smothered hope

There's a foul odour following me around the apartment. I can't seem to figure out where it's emenating from, and I've washed my hands, septum ring and drinking glass, as well as given my sweatshirt and feet a thorough sniffing (oh shut up, you'd have done the same). It's not on the furniture. It's not in the kitchen sink. It's not the trash bin, either. It smells like something between sweaty sneaker and piercing stink (the icky funk that accompanies a piercing in need of a cleaning). Gah.

Steve and I have been building frankenfurniture out of some old, ugly pieces laying about the loft. See, Kurt owns this horrible* old 1950's radio cabinet, one of the big jobs that looks more like a chest of drawers or a television/dvd/stereo unit (albeit in antiquated style). It had long since been gutted of it's electronics and had been serving as an inefficient CD storage unit and table for some time. Steve and I have been labouring tiringly to replace the innards with shelves and to repair one of the cabinet doors (which was previously ornamental only), and I am on break from that very job while Steve's allergy meds kick in. He's a little testy at present, so I thought I'd hide out in the computer room.

If it were up to me, I'd do a lot more overhauling on the stereo cabinet: A coat of paint (since the veneer simply cannot be salvaged at this point), some new fixtures and different fabric behind the grilles on the cabinet doors, and I think I'd have a rather strinking piece. Well, as striking as cannibalized 1950's furniture can be. I'm actually rather fond of antique and (I shudder to use the word) retro furniture. Ideally, I'd have a very streamlined decor, borrowing elements of Art Deco and early 1960's minimalist design. But I do not have my way, and ideals are just dreams whan you haven't the means, so I'll stick with my 60's couch and just pretend that the other stuff in here fits with it.

I'll have you know that I restrained myself from writing "trash" in place of "stuff" just now. But even my roomies would agree: most of the furniture in this place, with a few key exceptions, is garbage. It's functional, and until such time as we can each afford to buy a nice piece of our own which happens to match our companions' tastes (not very likely, considering how attached Kurt is to that cabinet), we'll have to make do and arrange everything in the least offensive configuration possible.

I'm pretty sure a new coat of paint on the walls would make a huge difference, but for now, we've a bathroom under renovation, which will be eating up the "home reno" fund for now with the cost of a new shower alone. But man, when it's done, it's going to be one sweet powder room!

I'm sad to say that I haven't much more exciting news than this. I haven't yet made my YMCA membership because when we went the other night, they were out of application forms. We were going to go this morning, but got distracted by the cabinet project. Mind you, it's feels wonderful to be so productive, to help make things with my two hands! We plan on setting up Steve's stereo equipment inside the cabinet so we'll be able to enjoy music in the living room for a change. And on that note (pun intended because I am still suffering with that foul odour and thought I'd share the stinkiness with you somehow), I'm off to rouse Steve and finish the job.

*Ok, ok, it's just not my particualr cup of tea. A tad too ornate, dated and space-consuming, is all.

back | forth

listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)

previously on Smothered Hope:

unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08