Lazy Picture Friday: Look, I'm a Grown Up! With a Dining Room and Mortgage and Everything! (Except For The Dining Room. And The Mortgage.)

Okay, so just kidding about the mortgage thing. And maybe we haven’t bought the amazing IKEA bar stools for our kitchen table yet. BUT, I totally do have decorative hand towels hanging on the stove that you’re not actually supposed to use, which is the ultimate sign of being a grown up, I think. I keep telling B they’re there to look pretty and the towels you CAN use are in the drawer next to the stove, but he doesn’t listen. I guess he’ll start listening when I start putting glasses in the dishwasher instead of the sink. Touché, dear. Touché.

So, I was thinking that instead of TELLING my parents we moved in together, perhaps I could just send them a slideshow of our new amazing place and let them infer as they see fit? Good plan? No? Fine. But you are SO not getting a cupcake on my birthday. They’re the confetti cake kind, too, with candies in the frosting. Oh, sure, NOW you change your mind? Forget it. I’ll just call up my parents and drop the bomb, and then send these pics and be all, Oh Look! Look How Responsible and Grown Up I Am! They’ll totally buy it.

Yeah, maybe not.

ANYhoo, B is really the responsible and grown up one, because when I move into a new place? It takes me about a month to unpack… another to actually “organize” things (read: wedge overstuffed Tupperware storage units under bed and in closet)… and half the duration of my lease to actually put anything on the walls, if ever. Since he is a crazy slave-driver, however, every single thing was unpacked and had a “home” within 3 days of moving in. We IKEA’d. We put furniture together. He forced me to put away every item of clothing I own, ALL NEAT AND ORDERLY LIKE. The horror. I bitched, I moaned… and when it was done, it felt great. I’ve never actually known where (and what, for that matter) each and every one of my belongings was. Craziness!

Hi, Organization? I’m LivitLuvit. It’s really nice to meet you. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you all these years. I totally judged you without even meeting you, and that was wrong. If I buy you a pony, maybe we can be friends? I’ll even send you secret flowers on Valentine’s Day so everyone thinks you have a boyfriend, THAT’S how sorry I am. Love you!

 

So, here we go, and please enjoy:

 

I think this is actually my favorite thing in our apartment. See, we read books and stuff! And have knick knacks!

Exposed brick! How white are we. Love it.

Our fabulous kitchen that I have actually used many, many times already. (I can’t believe I just uttered that sentence. Domestication, thy name is LiLu.)

And more importantly, to the right of the picture above, you will see the oh-so-controversial coatrack that took me four hours to put together with real tools. Not the one made of 2x4s that a 5-year-old duct-taped together and then stapled cow horns on that B wanted to keep. Just sayin.

 

Here is MY (first) closet… (We got through the entire Season 3 of Arrested Development before I had finished organizing all of my clothes, for serious.) I even let B put his shoes in there, mostly because there’s no way mine would ever fit. Best girlfriend ever!

 

And here is my OTHER closet, that I am nice enough to let B have almost half of. If you don’t count the top shelves. Or the floor. (Love you!)

Oh, did I say every single thing was unpacked?

Um, I meant everything except my shoes. Which is a REALLY big “except.” Whoopsies!

 

Quick, distract B from the one mess still in our home… look babe! It’s your gigantic TV! With my foot ceremoniously placed in the middle for reference! (How hott is my flip flop tan?!) So everyone can see how HUGUNGOUS it is!

 

(Bee tee dubs, pay no attention to the smears and smudges all over the screen. Those are just where B and the TV got, ahem, a little intimate. Yeah, basically I’ve been replaced. I’m surprised he hasn’t named it yet. Maybe that’s the “Sophie” he’s been mumbling about in the middle of the night…)

 

Also, I totally thought about how ridiculous I must look, stretched across the ottoman sticking my foot out in my pjs (can we pretend it was midnight instead of 6pm? Kthx) so I managed to one-arm a picture of my retardulousness for your viewing pleasure.

 

Happy weekend, everybody. Mine will assuredly be filled with cleaning and quilting and baking and all other things grown-uppy and domestic. Or maybe I’ll just get bombed and pass out naked on our new leather couch (nakey + leather couch = NOT GOOD). Who knows? The possibilities are endless!