Can Anyone Spare a Dinette Set?

After paying my 2nd month’s rent in my new apartment I decided it might be a good time to start unpacking.
(This is actually quite a feat considering the first apartment I had in NYC I didn’t unpack the whole year I lived there… It made moving out rather smooth)

I stayed up the entire night, locking myself inside and unpacking; determined to make it happen for realsies this time.
Also, it’s a fifth floor walkup so I need to think of like, a REALLY good reason to justify leaving. Like a fire or if I hear the Good Humor truck.

My dream home would probably be a marriage of Pam Anderson’s beach house (fine, I watched Cribs ONCE!) and Pee Wee’s Playhouse. And instead of that holy matrimony, by 7am my apartment was more of a fucked up orgy between T.J Maxx, the rarely seen apartment of Newman on Seinfeld and one of those Navajo blankets on the sidewalk covered in random dusty housewares and crappy trinkets that homeless people try and sell for 80 cents.
The only sign of PeeWee’s Playhouse was my super cool robot clock that my roommate keeps “misplacing” in the very back of the highest kitchen cabinet.

I have a great little rug to go in front of the couch, below the coffee table. But I still need a couch and a coffee table. Oh and a TV stand.
And maybe some art or pictures.
And maybe a mop.
And maybe a shelf or some kind of crate.
And a chair.
Maybe a glass and some plates? Maybe another spoon so I have two?

Until those items magically appear I am fairly content in my ways; filling a laundry bag with dirty clothes and leaning against it like a bean bag chair while I eat 98% fat free Hebrew National hot dogs out of a cereal bowl with a plastic fork.
(Goodburger ketchup packet an optional garnish)