I cannot buy anything more for my apartment this month.
I know that. I really do.
But I figured, well, it doesn’t hurt to look. And that was true, until I saw this piece on Loveseat and felt my heart expand and then break a little at the thought that this cannot be mine.
Even if I had the money, it would be ridiculous to get a gold display case, especially since it would only be displaying books.
It’s best not to picture it in my house. It’s best not to imagine myself opening it to select a book to read to my grandchildren one day, because it’s the kind of piece that I would keep and cherish forever, and pass down to my children, and they would pass down to their children once they too leave this earth.
I will tell myself it is gaudy and would be too much in my home.
Yep. That’s what I’ll do.
Though it wouldn’t hurt to look at coffee tables while I’m already on the app…
A few days ago, I was furniture shopping and I learned something very important about myself. I am a master negotiator.
The thing is, there’s really nothing to it. Like, literally nothing. I don’t say a word. I stand and look at the piece I want, then look back at the person selling the item, then look back at the piece. Sometimes I make a little throaty-humming noise, awkwardly press my hand to my cheek or neck, and look around.
Ten times out of ten, the salesperson feels so uncomfortable, they offer to lower the price. This is a really important moment. They’ll expect you to talk, BUT YOU STILL DON’T. Maybe look at them with a scrunched up forehead. Repeat the Tina Belcheresque groan. Cock your head to the side and hunch your shoulders. Stare at them for a minute too long.
Then they fold. They always do.
Your awkwardness is hard to handle and they’ll be more than ready to bow out of the interaction as soon as possible. You can wait it out–you’ve been training for this your whole damn life.
That is how I ended up with these gorgeous pieces:
The media stand is technically an old record player holder. The front drawers are fake and do not open, so it’s maybe not the most functional piece BUT I DONT CARE I LOVE IT SO GODDAMN MUCH.
And you know how when you were a kid and would go to your grandparents’ house, there was always that one chair you weren’t allowed to sit in because it was your grandpa’s? Like exclusively his? And it was kind of a little too imposing and large and smack dab in the middle of the room? That is the relationship I plan on establishing with this beautiful, golden work of art.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go. I have a lot of sitting to do.
You know how in my last post, I talked about how much I adored my apartment and decorating and making it a home? Well my current roommate has told me she will be moving out come July 1, and as most of the furniture in our shared living space is hers, she will be taking it with her. I was fortunate enough to find a new roommate quickly and with great ease, so the stress level has receded, but financially, I was not yet off the hook. When I said most of the furniture is hers, I wasn’t kidding. The couch? Hers. The tv and tv stand? Hers. The lamp? Hers. The chair, the pillows, the dining table, the beautiful grey and yellow rug? Hers, hers, hers, half-hers (we thought splitting that one would be a good idea, and see in retrospect, it was not). The thought of my once-comforting home being depleted into a vacuous room was stressing me out. I’d still have my record player, but no chair in which to sit and enjoy the music. I’d have my book case, but no couch on which to read my books. And what would we do about the rug? Pull a Solomon and cut the thing in half?
Clearly, the whole thing was getting to me. Fortunately my new roommate has again soothed my anxieties because she also loves decorating and also also loves vintage, old lady, kitschy chic. Our house may come together much quicker and with less a financial burden than I worried it would because as it turns out, orange floral couches are relatively inexpensive.
Excited by the prospects of turning my home into a living museum, I found an adorable bar cart at an antique store in OB. She was put in their warehouse and simply forgotten about. I related to her neglect and knew I had to give her a good, loving home.
Poor thing was covered in dust.
But will soon be covered in liquor.
Here’s to new beginnings with old things.