Faking It

My office is in such disarray I don’t know where to start. I have things to Ebay, scripts to file, coupons to clip, bills to pay, gifts to store in the closet (but I can’t put them in there since the closet is so disorganized), videos to watch, magazines to read, books to pour through, social events to mark on the calendar and the occasional Fisher Price fire truck that makes its way under my desk. All my responsibilities and events wouldn’t feel so overwhelming if I could file them all away neatly in some beautiful Pottery Barn furniture. Like my life, I’d like this room of mine organized. Serene. Professional. Straight lines and crisp edges but with a few art prints for stimulation and throw pillows for comfort. The sad truth is that to create this look I need about two thousand dollars. And since my husband and I aren’t going to finance my persona, I’m going to have to deal with my current desk set up: A black and brown laminate Ikea style ditty bought at a garage sale. I tend to have an eye, so while it’s not a shabby chic writing haven, it’s clean and useable in a post modern funky kind of way. It sits in front of lilac painted walls and lovely white double pained windows. Over the windows are sheer Crate N’Barrel style curtains that blow in the breeze on a cool summer night. I have a few white distressed accessories that hold pens and papers, as if to say to my desk, “Don’t worry that you’re not that attractive. Like an ugly woman, we’ll upgrade you from a 3 to an 8 with accessories.” The problem is that all this ‘I can work with this desk’ attitude is shot to hell when I glance to my right and see my husband’s desk. Not matching mine in the slightest, his furniture is an oak computer desk number straight of out Costco circa 1985. My father-in-law always reminds me, “That was an expensive desk back in the day.” He always forgets to add “And it was just as ugly.” James and I have been married five years this August, and all this time I’ve tried to look at the bright side of this geeky monstrosity with its open shelving and wires hanging out the back. With its cds and disk drives and batteries spilling over the top shelf. With its dusty monitors and bottom ledge holding automotive manuals and extension cords. I’d say to myself ‘This room is a true reflection of marriage. We are individuals who have our own minds and our way of doing things. It would be wrong to cover it up with overpriced catalog furniture that matches and is perfect. Cubby holes and cleverly designed doors might be attractive, but its just an illusion that covers up life's true crap.” I am quick to add that “When people walk into this room, they see what they get: A young couple who make the best of their financial situation and budget.”

And after I think on the bright side, I always end with “I hate my goddamn office!”

I suppose instead of bitching about my situation I should clean up my own desk the best I can. I must remind myself that one script sale will turn my shelppy office into a writers’ paradise in less than 24 hours. Ah, a fake Hollywood dream for a fake office that pretends James and I are exactly the same person with its lovely lines and consistent wood throughout… Am I less of a fake myself if I’m lusting after material goods but I know it’s wrong?

Tune into my next blog for more thoughts on furniture, God, and how to handle a cranky toddler more constructively than “This is just shit! I mean, pure, stinky, unadulterated shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

Ooooh, speaking of toddlers, I forgot the "Sophie and Dominic Highlite of the Day" in my last blog, so now you lucky viewers get two!

Sophie Highlight of the Day: She has added to her one-word vocabulary. Not only does the duck say “Gak! Gak!” but she will wave “Hiiiiii!” when she sees you (or if she picks up the phone.... or the remote which she thinks is a phone. Baby steps... ). Also, the other day at the beach, she almost coughed up a lung laughing in the ocean. That girl has no fear! (Except of going to sleep. Of that, she’s terrified.)

Dominic Highlight of the Day: Last week, I was trying to steam vegetables with Sophie clinging to my shin. I blurted out to James “For Godsake, I can’t even cook without a rug rat attached to my leg!” And Dominic screamed “No000!! I don’t want Mommy to cook the baby’s leg!” And then last night, when he was going to sleep, he said “Dora, Boots and the Dragon Tales stay inside the T.V. ... Mama Bear, Papa Bear and Baby Monkey (Sophia) and Baby Jaguar (Dominic) stay ouuuuut of the T.V.. Clever kid! If only he could come up with more clever nicknames for himself and the family. I keep asking him to call me "Mama Goddess" but it hasn't stuck.

(* Pictures of Mama Bear and Papa Bear's desks. Guess whose is whose? Hint: Mine is the one with the tiny bottle of Zoloft on it)