Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Home Meh Home

Have you ever been to someone's house that looks like it came out of an issue of Better Homes and Gardens?  My apartment does not.  I wouldn't say I'm a slob, but that's only because I'm not being truthful.   It is just not something I feel is important.  I live alone and rarely have people over, because it freaks me out to entertain. (I've probably mentioned this before, but people scare the shit of me. That's a whole other post.) I spend as little time as possible at home and if I am home I'd much rather waste time by learning lines,  reading or Huluing than scooping up dust bunnies. 

I've been in my apartment for a year a half now.  When I first moved in, I discovered that the number of books I had in my old place somehow grew when I moved into my new place.  I threw a bunch of them in a box and they had a couple of weeks living in close quarters, so who knows what went on in that box during that time.  I don't like to think about it.  But the upshot is, I now have too many books.  So I just left them in the box and planned to buy a small, two- or three-shelf bookcase to put them in.  That was my plan.  Actually, it still is my plan, evidently, because those books are still living in that box.  (Don't worry, I threw in a box of condoms, so that should keep the population steady.)  I just haven't found the time/motivation/money to buy the damn bookcase.  Martha Stewart would not approve, and I don't really care.  But, thanks to my Irish Catholic upbringing, I do feel guilty about not caring.  It's a lose-lose. (Which is the Irish Catholic equivalent of a win-win.)

Please don't get the impression that my apartment could audition for an episode of Hoarders--it's not that bad, just not that good.  Not Better Homes and Gardens good.  And I guess I'm kind of fascinated by the people that have BH&G décor.  I wouldn't know how to justify spending $50 on a thing that sits on a table and doesn't serve a purpose other than sitting on a table.  I can do that for free.  (Although if anyone wants to pay me for that, I'm down.  I have very little pride left.)  I once went to a home that had an entire wall covered with Gone With The Wind Commerative Plates.  There must have been fifty of them----fifty poorly drawn pictures of Vivian Leigh and Clark Gable and Hattie McDaniels.   My kids were with me, but too young at the time to appreciate the incredible kitchyness/tackyness/laugh-out-loudity of the situation.  I think I actually gasped and, luckily, the hostess took that as a sign of delight/jealousy.  "Yes, aren't they beautiful?  I have the whole set."  I was able to honestly answer, "I've never seen anything like that."  I hope I never have to again.

Oh, well, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum, etc., etc., and my guess is that the type of person who shells out beaucoup du bucks for Commerative Gone With The Wind plates wouldn't enjoy hanging out on a porch, drinking beer and talking theatre.  Her loss.

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