sure shift

i had a hunch. i mustered up the courage to pitch it to the gent. something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just the fact that i had to climb over B every night and every morning to get out of bed. (Actually, come to think of it, that was definitely a big part of it.) The bed was wedged in a corner, the only place it seemed to fit, and one of us (read: me) opted for the wall side and night after night of climbing/crawling/leaping over the other to get in and out.

I’d only ever had one room among my many apartments that warranted a floating bed, as I had a desk and other furniture to fit and the corner was usually the most logical of locations to place the largest of furniture and waste the least square-footage. And frankly, I preferred my bed in the corner. Some fetal inclination, perhaps. But the day finally came that I realized just why “grown-ups” use the floating bed method (see above bed entry/exit description).

So I dared ask B to humor me a moment and give it a go. Letting skip a few beats before opinions formed about the change—allowing the eyes to refocus, readjust as when a light flickers back on in a dark room—we stepped back, and our simple gazes turned to admiration. This was right. yes, this was better.

One of my aforementioned concerns was the space in the room that would be absorbed with the new arrangement; I thought at first that the room looked smaller, tighter. Then, looking around, I realized we had, in fact, more space. With the empty center of the room occupied, we realized the open walls can make way for another piece of decorative furniture, if we’re so inclined (we’ve since agreed on a floor plant, coming soonish).

This arrangement even helps to resolve another issue I was having with the longest uninterrupted wall in the bedroom. The three detail panels felt awkward with the bed (and, in the bed’s defense, vice versa); I couldn’t figure out what sort of art to include (or leave off) the walls, as any arrangement felt lopsided. Now with the improved symmetry, a single centerpiece or 3 one-per-panel pieces should look lovely. (NB: We’re still working that. Personally, I’d kill to get a headboard, but chances are this bed frame will soon fall apart and we’re trying to avoid frivolous spending. For now.)

An extra shot from the door frame of the closet below. Still needs work, yes (don’t judge me).

P.S. Symmetry + sateen sheets = divine.

Advertisements

i shall name him Douglas

some serious DIY ornaments

I couldn’t do it. To avoid it would be akin to insulting my new home, rejecting that tawdry tradition that consumes a vast segment of the population once a year, in which I’ll admit I take a childish delight.

Now, B doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and I celebrate only its most pagan rituals. Growing up, the traditions were loose: unwrapping of presents could be the 24th, the 25th, sometimes even the 26th—however my mother’s job schedule would dictate it. So the day itself varied, and holds little significance. But heaven help me if I wasn’t devoted to that garishly decked-out tree.

B’s confusion starts and ends with the placement of a giant conifer in the middle of one’s house, and I don’t blame him. But looking at my apartment, void of a single needle of pine, I couldn’t help but frown for the lack of my contribution to the festivities.

There’ll be a lush, full pine tree in the living room of my parents house when we visit later this week. Until then, I thought I’d make do with some festive décor of my own. Walking home from seeing Black Swan today ($6 matinee before noon! also: wow good movie), B and I passed a tree vendor and my eye caught these tiny stumps with branch tips splayed out from a center notch. $1. Sold. At home, I took out my little sewing pouch to tie some flowers to the twigs, and upon noticing my profuse collection of colorful buttons, inspiration struck. Okay, okay, perhaps not the most innovative creation, but inspiration nonetheless! I topped it off by tying a sheer white ribbon to its 11-inch-high peak, and consider my apartment Christmas spirited away.

hit and miss

Further additions to the apartment have resulted in, well, a hit and a miss.

Finally got around to painting the bathroom walls, a pale green, and … I hate it. We were going for a light, warm, rusty green, and instead we got mint. Seafoam. Algae, even. Either way, I hate it. It’s a fine color and all, but not for my bathroom or this apartment. Not sure when I’ll get around to repainting, but it shall be done. (If you happen to like it, Benjamin Moore Etched Glass – Aura 626.)

 

 

The other, much more successful newbie are two adorable pillows. We found these vintage cushions ($30 each) at Brooklyn Flea, from a Little of India. They’re soft, washable (with removable covers), and brighten up the sofa perfectly. So so happy with these.

 

 

Celebrated B’s birthday this weekend! So exhausting. So fun.

a flash of light

this is the mid-afternoon lighting in my apartment.

the pathology of cleanliness

I finally understand how the neuroses begin. It seems something that adults have deeply ingrained at some point in their lives. Is it mere age? Childbearing? No—it’s upon buying one’s first piece of expensive furniture. And by expensive, I mean anything that isn’t IKEA-made.

Our furniture collection became complete as of this past Saturday (notwithstanding the new bed we intend to buy only after the current one literally breaks under us … which may be any day now). A darling little taupe sofa (rather a behemoth in our living room) and a custom-made coffee table arrived to nearly complete the living room.

 

The coffee table is what B and I hope to be the start of our collection of things that have character, a story, and/or offer a little eco-goodness—all of which this lil guy embodies. B picked it up from Koff Designs in Brooklyn. It’s made from a piece of reclaimed wood from a Brooklyn brownstone. So pretty.

 

koff designs' trademark placard

 

And so, last night, we settled down to eat and watch some TV, winding down from a day of work (and the abrupt beginning of a cold on my part, which I’m working to fight off today), and the new pieces felt like delicate creatures we were entrusted to protect, to care for. I spilled a few crumbs, and B lurched. Seeing a fleck on the table after shifting a vase, we gasped in horror (just dust, it came out). We considered, perhaps for the first time, the art of the TV dinner and glanced at each other like nervous new parents. And then we nestled back into the couch, propped our feet on the table, and continued with caution.

Tonight I’ll be cooking duck for the first time, along with acorn squash, both from the farmers market. It’ll be served at the dining table.

presents and paint

Gift wrap and surprises are wholly unnecessary. I succumb to the same euphoria opening the box of a tea kettle I just bought for myself as I would unwrapping an unknown package on Christmas morning as a child (or even last year, let’s be serious). After work this evening, B and I trekked to Bed Bath & Beyond—armed with a 20%-off-everything coupon—and indulged in (mostly) necessities to round out a weekend of IKEA, painting, and continued arranging.

BEFORE …

Less a before shot, as that would suggest the room was actually decorated this way for a significant period of time (yikes). You’ll see the walls are rather cream colored, leaning dangerously close to a light yellow, no thanks to the aggressively incandescent ceiling light (which we try to avoid using).

AFTER …
Walls are now the ever-classic Primer White; accent wall is Benjamin Moore Peacock Feathers. Came out quite nice, I think. The overarching color scheme for the apartment will be blues, greens, and browns—the few colors we could agree on and with a touch of earthy. Next up: bathroom painting, and sofa delivery on Saturday (!), which alas, I’ll miss, as I’ll be in DC for work.

Side note: If you’re not a runner (hello), do yourself a favor and become a marathon cheerer. It is the most fun you’ll have watching people exercise at 10 o’clock in the morning on a Sunday. And the runners adore it. Extra step: make hilarious signs, preferably involving hackneyed sexual innuendo.

yes, that last obscured signs says “that’s what she said.” you get it.