Today’s post is going to be as stale as the gingerbread structure that I’m still working on. Ed says he enjoys my vintage posts, and I value his opinion. Except when it comes to the Avid BB7 brake calipers, which are garbage. Silly Briton is silly.
Anyway, this throwback post was written during my original Victoria days, back when I was certifiably poor, and a trip to Starbucks was considered a splurge. My then-roommate, Danica, taught me to embrace kitsch. If you don’t have the funds for tasteful décor, go big and go ugly. We had velvet paintings, an Astroturf rug and matching Astroturf topped coffee table with halved doll heads glued to the sides, a clawfoot bathtub, and a sink decorated with a hula skirt, a gold elephant clock with light-up flowers, and so on.
When Danica moved out, I took over her bedroom, which was actually a den and therefore had no closet, I found myself needing a dresser for my unmentionables. Why’d I taken over this room, then? It was large, had a fireplace, and a private balcony which was illuminated by a red lightbulb. It was my own little red light district, overlooking a tree decorated with baby doll parts.
January 9, 2006
I am temporarily poor.
Amanda and I dropped by our beloved Starbucks after work today to eat up some time before Amanda had to catch her bus. I ordered a tall peppermint hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll while Amanda selected the coffee of the day. The total came to $8 something, which I attempted to pay using my debit card.
I blushed slightly and requested to try again. I must’ve pressed the wrong button. This time, I made sure to press the correct one: chequing.
NOW I was mortified. I spun around in search for Amanda who was found at the coffee preparation counter happily stirring her coffee of the day into oblivion.
Here’s the approximate transcription of conversation that took place:
“I need you,” I begged.
“Yes, I love you… will you be my sugar daddy?”
To our dismay, her funds were as insufficient as mine. Now the two of us were embarrassed. We just stood there looking fairly pathetic fishing through our wallets for change to cover the drinks that were already made until the friendly barista told us it was okay, and even handed me over my cinnamon roll to enjoy in shame.
Except, I couldn’t enjoy my cinnamon roll knowing that I had seen over half a grand sitting in my account just two days earlier. So, as soon as Amanda and I parted, I ran over to my bank to check my balance. As I expected, I did have plenty of money so I went ahead and requested the ATM for a withdrawal.
“Insufficient funds. $1.53”
Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. I skipped my grocery shopping plans and went directly home, where I greeted Danica with a series of panicked signing which she somehow managed to understand.
As my online banking page loaded my account information, I realized what had probably happened; I had received my last paycheque later than usual and figured it’d be faster to make the deposit through the ATM rather than wait until Friday, the only day I’m able to make it to the bank on time before it closes. I completely neglected the fact that it takes five business days for the cheque to go through. I’m only on day four, so by tomorrow I’ll be up to my ankles in money. I’ll celebrate by treating myself to a giant bag of bulk dehydrated fruit.
Anyway, check out my new dresser:
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Why, with a bit of paint, this thing could be a beautiful chest of drawers!” But, if I were to beautify it, it would clash with pretty much everything in my bedroom, especially my makeshift curtain: a very 70s bedsheet with a pattern of pansies, and of course, my newly broken floor lamp.
Rather than give it a luscious coat of glossy black paint, I plan on intensifying the ugliness. If you don’t believe that’s possible then you clearly haven’t watched as many episodes of Debbie Travis’ Painted House as I have. Debbie Travis has taught me that yes, it IS possible to make something ugly even uglier.
I’ll break out the acrylic paints, skip the sanding (hey, my laziness will work in my favor this time!), and see if Danica has any cheesy stencils. I’m also giving you guys the opportunity to submit the shittiest poem you can possibly come up with (or find– may I suggest LiveJournal as your starting place?). The winning poem will be painted on my dresser.
It’s not going to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Guaranteed.
Addendum: I invited several friends to help me paint this dresser and this was the result. (Victoria won the shitty poetry contest.)
When it came time to get rid of the dresser, guess who adopted it?
None other than Zoée.
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