Nov 01, 2009

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#18 If you build it, I will marry you. Married people like IKEA: This is how I know we’ve hit a marriage milestone—we buy bedding and replace throw pillows. It’s amazing how the smallest change creates a sense of deep renewal. Buying new stuff is temporarily cleansing for the soul, yes? We went to IKEA with the intention of purchasing new nightstands. Of course, we came home with a few additional items, like new duvet covers, bedside lamps, a wok (because how can you NOT buy a wok for $7) and other miscellaneous items that we didn’t know we needed until we saw them. The name IKEA is Swedish for IDEA. Okay not really, but play along. A part of me believes the Swedes have an uncanny ability to read minds. That’s why the store is setup like a glorious three-story warehouse/dollhouse hybrid, flaunting fully designed rooms down to the last detail. We were there for two hours and on the way out, John bought me a fresh-baked cinnamon roll for $1, which was literally the icing on my mini-shopping-spree. When we got home, my hubby promptly carried the oversized blue bags up to our bedroom. Then I decided to help. (My first mistake.) I attempted to put our new jet-black duvet cover on the king size bed. I struggled for fifteen minutes before admitting defeat and calling in for backup. When John entered our room, it became apparent that I didn’t do anything to help the situation. Once he undid my mess, he had the duvet cover on in three minutes. There is only one drawback to the beauty of IKEA: Assembly is required for most things. I don’t care how many illustrations are included in the manual—I won’t understand. So what is a girl to do when she loves IKEA but cannot, for the life of her, read directions? Marry an Industrial Designer. Duh. I am in awe of John’s ability to follow instructions. He can actually “fix things” and “build stuff” without directions, too. Isn’t that crazy? This is how our conversation goes when John moves on to his next task, which is building the nightstand. John: “Go in the tool room (garage) and grab a wrench.” Me: “Drawer?” John: “Third.” Me: “Size?” John: “Second to the left.” I know nothing about tools and yet I will bring back exactly what he needs without the help of divine intervention. This is because each drawer in John’s toolbox looks like a store-ready display case, the items are color coordinated and arranged according to size. After retrieving the wrench, this small sense of accomplishment caused me to foolishly believe I could rebound from my duvet disaster. So I attempted to put together a lampshade. Yes, a lampshade. I was stumped by the second step. (Step one was taking the pieces out of the box.) Feeling officially useless, I decided the best thing to do was add a little ambiance to our interior decorating party. I walked across the hall and into my office, logging on to the world-wide-webtastic....
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#20 The Dark Side of marriage. Married people like weekend occasions, occasionally: The first time he saw the commercial, I knew The Force was drawing him in, as proven by his arm hair standing on end. Then sixty seconds later I watched as he leapt to the stairs like a toddler on Christmas morning, rushing to reserve front-row seats through Ticketmaster.com. Yes, I am talking about the one, the only: Star Wars In Concert Worldwide Tour. Say what you will about Star Wars, but it’s an undeniable phenomenon, big enough to launch a global multi-media production. So, naturally, I decided it was worthy of a little research—via the US Library of Cosmos, otherwise known as the Internet. It’s amazing what you can learn by entering a few keyword phrases. Wham! instant search engine gratification. Turns out, tomorrow night’s entertainment will be narrated by Anthony Daniels aka C-3PO aka the gold droid with the funny accent. The evening also promises a powerful film montage projected on a super-duper LED screen, where classic cult images are then synchronized with a symphony orchestra and live choir. Don’t be jealous. You should know that we’re not typically concertgoers. We’re homesteaders who tend to MogLand, and our crops include: drama, comedy and Pixar. The last time we went anywhere that required actual tickets, we were invited (as a last resort) to Disney On Ice. I’m pretty sure John and I were the only non-breeders in attendance. This is how I know we’re hermits: Last Christmas, we planned to see the Nutcracker in Fort Lauderdale. We stared at the tickets tucked beneath the fridge magnet for weeks. But when the day finally arrived, we fizzled. Then there was the time that John gave me phony passes to a Kathy Griffin concert. He printed the dates and told me to pick a night. Yeah, we never made it to that gig either. I realize, however, that there’s zero-chance of escaping this one. In fact, my husband has been in Ohio for the past ten days, and he just returned home at 2 o’clock this morning, we are SO going tomorrow. Here’s the tip of my anxiety iceberg: I hate the thought of navigating downtown’s one-way labyrinth. I’m not a big fan of parking decks either. I suppose most gals would go shopping in anticipation of such a big night out—and I may or may not be hitting up Target® later. But trust me, deciding what to wear is the last thing on my mind. Mostly because I predict tomorrow will feel like a Charlotte-version of Comic Con a la George Lucas. Seriously, it doesn’t matter how I dress, because how could I ever fit in (or stand out) in a crowd of costume-clad freaks donning light sabers and black capes? Now, before you cast your stone and snicker that only “Geeks” behave so preposterously, consider this: Recently, I was stuck watching MNF on ESPN (see what happens when John is out of town) and I just happened to notice a crowd of shirtless...

LRM

Italian by heritage. Croatian by marriage. Writer by addiction.

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