You don't buy clothes at the IKEA, bitch!*

You can, however, purchase $2.99 IRIS dish towels at IKEA!


And wrestle the entire university student population and their trolley-full of BILLY bookcases and SULTAN mattresses, too.


Miraculously, we somehow managed to transport my full size mattress by jamming it into Emily's Focus. We tried our best and it took us an entire hour to do this. Emily and I had to pull our seats to the very front for the 45-drive home. Afterwards, we managed to drag that beast all the way to 4th floor. I swear I need to get into better shape.


The fire trucks came on the very first night we moved in because some prickjob decided to set one of the abandoned couches on the curb on fire. Interestingly enough, Emily slept through most of it. I've since been put on fire alert duty to make sure she wakes up the next time there's a fire.


The burning couch mark.


The official party house of the neighbourhood. How would I know that? Well, the flag kinda gave it away. Also, the frat boys who live there, which is right across from us, would congregate on their balcony every weekend and holler at the girls along the street. Sometimes, calling them "skanky ho" works because the girls would giggle a bit and then proceed to join that partying at the pirate house. Modern day anthropologists should have a field day studying the mating behaviour of the teenagers on our street.




I forgot to include this in my Red Sox post. I like how the most note-worthy moment of Paul Konerko's baseball career isn't baseball related at all. It's his appearance on Oprah. From a year ago.




We live next door to 3 undergrad boys and we have a shared balcony. Suffice to say, beer pong is the activity of choice for Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. We'd like to hate them and their noisy parties. But they're nice boys and they made orange chicken last night and invited us over. I made rice. Dinner was delicious.



This is what they do to Ford F-450s down here.


After two weeks, you think I'd be accustomed to the trash, the stepped-on dixie cups and condom wrappers littered around my neighbourhood. However, nothing can prepare me for the sight of an empty bottle of lube underneath the bushes. Planned spontaneity meets utter disregard for public spaces. Only in my 'hood.

That's all I have for now. Picture of our crap shack to be followed later. Here's a teaser, much like Chris's old crap shack, there's a gaping hole in our kitchen cupboards where the drawer should go ... because the drawer collapsed for no reason at all last week.

(*Overheard in front of Target. Spoken by a ghetto-licious 7-year-old girl.)