Arachnophobia

I love our new apartment.
I really do (pictures coming soon).
It's very pretty and brand new, not to mention a hell of a deal rent-wise.
Also: Bryan and Lara are moving RIGHT NEXT DOOR.
Supreme awesomeness, yes? Well, almost.

You see, there are some issues with our new apartment, some of which I've discussed before. The screen issue has been amended, the air conditioning one has not. Which is okay at the moment, since I'm still rocking the heat set at 70 (because that's as high as Blake will allow me to set it) and about five blankets when I sleep. Thus, I do not consider this to fall under the category of "pressing."
What I do place in that category, however, it the complete and utter infestation of SPIDERS that have invaded my dwelling.

Which is so not okay.

I am not a sissy. Really, I'm not.
I like to camp and be one with nature and shit. Really, I do.
When I fish (which is not often, trust) I can bait my own hook. Really, I can.

But things that crawl on me without my permission are, in a word: unacceptable.

The other night as I was laying in bed and Blake was brushing his teeth, he came in the bedroom (which is actually the office but is currently being used to sleep in because we still need to move my bed from the old place to the new place...convoluted, I know) to say something to me with a mouth full of toothpaste. Instead of instituting the intended conversation, his eyes darted to the wall above me, grew to the size of Wiley Coyote's right before Roadrunner dropped an anvil on his head, whispered "don't look up", and exited the room.
So what did I do?
I looked up.
Of course I looked up.
Wouldn't you look up?
Except I really wish I hadn't.
Because about two feet above my head was some sort of creature with approximately 5263 legs and all sort of grossness.
I, of course, froze in fear (I chose not to scream because we've got neighbors and I'm polite like that) until Blake returned with a wad of Kleenex to dispose of the freakish beast*, at which point we discussed how it could've entered the apartment and the possibility of it's friends following suit.
This did not please me.
*He also plunges toilets. I think I'm in love.

Granted, our unit is "garden level" (aka half basement), so creepy crawlies are logically more apt to finding their way inside than they would be in apartments that are totally above ground. However, as I mentioned before, it's also brand new. This means that there should be no cracks in the dry wall or foundation, and therefore a very slim chance of outside intruders. It was during this conversation that we made a discovery: an uncovered electrical outlet on the ceiling. Perfect portal for arthropodic foes.
And don't try to tell me that the cats will protect us. Presley is fat and lazy. And Kitty is way more interested in her catnip mouse than defending me from insect attackers.

Needless to say, I felt like I was being smothered by bugs all night.
It was like a bad episode of "Fear Factor."

And then...
AND THEN
As I was typing this post a few minutes ago, I happened to look up (what is it with me and looking up? Why must I always look up? Ignorance used to be such bliss) and saw another enemy...spider this time...chilling out on our ceiling.
Naturally, I enlisted the aid of my former defender, who told me I would have to wait until he finished the game of Halo he was tied up in.
So valiant, he is.
It was during this waiting period that the spider decided to shimmy down it's little thread...directly into the ceiling fan.
It never knew what hit 'em.

Now, there are either spider guts all over my bed, or a very pissed off and possibly paraplegic arachnid lurking somewhere in the dark corners of my bedroom, plotting his revenge.
Tonight is going to be awesome.

Edit- I went to climb into bed (heavily medicated, of course) just now, and discovered this hiding underneath the covers:Shortly thereafter, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water in order to calm my nerves, and this was waiting for me in between the refrigerator and the wall:

Blake wants everyone to know that it was the best $1.99 he's ever spent.
Previous statement of love and adoration = retracted.

Oh man.

So, we got the keys to our new apartment today.
Yup, that means it's official.
I'm living with a boy.
Heaven help me.

I'll post some pictures real soon. I will say that the apartment? Super-cute.
Lara and Amber died when they saw it.
Marie saw it too and I think she liked it, although her response was a little more subdued. She's more of the strong, silent type (yeah right).

Comcast (aka the devil) is coming to set up our cable and internet tomorrow. So, that's good.
We have dark cherry hardwood floors, polished porcelain tile, brand new cabinets, and granite counter-tops. Also good.
Except for there is no rod for the shower curtain, shelves in the linen closet, bars in the clothes closet in either bedroom, no screens on the windows, and no A/C unit at the moment. Bad.
Blake=a little peeved. Especially since this was all supposed to be done, and we even told our landlord that we didn't mind waiting to move in until everything was finished.

On the bright side, we don't have to live in my teeny weeny studio anymore. Which is cool, because we were getting ready to kill each other. Blake claims that I was the only one getting annoyed with the living situation and that he was perfectly calm the whole time, but I know that deep down he really did want to punch me in the face just like I wanted to punch him. Small living spaces plus a crapload of stuff are not conducive for healthy relationship communication.
It leads to dumb disagreements like whether or not the Barack Obama poster should be in a frame or not (answer: no, it should not because framing it defeats the purpose of having it in the first place...it's supposed to be grassroots, not wall art).
I'm very excited to not have to live like that anymore.
Can you tell?

