Recount

The poll from this week totally cracked me up - thank you so much for voting, I was amazed with the turnout! But something screwy is happening with the votes. We had 40+ at one point, and now it's showing 19. I smell a conspiracy! Count the chads!

ETA: Now it's back to 40... Paper ballots next time, I say.

Anyway, the percentage has remained about the same throughout, with 90% pro-couch. I think this whole thing has made Joe even more stubborn about never buying a couch. To that I say:

"The people have spoken."

My friend Kate said that perhaps a couch will be donated to him at the end of all this. It will just appear outside his door. Who knows? We'll see what happens. I will keep you informed.

And why is my most compelling writing about couches?

Hope everyone made it through the DC snowstorm this week. I wore stupid dumb ballerina flats that day and walked 1.5 miles in the snow, whimpering softly as I trudged along. But that's nothing compared to people who were stuck in their cars for 8 hours, or even my dad, who had to spend the night at his office with 15 other stranded employees.

Here's to spring making an appearance soon!

Joe's Apartment

It's been freezing in DC this week, which is bad since my room in my apartment in Glover Park is practically a window box, just slapped on the side of an existing house. Not a lot of insulation there.

Joe's apartment is even worse. It's a great location, beautiful space - including granite countertops, which means you've arrived in the world. But virtually no heat. I guess because it's in the basement? My coat stays on when I visit. Gloves and hat sometimes too.

He also doesn't have a couch.

Just two battered Ikea chairs positioned in front of the TV.

I told Prudence and Luther this, and they said - "Does he really live there? Or is he a squatter? Is his name on the mailbox? Does he need to make a quick getaway?"

People aren't shocked by much these days, but the idea of someone not owning a couch seems to be surprising across the board. Joe and his roommate did have a couch, once upon a time, but it didn't fit through the apartment door so it was abandoned.

No couch, no heat. So when I go over there, I find myself sitting on the floor, wearing my coat. "Do you have any food?" I asked one time. "No," Joe said.

That was a bad day. Usually there is food. One day we ordered pizza. I went to the bathroom and came back - Joe and his friends were tearing apart the pizza box to use as plates. So they wouldn't have to wash dishes.

"Look, Adele, I saved you a nice corner of the box," he said.

Isn't that sweet?

Here I am, wearing my coat while eating off a cardboard "plate."

When I finished dinner, I said, "So does this go in the dishwasher, or what?"

***********************

Silly me - I'm still happy to go over there. But I am angling for them to get a couch, any couch - here's where you can help, blogosphere! Here is today's poll question:

Should Joe Buy a Couch??

Little Details in Philadelphia

Shots from a weekend trip to Philly, which Joe was nice enough to arrange...

"Hello Kitty."

Wearing the gigantic scarf

College ices at Franklin Fountain, an old-timey ice cream shoppe (that's shop with an extra "P" and an additional "E").

Joe made fun of me because often when I take pictures, I don't stop. I just keep walking, snapping away, often barely looking in the viewfinder. Well, turns out there was an artist who employs my particular style of photography with an exhibit in the Philadelphia Museum of Art - Mark Cohen. I am not alone! Although his style is probably more artistic rather than laziness-based, as mine is.

Alessi exhibit at Philadelphia Museum of Art

Why is this one not a classic? Naked Baby River was the name, I think...

Luchador masks at Distrito. I would pick a hot pink restaurant.

Go Go Gadget

I wore my white gogo boots to the office last week. With fishnet tights.

Not sure why I ever bought these. Actually, I remember - they were an emergency impulse DSW buy after my ballet flats left my feet battered from a morning of walking in New York.

No one need white boots. But I try to wear them occasionally to justify the purchase. Although if they cause my dismissal at work, that won't justify much.

It's cool - the rest of my outfit was conservative. A turtleneck makes everything ok. Right. Right? Right??

I work at a design firm, so I feel there should be some creative license to the dress code. OK, the fishnet tights are a bit much. They are tasteful fishnets... I dare say, however, that some people at work seemed to like the outfit - it reminded them of growing up in the 60s.

My friend Prudence had the best reaction to my boots. I walked by her in the kitchen as she was drinking a glass of water - she looked down at the gogo boots and almost did a spit-take. That was a honest assessment.

Leave me a comment and let me know if you have ideas on how to wear white flat boots.

Also, should I do more fashion-blogger-esque outfit posts? Not because I think that I am a model. I don't at all. Just because most of the blogs I read are fashion-related and I think it would be fun to throw my hat (or white boots) into the ring.

Tell Me If You Think This is Funny

Before we went out on New Year's Eve, we went to a nice restaurant for a prix fixe three course menu. Although I've been to many a fancy dinner, I never feel at ease. With my klutziness, I know that disaster lurks at every turn.

So we sit down for dinner, and it's just as New York chi chi as I envisioned. I had my slightly trashy dress on with Snookie-style hair poof and I tried to talk myself down as I perused the menu. "Ok, Adele, you're doing fine, just don't screw this up now," I thought.

It was decided that we would have cocktails, and I just glanced at the menu. "I would like the Stigmata," I told the waiter.

"The cocktail is called the Stigma," he said.

Oh no, I just ordered up the crucifixion wounds of Jesus Christ.Now you've done it!The more I thought about this, I could not compose myself. Debie and I kept laughing, probably making a scene.

When the waiter came back with my drink, he set it down and said - with a completely deadpan expression - "Here's your cocktail. Hammer and nails are in the back room."