more thoughts about being a homeowner
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If I hear one more comment from somebody, saying “Congratulations, homo…wner!” I will cut them. Seriously.
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The amount of junk mail I have now rivals the amount of junk e-mail I have. It’s kinda unsettling, actually - it’s a mix of Penny Savers and catalogues for expensive wooden window treatments and stuff like that. The most unnerving junk mail, though, has to be the truckloads of letters that I get that say “PLAN ON DYING SOON? BUY MORGAGE DEATH INSURANCE SO YOUR LOVED ONES WON’T BE STUCK PAYING A QUARTER MILLION DOLLARS FOR YOUR CONDO!”
Needless to say, my immediately family had better hope that I don’t get hit by a truck or something. “What? Ernie struck by car?” My dad would ask when the policeman shows up at his door. “That OK. WHAT, WE PAY QUARTER MILLION DOLLAR!? UNTHINKABLE!!”
Anyway.
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I have, all of the sudden, have been on the faggiest interior decorating kick in my entire life. I’ve lived with milk crates for bookshelves for the past seven years and a ratty twin mattress since high school, and after buying a computer table and a queen mattress and frame, I’ve been desperate to find the time to browser other pieces of furniture.
This is to be expected, I suppose. But what freaks even me out is the fact that I’ve also been looking at accessories. I’m watching HGTV, and I just bought Trading Spaces, the book. (Who fucking buys Trading Spaces, the book? I’ve only watched one full episode of that show with the GLAD bags girl.) I even look at those faux Asian accessories in IKEA showrooms and think, “what better way to identify with my Asian American culture than fake bamboo and photocopies of calligraphy, with a white matte and black metallic frame?” And then I bury my face in my hands and cry in shame.
Hell, even candle shopping has caught my interest. Candles! (And begin active imagination… now.)
(The scene: Four African-American women are in a living room, in their nightgowns. They are sitting on the couch, behind a coffee table full of glasses of wine and about fifteen million candles. Whitney Houston’s “Shoop” is playing in the background.)
Angela Bassset: We’re strong, proud, African-American Women. We don’t need no man to feel secure.
Whitney Houston: You said it girl.
That chick from Boomerang: Amen.
Random 4th woman: Mmm-hmm.
Whitney Houston: (As she does another line of coke)… who the hell is this Chinese boy sitting here?
Ernie:Uhm, ladies? You’re in my living room.
Ladies:Oh, hells naw!
So that’s where I am right now. More suggestions on places to furniture-shop, however, are always fabulous welcome.
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