In other news: I just bought this.
I'm really excited for it.
It's a custom lisitng from Etsy seller HotButter.
Her name is Ashley and she's really nice and obviously very talented (she designed and made it herself!). Originally, she'd made red ones around Valentine's day which I'd come across in my Etsy travels and thought were really cute. Bored at work one day, I was browsing my favorite items for a new make-up bag because the one I have is approximately 5 years old (maybe more) and I was in need of an update. I sent her a message asking her if she could use the same design concept but with purple and voila!
Image courtesy of HotButter.
Supreme awesomeness. Thanks Ashley!

Swear to Zod, Etsy is like crack for me.
Seriously.
Affordable, handmade items that support independent artists? It's almost guilt-free.
And, you can find pretty much anything on Etsy. Like, if I see something (example: a piece of jewelry) that I love but it's super expensive, chances are that there will be something very similar, if not EXACTLY like the original item.
I've also found some incredibly unique pieces on there.

Like this little beaut.
I have to admit, I was a little skeptical at first. But I've worn it several times and I love it. I get compliments on it every time I wear it. cookoorikoo has other ones in different colors. I might be buying another one. And by might...well, we all know that that means.

You should also know that I just went back and added about six more to my favorites.
Because they're just so darn cute.

Oh Etsy.
Why can't I quit you?

Image courtesy of cookoorikoo.

Part of a Well-Balanced Breakfast

This is the text message I just received:

Sexy.
Morning hair is my fave.

Fashion is made to become unfashionable

Some other things.
Because I'm bored.
Like WHOA.

So, I cleaned out my closets yesterday.
It is considered by many, myself included, to be a blessing that I have not one, but two walk-in closets in my tiny studio apartment. So much so that I've chosen to honor this blessing by stuffing both full of clothing.
And my hallway.
And my couch.
And my floor.
And my bed.

Needless to say, the amount of clothing I own is somewhat of an issue.

The most depressing part (or...not depressing, depending on how one looks at it) is that this state of my obsession is most definitely scaled-down from the point it was two years. To prove my insanity: my wonderful mother and grandmother had to engage in what we jokingly (or not so jokingly) refer to as an *intervention*, wherein they recognized that I was indeed suffocating in the results of my shopping addiction, drove the four hours to my apartment and methodically went through my clothing piece by piece to determined what I needed, and what was simply there because I got bored and decided to go to Wet Seal.
I know.
Wet seal.
Gross.

I have since been rehabilitated, but only to the point that most of us can be. After all, I'm only human.
I still love pretty things.
I still get bored with stuff that I already have.
I still read magazines and lust after the treasures on the glossy pages.
Plus, Target still exists. So, there's that.

This cleansing became necessary when it was determined that there was know way in the physical or theoretical universe that my stuff was ever going to be able to inhabit the same space as someone else' stuff ...unless there was some reduction in volume.

So, reduce I did.
Lara kindly played the role of BFF and assisted me on this project. I think it's always easier to have someone there with you for moral support, and also to validate your decisions. I know that I always tend to talk myself into keeping things that I probably shouldn't keep while purging. This person must, of course, care about or have some sort of investment in your situation. As Lara so succinctly put it, she was "doing this for the good of yours [read: mine] and Blake's relationship." Amen.

We yanked everything out of both closets and divided it into four piles: a keep pile (laundry pile, really), a giveaway pile (all of this went to Vanessa because Amber and Lara are too tall for antyhing that would fit me), a Goodwill pile (for stuff that wouldn't fit Vaness or that she wouldn't want), and a throwaway pile (for stuff no one wants).

I kind of wish I had read this post before I embarked on this great adventure, but really when it came down to it Lara and I probably followed many of the same steps outlined. Jordan's blog is just much prettier than mine. I attempted to so something similar when I moved last July ( I move a lot, don't I?) but did not disgard nearly as much. Probably because I was by myself, and I convinced myself that I really needed a vast menagerie of bargain shirts from Charlotte Russe that were both ugly and cheap-looking. Seriously, what is with the origins of my former wardrobe being from stores meant for 16 year-olds? Ridiculous. I have plenty of beautiful clothing from Express and Nordstrom and Bloomingdales, and even some things from London and Paris and Italy and Spain . Yet I still waste my time, space, and money on nastiness that is worthy of little more than dishraggery.

So, all those went bye-bye.
Along with a few of the aforementioned "nice" pieces that I don't wear anymore, or were in disrepair.
I also decided to put some of my older but well-loved things in storage. Like t-shirts from high school and college that I don't necessarily want to wear but also can't bear to throw out. This, Lara allowed me to get away with.
She did not, however, allow me to get away with things like "but it's really cute" or "it might come back in style." She was a complete closet czar, if you will. She once again spouted a nugget of wisdom while justifying herself in saying, "Molly we are TOO OLD for embellished denim mini-skirts." Point taken.

In the end, I gave five bags of clothes to Vanessa, two to Goodwill, three to storage, and one to the trash. I even got ambitious and went through my shoes, purses, and jewelry too.

