The Apartment, She is so Pimp

Since starting next week I will officially begin the second lease on my current apartment, it is only fitting that I got around to doing the one thing I said I would do the first day I moved in, lo those eight (?!) months ago: replacing those godawful blinds over the patio door.

You know which kind I'm talking about, right? Because there is only one kind of blinds that can be referred to as godawful. Those vertical, white, heavy plastic ones. The kind that don't even have a lower track, so they sway with the slightest touch. The kind that make the most annoying sound while swaying, by clinking together. The kind that block practically no light and no matter where you are in the living room, if you fall asleep in there, at the first light of dawn there will be a shaft of light directly across your face waking you up.

Dear lord, how I hated those blinds.

And I think they hated me just as much, considering the lengths I had to go to to get them down. Because it should be easy. The main track is attached to two little metal hooks. There is a little metal lever that you push to release each side and the whole thing comes down. Then you unscrew the two hooks. Voila.

Neither little lever would work. When I finally climbed up on the arm of the futon --

(Note: Do not wear just socks for this manuever - your feet need something to grip with. I'm leaving out the 15 minute break I had to take here when I didn't follow my own good advice and very nearly damaged a region of my body that would have made this experience less 'ha ha, oh Jason and his clumsy antics' and more 'why is Jason curled up in a tiny ball crying'. Instead I just bruised the back of my leg and hit my head on the ground. Good times.)

-- and physically ripped the track away from the little hook, the blinds decided to spite me and the other hook immediately gave way, sending an 8 foot long metal blind track directly towards my head. I did one of those weird, almost Matrix-like moves and managed to slide out from under it just perfectly as it clanged harmlessly on the arm of the futon. I was very impressed with myself, until it rolled off the futon and on to my foot. They are very vengeful and crafty, those evil blinds.

I wrangled it into the closet, never again to see the light of day, and then got to work getting rid of the hooks. Hook one - no problem. Hook two - no. . . it won't come out. No manner of brute force will remove this thing from the wall. And let's be honest, when you're talking about shows of pure strength, if I can't do it, ain't nobody gonna do it. I mean, have you seen my biceps?

Ahem.

So now I am stuck between two very difficult options. On the one hand, the hook is in the way of the new bar. It would probably be impossible to put the new one up with the hook still there and it would look horrible even if I managed it. On the other hand, fuck if I'm gonna pull that Rack of Blinds of Death out of the closet ever again.

So I go ahead and install the new fancy wooden hooks around the one painfully white and metal one that is still there. Dear God does it look hideous. But it is done. Now all that is left is to put up the new curtains on the rod and we are done.

Oh wait. I haven't mentioned the best part yet.

The new curtains.

I really gotten into it lately, but my apartment is looking pretty damn good. The new entertainment center is installed and it matches the television with a shocking color sense. I've actually hung pictures and posters and clocks on the walls. The futon is covered with darkly colored blankets that make it look less hideous than it really is. The rug is a testament to the pure, unadulterated awesomeness of the 70's.

Not to mention the lava lamp, the stoplight, the Mustang Band blanket, and the glowing, wall-mounted, color-swirling picture of the Virgin Mary that Devon got me for Christmas.

In short, the place is rockin'.

And as such, it is important to find curtains that match the decor that I've so boldly and seemlessly integrated. What possible style could match a black shag rug, a yellow plaid couch, and a black and sagging 5 year old futon, you ask? Without overpowering the glowing Virgin Mary, as well?

Dark brown faux-fur curtains, of course.

Let us all pause for a moment, lest we be overwhelmed by my own good taste.

The new curtains are not at all spiteful. They went on gracefully, confident of their newfound status as the coolest thing in the apartment. And I was able to place them, bar and all, onto the hooks without the slightest issue.

And they are perfect.

I dare anyone to walk into my house now and tell me it is not the epitome of flawless design. Because if you do, the curtains will destroy you.