Bedtime Story Part II

So the girl's bed had turned into the teenage dream of a mattress on the floor. She didn't mind--not really. Then she started working. The work wore her out, to the point of barely being able to move. Suddenly, she missed her tall bed, where getting into it was nothing more than a step on this box then crawling in. Now, she had to lower herself to the floor, with a sore body and one knee that refused to cooperate. More so than climbing into her old bed, she missed climbing out of it, which was really nothing more than rolling over and putting her feet to the ground. TAH-DAH. None of this ridiculousness that is now involved, leveraging her entire weight from the ground to standing.

But she had promised herself (and anyone who would listen) that that bed was not coming back into her house. No how, no way. Besides, it was broken. So she decided to look online for a NEW bed. A factory-made bed. Flat-pack. And she found one! Inexpensive (and, considering where it was coming from, probably cheap as well), and, she thought, the right size. So she ordered it, checking and double checking and even triple checking to make sure that there wasn't a choice between Full/Queen/King listed. It came up in the "queen size bed frame" search, so it must be a queen size frame. Obviously.

Then it came. It came, it came! She did a happy dance and sliced open the box to look at the lovely pieces of wood. It was here!

That night, she pulled out her tools, moved the mattress up against the wall, and set to work putting together her shiny new bed frame. Suddenly, it was together! She danced in excitement, pulling out her queen size bed slats and laying them on the frame.

Wait.

What's this?

Why are they hanging over?

What?

What?!

FUCK!

She ran to her computer, pulling up the website, looking again. No, it doesn't say it's a full bed. It came up when she searched "queen bed frame." Why is it the wrong size?!*

Alas, the girl's dreams of a bed off the floor were no closer to fruition. Except now she has plans of building one on her own... Will there be a part three to this bedtime story?

*Footnote to add to the bitter tale of the new bed (don't want it ruining the amusement of my adventures in finding the perfect bed). I took apart the frame and called the company, hoping that they would pay for the return shipping, since it was due to their lack of size information that led to me ordering it in the first place. But the most they said was "sorry for your confusion." And looking up shipping prices, it would cost more than twice as much as the original price of the bed to ship it back to the company. So I took it to a consignment shop, where I'll get about a third of the price back if I'm lucky.

my coffee table

(Maybe I should have taken a more flattering picture of my coffee table? Eh, too much work!)

I picked up my coffee table a few years ago at a thrift shop. It was, I believe, ten dollars. Or maybe it was five? Or maybe it was even free. Like I said, it was a few years ago. I got it because the one that I had before this one bit the dust when Camden happened to fall on it--it was pretty unstable. It was the usual darkish wood flavour of coffee table--nothing too outrageous.

About a month (or more) ago, I picked up a small can of oops coloured paint with the plans of painting my rather bland coffee table. And like any good DIY project, I waited for ages to get around to it. And today when Camden came to me, carrying the can of oops paint asking to paint the table, I realised I had run out of reasons not to. So we did. And... Why didn't I do it sooner?! I love it!

Except now I'm worried that it will further fuel my SFMA(serial furniture movers anonymous)... No need to move the furniture--just paint it! Because now I'm really wanting to paint my TV cabinet. And my desk. And my desk chair. But I think that much light grey/off white might drive me crazy. We'll see.

(In other news, I have another bedtime story to tell--hopefully sometime later this week. )

Bedtime story

Once upon a time a girl wanted a bed. Not just any bed. A bed that she could store stuff under. Or build forts under. And so, her dad built her one. An amazing four poster bed with plenty of crawl space beneath. The girl loved her bed, except that it wobbled to and fro. When she leaned on the foot of the bed, it would move an alarming amount. This wobbling to and fro eventually led to the destruction of the bed's metal parts.

"But do not be alarmed, child; I will fix it. I have new steel hangers that are indestructible," said her father.

So her father came to visit. He took the broken, flimsy hangers off the bed parts, and put on the new indestructible parts. It was not easy. They did not want to fit. "Ah, but this is good," thought the girl, "for if they are this tight putting together, my bed will no longer wobble to and fro!" And much cursing and hammer pounding and more cursing later, the girl's bed was as good as new. Better than new, for now it had indestructible parts. And lots of screws to help steady it even more.

After five months of having the bed against wall A, the girl decided she wanted the bed to be against wall B. She pulled and tugged and huffed and puffed and cursed and spat, but the bed would not budge! "No problem," said she, "I'll just take off the mattress. Sure then it will move!" So she easily slid the mattress off the bed, only nearly knocking a shadow box from the wall.

"But what is this strange button?" she asked, finding a black circular peg thingy. Looking closer, she sees that it's the peg from one of the hangers. One of the indestructible hangers. Looking even closer, she sees that both the tabs for the hanger is missing! "Noooo!"

Instead of further defying a sure death from sleeping on a broken bed, the girl decided to dismantle the bed. But, alas! As she was removing all of those extra steadying screws, two strip! And another broke off at the head. She looked and searched for something to help, but nothing she found could.

Of she went, on her quest to remove the screws from the bed. First to one store, where an employee handed her something saying, "This will work!" Back home went she, only to find out that the employee must have been the villagestore idiot, because there was no way that tool would work, since it was designed for a specific type of screw. So she returned the failed merchandise and searched out another store. Here, they sold her a tool that she was sure would work. So she got home and tried it... Only to find out that she's not quite smart enough to make it work.

Eventually, after much man-handling and more cursing and spitting, huffing and puffing, and pulling and tugging, the girl managed to get the boards free from the defective screws.

And from that moment, she decided that that bed would never enter her home again. And she lived happily ever after, even if she was relegated to sleeping on a mattress on the floor like some teenager.

Serial Furniture Movers Anonymous

(Photo not by me)

Is there really an SFMA group? 'Cause if there is, I desperately need to join it.

I am not happy in my apartment unless something has been moved around in the last month. Whether it's something in my bedroom, or Cam's, or something in the living room. I just have to move the furniture around! Maybe, if when I arranged the furniture, I paid attention to feng shui (amazing! I spelled that correctly the first try!), then maybe I wouldn't have this urge every six weeks or so to move furniture. Or maybe I just like new things, and putting my couch in a different spot lets me see it in a new way. Who knows?!

Anyhow, my last endeavor involved moving ALL of the furniture in my living room. Except a lamp. This involves: a loveseat, a futon, a dining table, two dining chairs, a popasan chair, coffee table, large area rug, two end tables, TV and TV cabinet. I also bought a bookshelf, put it together, and added it to my living room decor. The day after this, I was SORE! And I'm still sore! (Moved everything around Monday night.)

But it was totally worth it! Because now I can look out a window while I take my meals. I can quite clearly see both the door and the windows from every chair (just in case of zombie apocalypse). And some how or another, the space just breathes better. (David says its less of a clusterfuck. Nice of him, no?)

Now I can only hope that my back is better by the time I start feeling that itch again. Well, okay. I feel the itch all the time. So, I guess, I can only hope that I'm able to resist the urge to move the furniture until my back is better.

Anyone else have this problem? (The SFM syndrome, not a bad back)