord of the unit below yours and there's been some flooding..."

"You don't say?..." my shoulder devil pitched in, brandishing a flaming pitchfork.

"So I'll just need to turn off your water.", he continued.

"Whatever.", I conceded, leading him past the water heater closet as I made my way back to my room.

And that was the last thing I remember.

So when I woke up this morning to a toilet that wouldn't flush, a sink that wouldn't run and a complete ignorance in regards to water shut-off valves, I was (how can I put it...?) pissed.

Calling everyone from the landlord to the maintenance guy to Bernie the plumber who left a sticker with his info on the water heater, I desperately tried to get some assistance.

Needless to say, my landlord didn't answer, the maintenance guy appears to have died and Bernie isn't a very helpful plumber. (Liability, shmiability...)

All hope was almost lost before I took a big bite of humility and called my neighbor as a last resort.

"Hi!" she answered brightly in a tone inhuman at 6AM, "For sure, you guys can use our apartment until the problem's fixed!"

And so.

Today I showered in a foreign shower, spit in a foreign sink and may or may not have used the toilet before I realized that it wouldn't be able to flush.

And there it sits.

Did I mention that I also locked my keys, purse and cell phone in my running car when I was already late for work? No?

Today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.