Here’s our eat-in-kitchen which features glamorous linoleum floors and a light fixture from the early 1980s Italian-American era of etched glass and shame. Note the Miami Vice pink walls. They are a running theme. In the entire house.
This part of the kitchen won’t be tackled until next year when our free money shows up. Until then, I will accept the overarching beige-ness and continue feeling like Buffalo Bill is my interior decorator.
Besides the couch and Beau who’s preparing to hang curtains over our sliding glass door, the living room is still predominantly empty. What seemed like an excessive amount of furniture in our tiny apartment barely fills the room here. I think the area behind the couch will eventually house a line of bookshelves reminiscent of the library in my childhood home. Also, possibly a liquor cabinet.
Here we have my very own fireplace in which I will burn wood, confidential papers, and any dissenters who think I should switch to a gas-burning fireplace. I’m proud of my little magazine-inspired display though Beau is skeptical. Yes, the long sign on the left says “Help Wanted. No Irish Need Apply.” I bought it after dumping the Evil Irish Bartender and I refuse to get rid of it just because I’m engaged to yet another mick. Anyone who objects will be thrown on the fire with the potatoes.
And lastly, a teaser shot of my staircase leading to the second floor which is too messy to conscionably photograph and post on the Internet. I have some standards. Those standards involve not taking pictures of my unmade bed.
Until then, look closely at the photos above. In one of them, I might be stark naked leaning against a flesh colored wall. That should keep you busy until I get around to making my bed.
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