Swedes, shopping and the Shanghai Shits.

While untitledson was away this weekend, untitledhusband and I tackled the most unholy of chores — painting the living room. Should be a simple task, right? Well christ. It took three days. And right now, I’m out of my mind, due to the manual labor and such, which I so clearly am not cut out for. It may also have something to do with all Goof Off paint remover I’ve been huffing (surely the high point of the weekend). Reading the can, I see it says something about prolonged exposure and brain/nerve damage. Now you tell me.

In an effort to jam-pack our weekend with everything we cannot do when untitledson is here, untitledhusband and I also decided to visit Ikea. We shopped until we lost our religion (which for us, is about four hours), then drove back home. One afternoon in that store, and I would’ve thought nothing of suffocating the random screaming child in a flokati rug.

Our experience has left me enlightened. First, I am in awe of that shopping cart escalator thing (you know, the device that latches onto your shopping cart and heaves it to the next floor as you ride the escalator next to it). Those crazy Swedes. They’ve now officially made up for the wretched Ace of Base.

Secondly, it seems anything tastes good after walking behind a loaded shopping cart for four hours. ANYTHING. In a shopping-induced delirium, untitledhusband and I wolfed down a plateful of Swedish meatballs and declared it the BEST FOOD EVER. I had wanted to eat at Panda Express a few hours earlier, but decided to forego, lest I get a debilitating case of the Shanghai Shits. Might as well have enjoyed the sesame chicken, because the Subway I opted for ended up giving me the squirts. Yes, Subway. Given that their food is fresh and all, I can only surmise that my Sandwich Artist must’ve wiped his ass with my Italian roll.

As you can tell by the photo, we took in quite the kill. Now, to assemble it all. I must admit that I feel a bit overwhelmed, in a minimalist chic sort of way.

Ikea Kill