table

I had a to do list today that had nearly eighty items on it to complete. I want a nap, but that will wait until after a dinner of carbohydrates and sauce from the good people at Barilla.

Yesterday I acquired the dining room table I have been wanting � on accident. I went to IKEA on my way somewhere else in New Haven to get a jar for my desk at school and two more for my counter. I like everything to match when it can.

I snooped into the damaged room and there was dining room table, a little banged up but still usable. The damaged parts cannot be seen if I put a tablecloth over the table. That will be a whole new area of neurotic home making for me.

Getting the table was charmed; getting it into the car was not. The reason the table was damaged was that it did not fit in the first owner�s car and they had tried to do what I eventually accomplished: cram it into a space that it was never intended to fit inside.

After much shoving, grunting, crying, kicking, and not to mention staring from Japanese tourists (who always turn up when I am at my very worst) I got the table into my car. They probably saw the car rocking back and forth, heard the grunting, and thought they were going to get to see a live sex act. If my car is rocking and I am grunting, I am having a seizure � not sex.

Getting the table home and up the stairs was a pain. Putting it together could not have been easier. The nice thing about putting it together was that the parts you worked with are not visible so it was okay to nick it a little. Also, the thing has two major dings in it already.

Putting the chairs together was another, long story. It took forever. I messed up every way you could. I nearly swallowed a piece. OKAY, so I put things in my mouth. It is like a pocket for me. I wish I had a pouch like a kangaroo so hold things in for when I did not have pockets. It was not like I was naked making these chairs, I had on sleeping pants without pockets.

My fingers are still sore from all that carpentry work, now I know what Jesus felt like because he was a carpenter. Really, Jesus was a Stone Mason � the word for Stone Mason and carpenter is the same and since Jesus always uses references to Stone Masonry instead of Carpentry I can only assume he was a stone mason. I was not at all like Jesus because Jesus did not say fuck when he worked, he probably also did not mess up on his work causing to use his father�s name in vain.

It looks good, pictures to follow.

I guess it was funny that a guy who gets accused of thinking he was God was doing carpenter work.