And check out that sneaky-peak of our crazy ceilings, am I right? (I just typed “amirite” and then instantly chided myself. “Alisa, this is a blog, not a text message.” Because apparently I’m fancy now. Or grammatical. But that surprises no one.)
Well, our move was long and laborious and fun and the NUMBER ONE thing I learned is that Evan and I both have incredible families. Just, the best. The kind of families that spend all day with you moving your shit and hanging your mirrors and building your chairs and other sundries. My sister used everything she’s learned at college so far and assembled my beautiful kitchen chairs, as well as my clothes rack (pictured above). We double-teamed the feet on the couches, and my former-picture-framer hands remembered the sweet feeling of making solid objects stick together with a power drill.
We made it through the first month living in our beautiful gentrified industrial skeleton/budding South Kensington-Fishtown urban community/construction site, and it’s been glorious. We’ve faced the obvious challenges as new-apartment renters, including
The elephants living upstairs who like to bowl with Stonehenge rocks at all hours and know no other way to walk except Stomp.
“Oops, honey, the construction worker on the roof is watching me undress again.”
and my personal favorite
The Engaged Couple Disagreement Around Stacking the Coasters vs. Leaving Them On Each Precisely Measured Corner of the Coffee Table Like a Serial Killer (you may be able to tell which side of this debate I fall on).
If you follow my Instagram account or Evan’s Facebook, you’ve likely seen his record collection set up in front of our massive windows, me waxing philosophical about the traditional-looking-non-traditional rug we miraculously agreed on, and glimpses of the brick walls that make our reasonably high ceilings appearing gargantuan. We are furnished and happy with our layout. We have exactly two things (my vintage fuchsia salon mirror from Jinxed and his clock fashioned from a vinyl record thanks to the Reddit Secret Santa) hanging on the wall. I have a pile of random flea market, Etsy, and self-shot artwork that I’m itching to hang, because bare walls make me cranky. And here is where the crippling interior design doubt creeps in, bringing with it a host of unanswerable questions and observations:
How much can I reasonably spend on wall shelves? Is it insane to hang wall shelves above standing shelves? Why don’t we just buy bigger shelves?
Is the world bored with gallery walls yet? I’m pretty sure I am, but I also need to have lots of things to look at and Evan will kill me if I start collaging on the wall, because I will inevitably peel the brand new paint.
I need string lights. One, because our bedroom is too dim to read in and two, because the college girl/toddler living inside me still thinks they look magical. If I was a real adult, I would just want a bedside lamp. Should I feel guilty about not wanting a bedside lamp?
My feet need a squishy ottoman pouf.
Without a desk, I need some storage for important business documents. (Okay, fine. Mostly craft supplies and photo equipment.) Should I get baskets? Bins? A small filing cabinet? And where am I going to DO these crafts? I think I need a desk.
My clothing rack looks so minimalist and cool. Until I put clothes on it.
Why am I agonizing about wall hangings when we don’t own any OVEN MITTS?! Priorities.
… and than practicality rears her ugly mug and all this to say, since we don’t have stuff on the walls yet, I haven’t been taking pictures to share on the blog in an official capacity. We’re booking our wedding date, so let’s just take this one life-changing purchase at a time, shall we?
As with all things, I’ll get there at my own speed, which tends to be achingly slow until inspiration strikes and then I adamantly refuse to see obstacles. Hey, we all have a thing.