o, lazy days--how i enjoy thee.

I recently had a stroke of good fortune on craigslist under the "free" section. I've been searching for a table/desk for some time now, so i wouldn't have to set my junkola on the floor. Well, lo and behold: a desk was offered on craigslist. It was described to me over phone by the owner as "Victorian" and "probably an antique." In fact, if I didn't like it, I could "probably sell it for some money." After recruiting my friend Bev (and by recruiting I mean forcing), we drove over to this woman's third-story stairs-only apartment complex. She said the desk was small enough to fit in my Honda. Pah! I should have known from the glorifying words of praise like Victorian and antique that she might not know A. what Victorian actually is and B. that sedans only have so much room (hence, my repeated inquiries of "Are you sure I don't need a truck?"). Anyway, turns out to be exactly the size I'm looking for. After taking the legs off, the drawers out, and cramming it in my car in the sub-freezing weather, le petit desk would now become the official property of Sir Norfleet. After all, it dates back all the way to the original-mass-office-furniture era. Gotta love wood laminate.

She decided to paint it a cream/off-white with some spray paint, nonetheless. Very classy. But knowing that I could always paint over it brings me up to news of yesterday and today. I settled on Red Apple paint--a quite "delicious" (man, I'm witty) shade of red that matches a block of my comforter. Coincidence? I think not. I mean if I wasn't so persistent on this "service to others" kick I seem to be on, interior decorating would naturally be my career-of-choice.

Well, two coats and a lot of love later, I must say that I'm officially the proud owner of an Office Space meets Victorian-esque meets Dan-decides-to-color desk.

As far as essential peripheral details, the woman was moving back down to the Lower 48, so she pushed a large "Victorian" (yes, she used the same adjective) painting onto Bev. It's very Thomas Kincaid. Perfect for a dental office.

Oh, the travails of craigslist. Sigh.