Home Sweet Home?

We have too much shit.

We are never moving again. We will grow old and die on Pleasant St.

The previous tenants had terrible taste. My landlord can't get anything done on time.

I have no patience, can't explain the diagrams in my head, and should never have children.

John can't prioritize the well-being of a toddler (aka Parker) and should never have children.


These are the revelations that Le Boyfriend and I have reached in the past 48 hours. Yet, we've managed to not kill each other, the landlord, or Parker, we've gotten just about everything into the apt and approximately the right room, and we even wrestled a mattress up the stairs. "It's like the door gave birth to the mattress - squishing, resizing, pushing, pulling..." we commented when we finally got it up the 2 flights of Stairs from Hell and into the kitchen.

It's a good thing we know how to have a spat and move on. It's also a good thing that we only have a full-sized bed and not a queen.

I've been moving around in a sea of boxes, and I look around and have a 30-second panic attack. omgtherearesomanyboxeswherethehellarewegoingtoputallthisstuff? is the usual thought process. Occasionally it's also something like holyshitwedidit or where'sthedog? (Parker has a tendency to hide when he doesn't like what's going on.)

Here, let's review some of the panic-inducing views from my apartment....

This is my kitchen. It doesn't look so bad, does it?

Well, you should know that the counter on the right hand side isn't attached to the cabinets, I'm going to have to loop a power cord from behind the metal shelving in the middle over the door, behind the stove, and up the wall so that I'll have a power outlet where I'll actually do a lot of the food prep.

This is our living room. Ooooh yeah, there's the first million of the boxes.

This room is filled with expensive electronic equipment and musical instruments. But not the Mac Mini or the 1TB HDD yet. Those are living at the office until the contractors are officially, finally, absolutely finished. Because I didn't spend $700 on shiny shit for some guy to steal it. I'm sure he's perfectly trustworthy, but I'm not taking any chances.

This would be the bedroom. Part two of the million boxes. And Parker.

Parker would be that black blob on the bed. He's not thrilled with this moving thing. "Moooooom, just hold me all day!!" is pretty much all he says right now. That, and "What's that new smell?" The weird door in the middle of the wall is the door to the fire escape. Yeah, I have a fire escape attached to my bedroom. Yay.
(Note: I did some unpacking post pictures, and I'm pleased to report that 3 of the boxes are gone. And the bed is now made, Mom.)

Now we leave my bedroom and go towards the small hallway that runs between the pantry/office, kitchen, bathroom and ends at my bedroom.

There be boxes in the pantry.



Looooots of boxes.



And dog food. Parker's gotta eat, too! Also, I am lobbying that we get rid of the ugly blue 1982 lamp. Don't get me started on the lava lamp....

Welcome to the Only Room That Is Done:
The Bathroom

At least I can shower and attend to all of my bodily needs in peace and the knowledge that SOMETHING has been put to rights. Coordinating colors make my little OCD heart very happy.

So, that's the grand tour of the Kurzawa-Scott-(Corona) residence. No pictures of Adriana's room, since it's her room and not mine. When she leaves in the winter, I think the general idea is to put the living room in her room, and turn that room into a guest room/storage place.