Open concept — LADY NEST

Sep 10

Sep 10 Open concept

Do you like open concept? Good, because I’m going to break down the third wall now. The figurative one, not the literal one. I acknowledge that there wasn’t much of a third wall to begin with on this blog, more of an ornate room divider that allows me to charge more rent by claiming I have an extra bedroom. However, I’m going to pay a figurative pretend engineer $20,000 bucks to completely take down the third wall now so that you and I can talk face to face. I know I would glance coyly at you through the computer screen once in a while and call you gurl and give you bad home advice and stuff, but now I’m going to get real serious about blogs for a second, precisely because they are such whimsical, silly creatures. They will never survive an apocalypse, because nobody in the world really needs them. They’re called “blogs” for the love of sweet baby Christ. They have a name made for punching in the face. It’s hard to say “blog” without rolling your own eyes so don’t even try it. I am rolling my eyes as I write this and I just punched my laptop in the face. But alright, alright, I’ll tell you why I’ve chosen to live my life as a douchebag blogista anyway, so stop hounding me already.

Think of me as a fat chick on a bike. Both figuratively and literally, because that’s what I look like on my bike. A bit too sweaty and flushed for the minimal level of energy being expended. A touch of muffin-top peaking out from the side of my too-small tour de France shirt, worn without the right amount of irony. My bike helmet a shade of pink born in the 1980’s that I think Barbie would have really liked. But I am a fully grown human woman and not a Barbie. Your first instinct is probably to make fun of such a sight, even if you yourself are a fat chick on a bike. But then it dawns on you that a fat chick on a bike is probably working a lot harder than a muscular hot chick on a bike. She has a discouraging amount of pedaling to do on the road to toned hotness and she’s fucking going for it anyway.

Perhaps your fat chick on a bike philosophy is different that mine. Nonetheless, as I virgin my way through these blog posts, writing about hard hitting issues such as lovely crappers, ghost dicks and kijiji gold, I feel very much like a fat chick on a bike. A-peddlin’ n’ peddlin’ with the hopes that my word garbage will shape up to be something I can stop rolling my own eyes at. And maybe that thing is simply using creativity to convert my personal internet satans into something less evil and more adorable. My friend Dabs once told me that creative energy, if it is not used for creating, actually turns into a destructive energy. Perhaps the point is just that: not to be eaten alive by the maggots of destruction just waiting for an opportunity to get a bite of my prosciuttos.

Frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing or why. I’m pretty sure it’s not fame because I think I’m writing for an audience of 2. I think it’s more like when my kids want to show me their lame baby drawings because they’re delighted to share the lovely feeling of having created something, even if its really stupid. Either way, I’m constantly having to fight the urge to get off this bike so I can roll my eyes while I eat fistfuls of peanut butter and uglycry. But here I still am sweet babies, Barbie helmet and all. Fighting my own illiteracy and self-destruction. I can’t wait for all the fame and hotness to pour down up on me. But probably just more peanut butter tears.

Until then, here are some pictures of open concept spaces I like. And also some random unions of kijiji furniture I forced together into polygamous marriages. I just like how they sister-wived together.