Update

So, for my fan base (ha! jokes) here is an update on why I have been so MIA the past week or two. I’m writing this from the seven circles of condo hell. To be it delicately, shit has hit the fan. Or should I say floor in this case? From my last post, you know that only half of my living room/kitchen has flooring on it right now. The remaining part of the kitchen and dining room are a dusty, bare concrete slab.

Yeah, minimalist was not quite what I was going for with that. The other horrible discovery I have made about my kitchen floor is that it is extremely uneven, and therefore unsuitable for laying laminate on top of. Of course, my contractor said: “I can fix that”. But unlike the man from the movie Holes, he could NOT fix it. But he thought he could. Because what we do when we don’t know how to do something? We do it anyways, and hope no one calls us out on it. But floor shouldn’t be included in this rule. So, my contractor laid down what he believed would fix the floor. And Lowes came back out to install the floors. And funny thing, they couldn’t put the laminate down STILL because the floor wasn’t relevant. So my contractor said “I can fix that”. But again, unlike a la Holes, he couldn’t fix that. What he should’ve said was “I can make that even worse”. Because he laid more of the leveling product and Lowes made a third trip. And now, I can’t get a call from Lowes without getting a PTSD flashback, because surprise they still couldn’t put down the laminate.

This was the point where the humanity in me shriveled up and died. This was also when I fired my contractor, threatened to inter him in my bare kitchen floor, and promptly drank a bottle of wine. But, can it get worse?

….Oh yes it can! Because what’s worse than not have a floor? Having your furniture arrive because you assumed you’d have a floor by now. Silly girl. So yes, my furniture showed up, and is now promptly stacked on the section of my condo that has floor. My stove is unhooked and sitting in my living room, and my fridge is beside it. So I have spent most of time crying and having contractor after contractor come and stare at my kitchen and scratch their heads. However, there might be light at the tunnel because my new contractor is supposed to have my floor in by Friday. Which is great, because my washer and dryer are supposed to come in on Saturday. And I’d really like to have a floor to put them on. I’m really not enjoying my only option for clothes washing being Oh Brother, where are thou style in the pond behind the condo. Hopefully the next post I write will be in a happier state of mind, and I will have crawled out of the pits of condo purgatory. Because I’m not happy at the moment, and I’m running out wine and clean clothes.

-Celeste

Advertisements

My Tattoed Angel

This is a story about redemption.

Just kidding, that did sound really epic though. This is a story about how I went to Lowes and realized that being an independent woman is a tough business. But I was a woman on a mission: tonight I was going to get all the lighting for the condo. I knew what I needed, I had my handy list in hand, and I had brought my can-do attitude. If you can’t tell, I was also jacked up on some Starbucks.

You can do this Celeste. You are an independent woman who doesn’t need anybody’s help! You have a job, you just bought a condo…. (And yes, I am aware that I’m actually talking to myself, but sometimes you need a pep talk. And I have no one to give me these pep talks. Like I said, being I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T is tough stuff)

In retrospect, I should’ve added, “has the wing-span of a t-rex” to this list.

I went into the Lowes with my can-do spirit, and grabbed myself a cart and was off to the races. Now, here is what I learned immediately:

1. the carts they give you at Lowes are impossibly small compared to the size of the boxes their products come in.

2. Lowes is a horrible place to go if you’re single.

Immediately, I noticed the hordes of couples that swarm through Lowes. It’s like a giant breeding ground of newlyweds. And they’re all nesting. Cue mocking voice that I frequently use:

“Oh honey, which faucet should we get? Should we get this one, or this other one that looks exactly the same? Oh look, a single person. Let’s be super in love all over the place”

…if you couldn’t tell, I’m a bit of a pessimist at times.

But while everyone else in Lowes was busy being in love, I was trying to bench press the four fans I needed into the cart that must’ve been made for a Barbie. But I was clinging hard to my independent woman mentality.

Nope, I don’t need any help. I am woman hear me roar-oh GOD why is this so heavy?! I had thrown my proverbial bra into the flames, but was starting to regret that decision. I was doing my best to be a strong lady,  but as strong as my intentions were, they simply overpowered my noodle-like arms.

So there I was, sweating, and grunting in the Lowes. The Lowes Gods did finally answer my prayers; however, and it was then that I heard the voice of my guardian angel.

“Do you need some help, ma’am?”

No, I love the feeling of my ribs puncturing my lungs. YES I NEED-

But when I turned around, there he was. There stood my guardian angel, 6 feet tall and covered in tattoos. But he was standing next to a flat bed cart, and to me he had wings and a halo.

I was at an impasse. Part of me wanted to stamp my feet, proclaim my independence against the tyranny of Lowes and its haven of newlyweds. But, the other part of me wanted that man to wheel all my boxes to the car with me on top of it.

Life Lesson Time: sometimes, you just need help. You can be as independent as you want, but sometimes you need a hand…and longer arms.

So I took my tattooed angel up on his offer, and he even summoned his tattooed cherubs to help me with the rest of the lighting to my car. So I walked beside the heavenly Hell’s Angels and thanked them as they loaded everything into my car. I left Lowes with a renewed sense of humility. Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re dependent or needy. Maybe it makes you more independent to admit when you just need help. Either way, my tattooed angel taught me an important lesson: if you need help, ask.

Or maybe just hijack a flatbed cart when you get in the door.

-Celeste