At Last…

August 29, 2011

Anyone else have the lyrics to the Etta James song running through their head now?

No? Just me? Alrighty, then.

Anyway, a few of you have been heckling and harassing me about seeing some pictures of my new place. I won’t name names, but lets just say it isn’t my female friends who are curious to see how my decorating skills came to fruition.

Come to find out, you boys out there really are interested in home decor. You just hide it behind a sarcastic, bad-ass exterior.

So, to you ladies and gents who are dying to see some pics, I’ve posted a few. They aren’t the greatest quality since I snapped them quickly with my phone as I was running out the door, but I figured a few crappy pictures would at least hold some of you over until I take some pictures with my real, live point and shoot.

So, without further ado…Studio Hutton:

This is where I sit when I am not in my bed.

This is where I sleep when I don't pass out on the couch

Yes, this IS all the room I need to feel at home.

You don't need to see my toilet and such, but I wanted to show you all the colors I used in the bathroom.

This is in my foyer, soon to be joined by a small, two-person dining table.

Because no apartment is complete without a wine rack.

I like stripes. That is all.

This is what I do when I am home alone. Drink wine and take pictures of me drinking wine.

I don’t have any pictures of my kitchen yet, or my dining chairs/table/foyer area. And I also need curtains and some other small things. But all in all, I think it came together very nicely. I’ve only been in my new place for two weeks, and I already feel so at home. I really do love it!

Next item on my agenda: Lindsay’s Anti-Hermit Initiative.
Description: Get a life, so I do not become a hermit.

Sounds easy enough, right?


One thing about getting my own place, aside from the sheer glory of living alone, is the fact that I have to buy everything to furnish it myself. I knew this going into it, obviously, and I’ve been pretty good about buying things little by little, but it’s still a really expensive endeavor to take on. As much as I would love to decorate my new place in Restoration Hardware and West Elm, well, that’s just not going to happen.

Enter IKEA.

IKEA is like the knight and shining armor to broke twenty-somethings like myself trying to create a cute space to live on a tight budget.

I’ve known for a while that this was the couch I was going to get:

Now, the original plan was to go buy it this weekend, during the tax free holiday.

Because, you know, that would have been the rational thing to do.

I would have saved some money. And, more importantly, I would have had some people to help me.

But, of course, this is not what I ended up doing. Because that would have been way too easy.

Given the fact that sometimes I am a completely irrational person, I decided that, actually, I needed to have my couch by the time I moved in on Thursday.

So, this is why I found myself frantically driving to IKEA at 8:00 Monday night, swerving in and out of traffic in a desperate attempt to go purchase my Karlstad sofa before they closed at 9pm.

I was so focused on getting the stupid thing, I never considered how I was actually going to get the sofa from where it was in the store to the checkout line.

See, IKEA is set up so you can view the furniture on the upper level, and when you find something you like, you go down to the warehouse and find it yourself.

You then load it onto a cart and bring it to the cash register.

By yourself.

When I originally decided on the urgency of having a couch by Thursday, I never took into consideration that going to IKEA to purchase it alone might not be the easiest thing in the world.

But there I was, flip-flops on my feet, sloppy bun atop my head, heaving and hoeing a 100+ pound, 8 foot tall hunk of cardboard onto a cart that didn’t have wheel locks.

It only took me about 4 tries (and several weird looks from people in the store, who I’d like to thank for not helping me), but I did it.

Boy, was I proud.

I got that puppy onto that cart without even messing up my pedicure.

After that ordeal, I managed to get it to the cash register without knocking anything over.

I may or may not have almost run over a baby stroller, but that’s not my fault. You try wheeling an 8 foot tall sofa around a giant warehouse.

Once paid for, I promptly wheeled it to home deliveries, scheduled it to be sent to me the next day, and went home exhausted, $600 in the hole, and one new couch richer.

It got delivered last night. And, to add even more to my superwoman status, I assembled it myself.

Ladies and gents, behold. A sneak peak at my new sofa:

Yes, I agree. The blue striped pillow doesn’t match. But I bought that before I learned the meaning of the term “impulse control”, so until I find somewhere else to put it, that’s where it’s going.

I know you’re all dying to see everything else, but the only other thing set up in my new place is this:

Obviously you can see where my priorities are.

But, the big, permanent move day is tomorrow. After that, I’ll have more pictures for you to oohhh and aaahhhh over.

Until then, wish me luck!

Yes, yes, I know the majority of you who read this know that yesterday was THE day.

I got the keys to my new apartment.

And I know a lot of you are expecting me to rave on and on about how awesome it is and how much I just love it, and ohmigod I can’t wait to officially be all moved in on August 11.

But, if I’m being honest, when I first walked in after not seeing it for almost four months…I hated it.

Well, maybe hate is a strong word.

But, I certainly didn’t like it.

See, sometimes I have a tendency to get an image in my head, and if that image doesn’t end up looking or being exactly the way I pictured it should be, I get discouraged.

In the four months since I rented my new place, my head had managed to turn it from a very typical studio apartment in Boston into a chic, airy, updated loft where I would have oodles of room to fill it with new furniture and adorable decorations.

Of course, as so often is the case, the mental picture I had conjured up in my head about what it looked like was a far cry from the actual picture I got yesterday.

I’ll admit, that’s my fault. I should have taken pictures the day I rented it, but in reality, I was so freaking excited about the fact that the bathroom wasn’t blue, all my inhibitions flew out the window and I eagerly signed the dotted line.

Then yesterday, reality came back and slapped me full-on in the face.

And it stung a little.

It’s smaller than I remember.

The set-up is different. I definitely can’t get the couch I’ve had my eye on.

Where my television is going to go is still up in the air. (At one point, I had a crazy thought that perhaps I could just suspend it from the ceiling? Oh, I can’t? Damn.)

And, while the bathroom is definitely white, it’s not as…modern as my brain wanted to think it was.

Oh yeah, and why is it that the stove won’t turn on? I know the gas works because I can hear it hissing out of the burners. So, you know, a little spark would be nice so I don’t incinerate my face the first time I cook a meal.

So, needless to say, I was feeling a little downtrodden when I happily burst into my new digs, got slammed in the face by a blast of 95 degree air, and didn’t see the apartment I thought I remembered.

(In my apartment’s defense, the first thing I actually saw was the cleaning lady’s ass as she bent over a heating vent to dust it off. I suppose that would discourage even the most optimistic individual.)

But, as it always happens, things started to look up.

Any empty apartment is going to look a little sad when you first get there. But, once I started getting my stuff in there, it started taking on the personality the apartment in my head had all along.

I’ve still got a lot of work to do so I don’t have any pictures yet. But, I think by the time I’m all unpacked and settled, it’s going to be the perfect place for me to live for the next year or so.

On a positive note, I did already bring over my wine rack. So if all else fails, I can always just pop open a bottle of Malbec.