on furnishing, and fearlessness

You might remember the shady neighbors of several weeks ago fame. These were the ones who sneaked away under cover of darkness in their Uhaul and left their dumpster. Well, last week they came back. Only I wasn't sure it was them, because the neighbors had never actually been spotted, evidently staying under the radar via side door. It's hard being nosy in this day and age. 

So for days, there was an elderly couple and a variety of swarthy middle-aged men moving in and out, and then nothing for days and then this other guy and a teenager came and moved a lot of furniture out onto the curb. I snagged some of it, because the old man was not around to forbid me, and what can I say, I'm kind of a loose cannon. 

Scored this desk. It's pretty awesome as is. I eyed a dining table over there for a good 36 hours, but it would have required sanding and refinishing, and I am growing increasingly more aware of my renovating abilities, or lack thereof. (How's that for a sentence? Dang.) 

Now why, maybe you wonder, would I want furniture from shady neighbors? Well, shoot. I, on occasion, get my hair cut at the beauty school and I eat crawfish from Price Chopper. Obviously, I live on the edge. I did buy some disinfecting wipes, but that had more to do with a really unfortunate potty-training incident and less with the shadiness. 

Is this really a blog entry? Well, yes. In fact, it has a couple of good lines up there in all the mundaneness, you just have to look a little. Don't judge.

In other news, my hair is still extremely black. I wake up and put on eyeliner first thing. I might take up lipstick next. Oh, and poetry about blood and doves.