Bad taste

I was in New York last week, trying to hurry up and get things done and move shit out and get rid of what I don't need and make room for the things I do need.  Figuring out where I'm going to put all the shit I'm bringing up from New Orleans.  Wondering how it was possible that my mother had such inexcusably poor taste in furniture.  Fuck, that shit was ugly.  Do you want to see how atrociously ugly it was?

                

      

Seriously.  That fucking carpet, too.  Holy shit.  Easy to replace, but holy shit.  Really?

The couch and hideous chair are gone, thanks to an angel from Craigslist, along with a bunch of other unnecessary crap I wanted to get rid of.  It took the dude three trips in his Grand Marquis, but ultimately he went home with a glass coffee table, an ugly couch with a matching chair and ottoman, a blender, two ugly lamps, a huge glass water pitcher with matching bowl, and a well-executed but ridiculously stupid oil painting.  There's another offensively stupid painting that's taking up entirely too much space on my wall that I think I've convinced him to take, he told me to call him when I get back next month.  He's going to help me figure out what to do with the damn kitchen, too.  Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Craigslist?  The amazing, wonderful, magical power of Craigslist?  No?  Remind me to tell you about it someday.