I Found More Than Just Containers....

I want to design my own t-shirt. I wouldn't sell it and no one besides myself would want it because it would say:

I just got back from 

and all I got was this AMAZING NEW BEST FRIEND. 

And underneath would be a picture of me and Ellen, the sales associate who made me feel like a better person.

This is what happens when I try to sneak out briefly during work to get a set of drawers.

Ever since the blog stopped being a safe space, I've been unable to tell my personal truths in the cathartic way that this blog once offered. I can, however, talk about how I'm feeling, since that doesn't sully anyone's good name and feelings aren't facts. 

In short: I'm having a hard time. 

See, I'm not very good at "organizing," "making efficient use of my time," or "being a functioning member of society." Whenever I manage to get anything together it's usually because I've been guilted or shamed into behaving in a socially acceptable manner.* Which, of course, means that I'm having trouble living in close quarters with a man and two cats—all of whom I love—that remind me every day that I'm just taking up too much space. 

I know that I need to get rid of the half-full Ikea bags full of clothing that I've hidden in the closet—I mean, it's because of them that I've worn the same 6 outfits for the last 3 weeks! And I can't complain about Jewboo's unpacked boxes when I'm using a stack of three of them as a desk for my laptop. As RuPaul used to say: If you can't love [living with yourself], how in the hell are you gonna love [living with your Jewboo]??? 

She also said, "Don't fuck it up," which I should also take to heart.

With that in mind, I started looking through shelving options on the Container Store's website. I was immediately overwhelmed (do you know there are containers for holding your double-A batteries???) and finally decided to just walk the 50 feet from my office to the actual store. 

Actually, what I said to myself was "THIS. ENDS. NOW." before I grabbed my credit card and keys (they won't know I've really left if my purse stays!)

[Yes, I like to think of myself as Bruce Willis in everything ever.]

When I got there, it was all too much. For a store that was all about containing, I felt it was overflowing with stuff that was just out of control! I was about to walk out when I spotted a smiley sales associate with a hip haircut and very subtle blue-grey eyeshadow.

"I need help!" I said, much like a lost child at a county fair. (I've found this is the best way to get a stranger's attention and immediate sympathy.)

"What are you looking for?" Smiley Lady said, much like a kindergarten teacher addressing someone who she knows has just peed his pants. 

"I need shelving because I just moved in with my boyfriend and my shit's a hot mess and if I don't get it together we're over, and I was on the website and saw this shelving unit that I want and I was at my desk and decided, 'THIS ENDS TONIGHT' but I can't find it."

Her name was Ellen. She was very patient and had no problem with TMI, which means we're meant to be BFF. 

Elllen got married last year and she and her husband have been living in a studio apartment—and they're making their love work!!

"How, Ellen? HOW?" I asked as we stood by the mesh Elfa drawers sold exclusively at The Container Store.

Ellen explained that she's pretty chill and just says exactly what she's thinking.

"Yeah," I said. "I don't see you as one to fly off the handle." I just got her, you know?

 Unfortunately the item I saw online actually looked like it was based on the novel PUSH  by Sapphire, and I was back to square one, but Ellen helped me figure it out before I had a Mariah Meltdown.

As I left without a drawer unit for my clothes, but with a jazzy clothes hamper, I felt hopeful. I'm ordering some drawers to pick up in store, which is both high-tech and less stressful. I'm probably going to pick them up on Saturday, which is the next day that Ellen's working.

Yes, she told me of her own volition. We're going to start going on coffee dates at Bed Bath & Beyond's cafe and I'll probably get her to "Like" my Facebook fan page. #BFFnotonNBC

*We all know that if I had my way I'd be the star of next season's new show "Biggest Hoarders Loser Intervention," where obese men and women are made to lose weight by kicking their drug addiction and cleaning their health-code-violating compounds.

Hot... or Not?

Have you ever seen someone who was really, really hot? Like, so hot you think, "you're too hot to live. I have to kill you, because if you're single, you're a threat to society, and you're too hot for just one person."

I felt like this about an hour ago on the subway. I was hotter than a ho in church and looked like an 8 year old who didn't know how to eat properly: due to the underground railroad's malfunction, I had to walk in the sweltering heat to work, and arrived so drenched that I had no choice but to change into the outfit I'd brought for post-work play time. Unfortunately, this meant that I spent most of the work day looking like a whore.

Then, to top it off, during lunch with my boss (did he ask me to lunch cause I looked like a whore?) at a BBQ restaurant, I spilled bbq sauce on my WHITE PANTS (see previous post titled, "epiphany."). This meant I spent the rest of the day looking like an out-of-work prostitute who hadn't showered in days.

Anyway, when I finally made it on a train home, I was packed like a sardine next to this HOT tall glass of milk. He fit all my criteria: he was over 6'1", had a chiseled jaw, strong hands, and lips like a girl.

As I'm enjoying brushing up against him and judging him based on his iPod menu (he had The Killers!), we are forced apart by the availability of two new seats. We sit across from each other, and I'm able to eye fuck the shit out of him.

But soon, around 103rd street, the bloom began to fade from the rose. His Angie Jolie lips were starting to get on my nerves. It looked like he was, like, really pouting. But not in a sad, my-ice-cream-cone-fell-on-the-floor-two-seconds-after-I-bought-it way. He was for serious modeling in his head. I started to think, "Wait, does he think he's Derek Zoolander? Is this 'Magnum'?" I started to get turned off by what was clearly posing.

It sucks when you think you can marry someone you meet on the subway and they don't get off the train soon enough and you see them for who they truly are: a pouty wanna-be male model in a lilac shirt listening to The Killers.

Well, I guess it's okay cause now I don't have to kill him to save humanity.