What's up, Interiors?! Long time, no see here at the Sauce. Probably because you've been sucking this summer and everywhere I look it's this:
Which is cool if you want to be that sort of thing, Interiors, but that's not me and you know it and it feels like you're purposely denying me the goodness. WHY ARE YOU DENYING ME THE GOODNESS???!!!
Whatever. I don't care anyway because I've been busy doing really important things lately like painting my living room, drinking a lot of Pomojes and avoiding modern stairs. Those last two things are probably related...
But this lately you seem to have brought the goodness back:The pale pink and ocher-y yellow in this space is rather disgusting. I love it! But I'm rather fond of disgusting things. And blackness. And big art. But not strategically placed shopping bags. Are we not over this yet, Interiors?
But you have redeemed yourself with this nap-worthy retreat. There is so much squee in here that I literally popped an ovary and my body was flooded with angel babies and glittery buckets of estrogen until I overdosed on fabulosity. True story. There's some paranormal activity up in the Ranch in the form of blogging.
That's the good thing about smooth interior to exterior transitions: my dead-from-fabulosity body could claw its way along the floor trying to get outside like one of those legless zombies from Walking Dead. If I couldn't make it someone could just swivel the door and scoot the rest of my glittery carcass (or passed-out party guests, hobos, etc.) outside onto that delicious patio.
Drippin' swagoo.
Still dead.
Hey look at those stairs that have zero percent chance of mangling myself on AND that lick-worthy banister that it no way detracts from this space! Thanks for listening, Interiors. You were there for me all along and I just wasn't paying attention.
Ok we're cool, Interiors. You have redeemed yourself from this summer's previous transgressions of absolute boredom. Just don't let it happen again. I can't just regrow ovaries like a damn starfish! I have to maintain a baseline of some squee so the spikes do not cause eruptions.
However, if I could regrow ovaries I would be harvesting my eggs for dozens of dollars (Madame babies go for premo bank) and then use that money to buy loverly interiors like these. And then I would have a blog called Jefferson Starfish (because why not?!) and show you all my egg-bought interiors.
Damn you, not-yet-feasible-human-echinoderm-hybridization!!
What is a pomoje? And I think I just fell in love all over again when you wrote that your ovaries exploded and created angel babies.
ReplyDeleteMadame, you make me laugh every time I read your blog. How do you come up with this stuff?
ReplyDeleteAFF - A Pomoj is a drink invented at the Ranch this summer consisting of pomegranate vodka, pom juice and a little OJ. Delicious! Buh bye angel babies.
ReplyDeleteSweet Magnolia - I'm just dictating my inner monologue for the world. "This stuff" just finds me I guess! ; )