decoration.

is it a telltale sign of adulthood,
when the old-timey pottery lady misses you a little bit,
and wonders why you haven't been around this season?
i think it might be.
i mean,
a couple times a year i pick out a piece or eight of epic hand-thrown glazed freshness,
and if i'm late to the farmer's markets and craft fairs,
i'm missed!
that's some homeownery, at it's finest, even.
needless to say,
the utensil crocks and soap dispensers will look mutha-uckin' great in my kitchen.
i even stopped by the cinnamon maple scented early american furniture shop.
and the wall hutch, in philadelphia brownstone brown,
that i scoopled up and carried out,
is gonna really tie the whole room together.
this is what happens when you grow up and sell out, ninjas.
grindin' at the tatzap shop,
doing little baby-b!tch sap syrupy mortgage makers,
picking out furniture,
and turning in early in you floor-mounted sleepin' bag.
great...

in addition to the joys of old and bustedness,
which, of course, is the turbo hottness,
we also have a doo-doo buttery phone service provider.
so,
no phone for us....
...still.
in a way, it's kinda great;
since no unwarranted weak sauce can seep into our already drenched reality...
but,
it also means no competent communication with the outside world.
we DO have some type of voicemail,
but no phone to check it with.
how awesome is that?
reeeeally awesome.

i'm busy like a beaver, ya'll.
and i'm solvin' problems, too.
i'm so ready for the big action,
but i'm mostly just small-timin'.
nickles and dimes, yo;
never quiet, never soft....