Sexy furniture, shoplifter hair

I've been pestering asking my parents nicely for a desk and a new bookshelf for my room. The desk I have is puny (I'd mentioned it before) and my bookshelfwon't really hold heavy books. Which is all fine and dandy for my sisters, since they studied Math and Physics**: relatively small books and lots of thinking. But since I'm in Biology I need MANLY books. A book that can crush your skull if you lob it the right way. So my white bookshelf from Ikea (I love Ikea even though I've never actually been there) isn't well-suited to the task.

On Saturday I walked around some furniture stores near the University (I feel so old saying that). Success vis-à-vis the desk hunt, OR SO I THOUGHT, except I went back today with my Mom and the furniture-selling dude was all, "Oh, yeah, we're out of that desk, you could order it now and get it at the end of November". This was the same guy who was trying really hard to get me to buy it yesterday, although he'd apparently forgotten that wee detail. Um, I need it for this semester. Soon. Pronto. Sheez.

Luckily, the day was not a complete waste. See, yesterday I popped into another furniture store, just to look around. It was real fancy, everything was great quality, bla bla. It was also pretty expensive (the only real desk they had was worth about half a car, no thank you), so I was just wandering around looking at couches when I found the sexiest bookshelf ever.

But Andrea, you say, how can a bookshelf be sexy? Oh, you poor people. You have no idea. This is a beautiful piece of solid furniture. It'll still be around in the year 2567. Also it had a small discount and didn't cost nearly as much as the desk.

This picture doesn't even do it justice, it's just the most amazing bookshelf ever. And while I am aware that blogging excitedly about furniture consolidates my status as a loser, I don't care. Because I now own the bookshelf.

I don't have it physically, but my Mom bought it today because it's just a fucking awesome bookshelf. It even merits curse words, which I'd usually leave off here because... well, because my Mom reads this. And it'll be delivered in less than three weeks, thanks to the two awesome sales ladies that assured us they'd do everything possible to speed up the process.

I don't know exactly what they intend to do (phone calls? whips?). But they seemed determined to make it happen.

**** I will shut up about furniture now. ****

Which brings me to another phenomenon I observed yesterday. I have two basic dressing styles:

a) Roll out of bed, put on a metal band T-shirt and whatever jeans happen to be on hand. Put on some shoes, leave house.

b) Roll out of bed, put on a-- HEY! My hair looks gooood today! Put on a nice top, something with straps maybe, some clean pants, some makeup. Slip on shoes, leave house.

Depending on how I'm dressed, there's a significant difference in how I'm treated, most notably in stores. When I'm looking all messy everyone ignores me, but yesterday I was dressed like I care, and I got perfume samples was approached by store attendants. Har.

I mean, it makes sense: when I dress nice it gives the impression that I have money on me, whereas when I show up in a dirty old T-shirt and sporting hair that rivals a tramp's in messiness I can't expect anyone to bother much about me (except to check if I'm shoplifting).

Which reminds me of another thing. I hate how when I'm in a shop with a knapsack, attendants casually float over beside me and pretend like they're supervising the wall next to me, but we all know they're watching to make sure I don't steal anything. It happened to me yesterday (despite my nice hair). But really, why would I break the law to get a fugly silver picture frame incrusted with rhinestones? Or some erasers shaped like milk cartons and scented like fruits? Well actually I did want the erasers and was about to buy them, but I got pissed off that they were watching me so I just left.

SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON'T TRUST PEOPLE? ERASER SALES GO DOWN.

I mean, yeah, obviously I get that they would watch me 'cause I'm young and have a backpack (horror of horrors) and you never know. But I still hate it.

Shoplifter hair. That's right, I'm not paying for these sticky notes shaped like speech bubbles.

No, I'm kidding, I don't steal stuff. It's just the hair talking.

Also I'm covering my face in case someone recognizes me and accuses me of attempting to lift a shop (they're so heavy).

**Studied, indeed, since one has now graduated (and got shipped off to Canada to do her Master's degree), and the other one decided after three years of Physics that she'd rather study Design. SHE CAVED UNDER THE PRESSURE.