We moved into our house almost two years ago, to the day. It's a nice house -- not the house I would have imagined us living in (I was hoping for more of a Richard Neutra glass box overlooking a cliff kinda number) but it'll certainly do. When we first got here, we ripped up all the off-white, everyone-in-Michigan-has-this-shitty-shag-covering-every-horizontal-
surface carpet and put in some new carpet upstairs, some porcelain/fake slate tile in the kitchen and some walnut floors in the living room and family room. So flooring-wise, we were pretty set.
And that was all the money we had, so the renovation basically stopped there. Two years ago. Sure, we got the walls painted and painted some doors, but that was about it. The living/dining room is basically a gymnasium with a piano in it. No furniture, nothing. We just fixed up the downstairs bathroom and, frankly, it's the nicest room in the house. I'm actually thinking of sleeping in there.
Well, we've finally gotten around to calling an electrician (okay, the old lady called him -- I have a phone-related phobia that I'm sure you would read about daily in the old lady's blog, were she to start one) who is coming by tomorrow to install some canister lights in the hallway, and two "fancy" lights that we got on the internets.
Here's the one we're putting in the stairwell:
And here's the one that's going in the dining room, over the non-existent dining room table and chairs:
Pretty sweet, right? Well, the first one, the "George Nelson Bubble Lamp," came nicely boxed (2 years ago) and ready to hang. The second one, the "Norm 69" came in this box:
For scale purposes, that box is about the size of a personal pan pizza box. Here's what the ol' Norm looks like inside the box:
It's a fucking personal pan pizza box with about 100 flat pieces of plastic that GUESS WHO has to fold/twist/interlock until it somehow looks like the picture on the goddamn box! You're an asshole, Norm! I've been putting the fucker together for literally the last three hours and I'm only two-thirds of the way done!
And I can't fuck it up because there are no extra flat pieces of plastic in that box. One shot for crabbydad! And I'm not a one-shot kinda guy! The pressure is intense! I CAN'T TAKE IT MUCH LONGER!!!!
But, what the shit?! Why am I paying I-don't-remember-how-much-because-we-bought-it-two-years-ago-
but-I-know-it-was-fucking-expensive for this glorified do-it-yourself Cracker Jack prize?! Just who the fuck does Norm think he is?! And what does the 69 stand for?! Is that how many of these fucking sham lamp kits Norm has sold, or is it simply what one's old lady has to promise to do if her Mr. Fix-It partner gives up six hours of his life to put together a goddamn lamp to go over a table we probably won't be able to buy for at least another two years?!
It's like buying a... oh, I don't know... say, a Toyota Prius kit in the mail. And then, when you open the box, it's filled with fifty strips of sheet-metal, a few bolts and a AAA battery. There you go! One Toyota Prius. Just gotta put it together.
Norm 69... fuck you!