Time Is a Flat-Packaged Ikea Box
March 10, 2014
I am having some technical difficulties today. Said difficulties involve my scanner being a punk-ass little bitch who won't scan for shit. Technically speaking, of course. Sorry if that went over anybody's head.
I've decided that I can fix the scanner by acting like I don't actually need to scan anything for my blog post today. (WHISPER SPEAK: Even though for my original idea, I totally did, dammit.) I am resorting to employing reverse psychology with a hunk of office equipment because I've already tried unplugging it and turning it back on and that didn't work. So mind games it is! I bet you're sorry now, scanner.
Of course, this leaves me with not a whole hell of a lot to talk about. Um. Ezra broke a lamp in the living room and so we went to Ikea to buy a new lamp for the living room? But the kids' play area was closed for renovation just in time for Ike to be potty trained and possibly tall enough (if you count his hairz; I was hoping to talk them into counting his hairz) to join his brothers in the play area?
And so what we thought was going to be a breezy, childfree jaunt through the store in search of a lamp and one of those paper-filing tray things for my office descended into a bleak, horrible trek through everything that is awful about Ikea, including kids 1) wandering off, 2) whining about everything, EVERYTHING, oh God stop whining, 3) announcing a desperate need to poop right in the middle of the Marketplace Dead Zone, where you could not possibly be further away from a bathroom in every blessed direction?
Also, Jason tried to rush me as I was comparing my paper-filing tray options and I basically freaked out at him, old-skool Ikea-Fight style.
(I naively thought I could find that linked post by simply typing "ikea" into the search bar. 344 goddamn results. I really need a new schtick, or at least face the terrible, nihilistic reality that there is no storage solution in existence that will solve my personal storage problems, and there never will be.)
At least our trip There and Back Again resulted in 1) $1 frozen yogurts and sassy faces:
And 2) this admittedly adorable greenhouse thingie for Jason's ongoing, years' long quest to grow an avocado plant:
After at least two dozen failed attempts, these are the first plants he's managed to coax past the "growing some ugly roots and not much else" stage. And he admits he has absolutely no idea what to do with them next, as we do not live in a Prime Avocado Growing Climate and they will probably die instantly if we tried to plant them outside. But the point is: LOOK. THERE ARE LEAVES. I AM CLEARLY PART GOD. LET'S BUY THEM A LITTLE HOUSE AND KEEP THEM AS PETS.
Let's see. Perhaps we can talk about daylight savings, and how having a few devices automatically adjust (mobile phones, laptops, cable box) is actually not as helpful as it should be, since I invariably spend at least a couple days in a state of confusion because I'm getting conflicted information from every clock I'm looking at, having forgotten which ones change by electronic Internet magic (FACT) and which ones require me to change, because FAT CHANCE, I'M LAZY.
Wait. Did my phone update for daylight savings or did I just forget to set my clock back to normal after time-cheating for Candy Crush lives?
The wall clock says I have an hour left to work but OH CRAP, my computer says I should have left five minutes ago to pick up Ike.
Why does the microwave say it's 11 but the stove says it's 10, which direction were we supposed to move this time, and also who the hell changes one appliance's clock while ignoring the one that is literally 12 inches away, JASON?
How do I change the clock in this car again gaaahhhh fuck this I will just do math until October.
Anyway, wow. This entry really never went anywhere, did it? I guess I should just go full-giving-up-on-original-content and repost an Instagram video clip that everyone who follows me on Instagram already saw, as did everyone who saw it automatically cross-posted on Twitter and Facebook and Flickr, but look, it's not my fault my scanner is a punk-ass bitch and ruined everything.
Plus, you know. Baby Ike! Still! He admits it and everything.