>Retraction.

>I’m not sure if it was in a previous blog, or a conversation, or just a random thought flitting about in my head at one point, but…I owe an apology.

Home Depot is one of my favorite art supply shopping destinations. Lumber, nails, staple guns, paint, brushes…the place is a veritable artists’ utopia. Save for one thing.

The home improvement yuppie shopper.

The Louis-Vuitton clad women in their clickety-click mules shuffling about the paint department, their kids running amok amidst the potted plants. Their pussy-whipped husbands discussing crown molding and lighting fixtures whilst scratching their asses. These materialistic suburbanites mindlessly consuming to make their home the most tricked-out ornate monstrosity in all of their sprawling clear-cut master-planned community. I loathed them. I sent them leering glares as I tried to wedge behind them to get to the Oops! paint section. I hoped they’d all rot in hell.

Today Bryan and I went to Home Depot. I did not go for nails. I did not go for wood glue. Or caulk. Not staples not dropcloths nor lumber.

I went…

(dramatic pause…)

…to price lighting fixtures.

(gasp!)

Indeed.

Thus, I owe an apology. I apologize for not only judging them so harshly, but also I apologize that they also happen to be complete horse’s asses. But that’s another blog altogether.

We don’t close ’till the 15th but I’ve already joined the ranks of these laminate-flooring automatons. Although I feel I should be in a separate branch altogether, as my house is not in a sprawling clear-cut master-planned community. My house was not built in 2005 with automated everything and garden tubs in every bathroom. My house is not a cookie-cutter nightmare.

This is my house. This is my 1968 remodeled rambler with no automatic garage door openers, no automatic sprinkler systems, no jets in the bathtubs. Hell, it doesn’t even have a microwave, which might prove problematic for me as I have no culinary skills whatsoever. My house has amazing landscaping, 3 acres of state-protected forest in its backyard, and is teeming with so much character and personality it makes my skull crack. In a good way. Whatever the hell I mean by that. Makes no sense but yet I keep it going. Should I let it go now? Indeed.

So now I shall direct you
here
to see photos of my new abode, since re-posting them in my blog would be not only redundant but keep me from my hard-earned bath. I’ve been dismantling my studio all day. I’m offending myself.

voulez-voulez-vous mi casa, su casa

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