Monday, June 14, 2010

Couch Surfing.

oh dude. It's been too long. I know I know. But I have the best excuse ever. All of my shit FINALLY arrived from the US. And if you're counting, that's 3 months I was living out of one suitcase. My one sundress got so much play, I may never wear her again. Just kidding. She makes me look tan and skinny. She'll never be out of rotation.

So my couch. My friggin couch! She is my first piece of grown up non-ikea furniture. I bought the beauty [Cannes 88" model] from Crate & Barrel. I ordered a custom fabric that I had to wait 6 extra weeks for. I lounged on beach chairs and a sleeping bag in the meantime. Of course when she arrived at my apartment, the hallways in my crappy old tenement building were too narrow to slide her down. I had to pay 400 bux in cash to have my brand new couch dismantled and reassembled in my apartment. I think I might still owe KJ [a dear BFF] a remaining 50 bux from when she forked over the cash to pay for the disassembly. [That's love, friends.]

Here's old bessie enjoying the company of 2 very dear, very sexy friends of mine:

Fast forward 2 years. The Crate & Barrel card is finally paid off. The couch is my pride and joy and the thought of leaving her back in NYC while I move couchless to The Hague is just too much to bear. Friends gone, dog died, and now no couch? I begged Frenchie to allow the couch to follow us in the shipping container he was securing for our goods, and he agreed.

Of course what goes in apartment must come out, so I had to fork over another 400 bux to have the thing dis and re-assembled on my sidewalk. Then we crammed it into my brother's pick-up [bless you bro, Timey, KT, and Arj for helping with all that shit] and brought it to a friend's garage where it would sit in the cold until the shipping container dudes would come to collect our goods.


The beginning of the disassembly below:

Delivery day! The movers show up at our sexy flat in The Hague and the first thing they say is. "Uhhh. There's no way that couch is gonna fit up those stairs."

My awesomely sensitive BF is all, "Well it's not gonna fit. Guess we'll just have to keep it on the street. Or they can take it apart." I swear it's a good thing I've learned a bit of self-control in my old age, because I seriously wanted to take a swing at him.

Seriously? Movers rip apart my goddamn couch? Are you fucking kidding me? After all we've been through [me and the couch] and he offers me the street or a butcher job? I took a deep breath. Maybe 4 or 5 deep breaths.

I looked around the apartment trying to figure out a plan. I opened our windows nice and wide and looked down to the street below. The street didn't seem so far and the moving truck had a lift that could get it about 4.5' off the ground. "Why don't 2 people hoist it from the truck bed and 2 inside guide it in?" I mused.

"That's not a good idea. You wanna break the window guards?" Deep Breaths. Deep Breaths. Sensing I was going to have to find my own solution, I climbed downstairs to have a chat with the movers.

I asked if they had any ideas. They said they thought it might be able to be hoisted up from the truck bed and through the window [imagine that].

And that's just what they fucking did! Tadaa! For all concerned, the window guards are just fine, thank you.

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