I must admit that although it was hard to let go of things in the moment, I don't miss anything that went into those garbage bags yesterday (yes, garbage bags. Ghetto, I know). Life feels...ligther, somehow. And everything the I ended up keeping I genuinely like.

Isn't it funny how *stuff* can evoke such strong emotions in us? After all, it's only fleeting. It comes and goes so quickly when compared to the broad spectrum of life. I'm not trying to preach; I am a member of the *Stuff* Makes Me Happy Club. It just feels must better and much more rewarding to get that feeling from a smaller number of things.

Plus, this means I'll have more room for new stuff.

Because as long as there's Etsy, I'll be okay.

The Economy Can Suck It

Seriously.
Life is expensive these days.
Rather, MY life is expensive.
I'm trying to be cheap.
I really am.
It's just...not possible.

I mean, I don't consider myself to be high-maintenance in any way, shape, or form (Blake might disagree with that statement, but whatever. I cook him dinner three to four nights a week so if he's complaining, he's not doing it loudly).
Except for the fact that I flatly refuse to dine at buffets (Lara and Amber did come close to getting me in the doors of one last weekend but thankfully the plans fell through...whew, dodged a bullet) or shop at Wal-Mart. But both of those are based strictly on moral and/or hygienic reasoning. Not because I'm trying to be difficult.
My problem is not the degree to which I need to be maintained, but the degree to which my imagination functions. Meaning, once I decide on something in my head the chances of my being wholly satisfied with something other than my originally planned idea are...well, non-existent.

Case in point: bedspreads.

My last post (no, I'm not posting a link. Stop being lazy and scroll down) was in regards to a quilt set that I spied while suffering through the romantic comedy nightmare that was and is "He's Just Not That Into You."

**Okay, maybe the movie itself wasn't all that horrifying...I'm just bitter that people who are that good-looking are expected to be believable when they sit around in their fabulously over-priced clothing in their $5000 a month apartments and bitch about how their relationships suck. I'm sorry, but no.

I looove that bedspread.
I am actually embarrassed to admit how much time I have wasted while scouring the interwebs for its likeness. To no avail.
I want it.
I need it.
But it is nowhere to be found.
And, in truth, probably only exists in that very film because it was probably specially made by some fantastic couture designer as a favor to the set-stylist, considering that most in the profession do not simply run out to Bed, Bath and Beyond and fetch any old bedspread for a multi-million dollar movie.
No no.
Because then how on earth would they ever torture people like me?People who will never be fully satisfied with the state of their bedclothes unless it involves that very article of bedding?People who find perfectly acceptable (and probably cheaper) replacements are Target, but still can't get the magical concept of this ethereal, unattainable comforter out of their stupid heads, and will therefore never really *like* said replacement.
You see what I mean?
I'm losing my mind.
Over a BEDSPREAD.
The hell?

Which brings me to my next point: couches.

Blake and I had a discussion about couches tonight.
Why? Well...that part is not important right now. My guess is that the reason will probably be apparent by the time you're done reading this post, but I also have a feeling that my mother would be reallysuperpissed if I wrote about it on here and didn't officially tell her first. Even though I kind of already did. But whatever.
Okay.
So, couches.
My current couch is, in a word, unacceptable.I
t's older than I am.
Seriously. There are pictures of me as an infant on this couch.
It's comfortable and has a large amount of sentimental value, but as far as furniture goes, it's number is totally up.
Blake's couch is newer, a good size, and comfortable. The only real flaw is that the cushions are not attached to the sofa itself, so the slide out when you sit down and you have to keep readjusting them, which is annoying.
Oh, and it's also red and green plaid.
So, there's that.
Basically, in a few months I want a new couch.
Simple enough, right?
No, not really.
Not if you're us.
Because I want a neutral color.
Blake wants something "bold" (his words, not mine- hence parentheticals)So, I engaged a compromise:Purple.
That's right.
If I can't have the awesome bedding that I want, I will at least have a purple couch.
To which he responded:"Whatever, I don't really care right now."But I do.
Because my crazy imagination (the one that won't allow me to let go of ideas to the point the it threatens my emotional well-being) was already taking the concept of a purple couch and running with it.
To the point where I have throw-pillows and lamps picked out.
Not to mention wall decor.
I'm not even kidding.
So, what did I do when I got to work tonight?
Why, Googled "purple couches", of course.
And this is what greeted me.
It is amazing.
It is perfect.
And I want it.
Except for one minor detail.
I don't have $1900.
Not to spend on a couch.

So, to Craigslist I did go.
And once again searched the magice words. In Springfield AND Peoria AND Chicago AND Bloomington-Normal.
I found a couple.
But they looked gross.
And probably smelled like dog.
Maybe my mom will buy me a new one...Or maybe I'll just have to put up with seating arrangements that look like they belong under Christmas trees.
And my brain will be unsatisified because it will be forever fixated on the idea of a purple couch.
And I'll get all depresssed and eat lots of ice cream.And it will be all YOUR fault, Economy.

All your fault