A Lesbian Love Shack

I’m taking the train down to China Town today in search of some mythical boxes that will solve all my problems. Apparently there exists somewhere, hidden in the depths of China Town a magical set of chests and once I find them and bring them home, there will be nothing standing in my way to finishing my floors!

Follow my logic: My living room is more of a storage space and less of a living space. Yet my garage is filled full to overflowing with a million things I’ll die without, so that means I have to find a way to store all my necessary objects while still clearing away space so that I can move all the furniture, rip up the carpet and put down my shiny, new hard-wood floors …. all before Remi moves in!

So my brilliant lesbian solving skills came up with the over-simplistic idea of getting pretty boxes to put all my crap in. This way they can stay in the living room as end tables and such with no one the wiser.

Apparently, there is nothing quite as motivating to get oneself off one’s ass as to invite your girlfriend to move into your fixer-upper, slightly better then a shack of a house. Granted, I’m proud of the fact that I own real estate. But I’m not so proud of the current condition of my half-torn up dwelling. Nothing says procrastinator louder then walking around a house full of half done projects, exposed dry-wall, kitchen cabinets without doors (I was going to strip them and re-paint them … well that was the plan) and half torn up floors.

Yep, that’s right. I’ve invited my gf to move into a construction project.

But it’s going to be ok. I have 12 days before she shows up on my doorstep for leave. That’s plenty of time to do what I haven’t done in the last two years!

So I’m off to China Town in search of the magical set of chests that will transform my drab little house into a girlfriend-friendly, dykey abode of domestic bliss.

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