I have spent most no all of my adultlife wardrobeless... and I know what you are thinking (other than how you are going to get away with that murder that you committed last summer y'know the one with all your sexy friends that keep on disappearing one by one) you are thinking "why kiki? how can you she who is super obsessed with clothes survive without a wardrobe? well the answer dear reader is Stolen milk crates, those hanging racks and and a fuckload more stolen milk-crates.
The above had served me well for quite a very long time however, something happened... I turned 26... and my milk-crate furniture was no longer going to kick it in the mid to late twenties world, I needed to get something streamlined, a place for my shit, something that was made specifically to hold clothing, something that was visually inoffensive to the white middleclass gentlemen I so often have visit my quarters (ok not so much any more I have narrowed it down to one, but that may change) and most importantly it had to match the ikea furniture my dear old flatmate Lynda left behind because I could not be arsed to dismantle and get it down my narrow hipster terrace stairs.
anyway after trawling Ikea I found what I needed, they call it the Aneboda range and it met all my criteria a) price b) ability to hold clothing and c) genericness. Anyhoo I had a name and an idea I'll
just go to Ikea for it and get it shipped to my Wanksterrace but alas Ikea do not make the Aneboda in beech only white because I have no fucking idea anyway I had to resort buying it second hand or figuring out how to get all the furniture outta my room, anyways story is I have Been trawling gumtree, the trading post and craigs listevery week for the last few months for a fucking Beech Veneer Aneboda, (and my own balding married man to pee on) within 200km and this (last) weekend I found my ticket to wardrobiness in my beloved Marrickville and it came with a matching set of drawers.. huzzah.
Now you dear reader are going, "oh you bought a second hand ikea wardrobe, you shouldn't be too excited that's not a big deal, what about Darfur?" and to that I would respond "what's a Darfur? " and follow it with with a long winded rant about how the inner west hipsters trawl all the websites like locusts consuming all the second hand Beech Anebodas in the area so that their Bongs and low rise skinny jeans can be ensconsed in minimalist Scandinavian designed chip board. And it's hard keeping up with them and their immediate purchasing power.
Anyways. I email the guy throw money at him and get my Mother and her Truck (my mother drives a truck) and the Boy to help me, well a) the bastard lives on the fourth story of a flat with no elevator b) the bastard hasn't dismantled the furniture c) well they are the key points and well it wasn't really an issue so I left The Boy to deal with male aspects of the furniture moving (namely the lifting and the moving) while I took care of the female aspects of it (buying the furniture and standing out the front) anyways it's home been reassembled and is waiting eagerly for my hot load... of clothing, but it's just so... meh
I miss my milk crates.
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