Been shopping.
Hilarious post over at "Have you done your teeth," that expresses pretty much my feelings about shopping. Fucking hate it.
In a bizarre reversal of cliches, my husband adores shopping. He strolls the aisles at the supermarket, pondering things, looking at product. I go in, like I invented guerilla warfare. Grab a cart, race to the specific spots where I know the stuff I want is kept, and then get the fuck out. Do not stop to chat with the deli guys, do not comparison shop orange juice. Tropicana, not from concentrate, that's IT. NO, NOT THAT FUCKING FROM CONCENTRATE SHIT. Let's GO! Move! Move! Move!
Had to spend some time and money on crap for the house tonight. Some cat food and a cat toy or two, Brita filters, soap, mattress pad. Just got back...well, got back a while ago, had to spend a half an hour - HALF A FUCKING HOUR - putting together this "Martha Stewart Essentials" fucking-piece-of-shit-no-instructions-included-defective-goddamn-desk-lamp. Why did this thing come in three pieces, when it stands a foot tall, and would have fit in the goddamn box fully assembled? And why, for the love of Pete, did I have to POUND, WITH A HAMMER, at the arm of the thing to make it fit into the base? Seriously...I had to take a hammer out, and pound at the end that's supposed to fit into the base, because it was too large for the wee hole it was supposed to fit into. A hammer. Jesus Christ. It's supposed to fit right in there. But it didn't. And I couldn't be arsed to put it all back into the box (with its fourteen tons of cardboard and plastic packaging, now scattered across my kitchen for the cats to play with and get suffocated by), because I just don't like returning things and I want it set up NOW, not wait another four days to get a goddamn cheap-ass desk lamp.
To top it all off, it's not anything to look at, is it?
In a bizarre reversal of cliches, my husband adores shopping. He strolls the aisles at the supermarket, pondering things, looking at product. I go in, like I invented guerilla warfare. Grab a cart, race to the specific spots where I know the stuff I want is kept, and then get the fuck out. Do not stop to chat with the deli guys, do not comparison shop orange juice. Tropicana, not from concentrate, that's IT. NO, NOT THAT FUCKING FROM CONCENTRATE SHIT. Let's GO! Move! Move! Move!
Had to spend some time and money on crap for the house tonight. Some cat food and a cat toy or two, Brita filters, soap, mattress pad. Just got back...well, got back a while ago, had to spend a half an hour - HALF A FUCKING HOUR - putting together this "Martha Stewart Essentials" fucking-piece-of-shit-no-instructions-included-defective-goddamn-desk-lamp. Why did this thing come in three pieces, when it stands a foot tall, and would have fit in the goddamn box fully assembled? And why, for the love of Pete, did I have to POUND, WITH A HAMMER, at the arm of the thing to make it fit into the base? Seriously...I had to take a hammer out, and pound at the end that's supposed to fit into the base, because it was too large for the wee hole it was supposed to fit into. A hammer. Jesus Christ. It's supposed to fit right in there. But it didn't. And I couldn't be arsed to put it all back into the box (with its fourteen tons of cardboard and plastic packaging, now scattered across my kitchen for the cats to play with and get suffocated by), because I just don't like returning things and I want it set up NOW, not wait another four days to get a goddamn cheap-ass desk lamp.
To top it all off, it's not anything to look at, is it?
posted by Andraste at 8:46 PM
10 Comments:
Sure it wasn't just supposed to screw into the base?
Yes, I'm sure, smartass. There were no grooves on either piece, and the "male" piece was larger than the "female" opening it was supposed to go into. I had to hammer the "male" piece aruond the end, to make it smaller. Good thing that doesn't happen in...oh, nevermind.
You know, I find furniture assembly much more fun when drunk. Nearly every piece of furniture in my apartment is from IKEA including my fabulously comfortable bed. It's a wonder that thing hasn't fallen apart yet considering I assembled it completely hammered with the aid of no one. It's a queen size bed. Clearly, this is not a one-person job. And there are still various screws and metal rod thingies scattered on the floor under said bed. I'm sure they're important somehow...
Nah, all those pieces that fall off are extraneous... until the bed collapses, then you have to figure out where they go all over again...
I hate putting together furniture. I would rather superglue my nuts to my thigh.
That is one craven-looking lamp. It is sullen, and one evening will start cackling at you a la The Evil Dead.
I wouldn't be at all surprised. But if I hear one cackle out of the fucker my hammer's coming out again.
Let's not be hasty. Maybe it is sad.
Hmmmm...maybe. I mean, it WAS born ugly, cheap, and defective.
It is not too late. With your nurturing love, he/she will be alright. Having been born ugly, cheap and defective myself, I think I can take the moral high-ground on this one.
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