My bed, my choice

Last September — no, it goes farther back than that.

Back in October 2015, I got a slightly better paying job, which meant I finally had the extra scratch to re-do our bed linens: new sheets, new pillows, new mattress pad, new duvet cover, and it was basically the best day of my life.

I should probably preface this whole post with one very important truth about me: I love bedding. Like, love love love it. Back in the states, I had at least 6 bed sets, and I switched out the duvet cover and shams whenever the mood struck me. I could re-decorate my bedroom daily. If I had my way, our wardrobe would be stocked with hella sheets and blankets. I love walking through homewares stores, and I get lost in interior design pages. It’s not surprising in the least that I have lost hours standing in the aisle of Target contemplating two slightly different colour yellow sheets (twice). Bed linen shopping is my favourite.

SO, back to The Best Day of My Life 2015. I found a great pair of bright yellow sheets that were high quality and ridiculously expensive but also 75% off. But I also saw this pair of gold printed sheets that were of sightly lesser quality and were ridiculously expensive and not on sale. I sent a picture of them to Joel, who said they were “too busy.” But they were gorgeous. And I kept thinking about them. After debating whether or not it was worth it to spend over $100 on a single sheet set that Joel would hate but I would love, I decided they weren’t worth it. Maybe later, when they’re on sale.

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Fare thee well, gold beauties.

Flash forward One Year. The sheets still haven’t left my mind. Every time I passed the bedding store over the course of that year, I would be haunted by the gorgeous gold print sheets that could have been. But they were never on sale, and it was never the right time to buy them. And then one day, we decided we needed a summer blanket. And I was charged with finding “something that feels like sheets” that also satisfied my need for “colour” while at the same time satisfying Joel’s need for “nothing busy.” I mean, shopping for bedding is fun, but shopping for bedding for two opinionated people who don’t have the same taste in bedding is sometimes the worst thing ever.

It took 4.5 hours of back and forth between 5 different stores on 3 different levels of the shopping centre, muttering about “printed sheets or solid doona or printed doona and solid sheets.” Nothing exactly fit or blew my skirt up, except for this one green, vintage floral print blanket — that just SO happened to be modelled with my dream gold printed sheets, and that I just SO happened to be lusting over as long as I had been lusting over the sheets, and that just SO happened to be on sale. So, after lots of deliberation on whether to just get the dream sheets and the dream doona cover, and deliberating if I could afford both of them (because separately it could be a splurge but together was way too much), I threw my hands up and said “Fuck it” and bought the doona cover, and the affordable white sheets as a compromise to my pattern hating Joel. I left the store, dying that I didn’t buy the dream sheets when I had the chance.

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However, the bedding Gods smiled upon me, and Joel was stoked for the new blanket. Well, as stoked as he can be, or at least pretended to be for me. And the blanket looked nice against the stark white sheets. So it wasn’t a total loss.

But still.

I really wanted those damn sheets. And after a week of obsessively thinking about them, I once again threw my hands in the air and said FUCK IT, and bought them. I brought them home, washed them, made the bed with its matching blanket, and fell in love. And even Joel thought they looked nice.

 

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The sheets glowed in the sun, and they were so comfortable. I felt triumphant.

A few months later, I noticed there were huge discoloured areas where our bodies touched the sheets. Very odd, considering we didn’t use any bath products or lotions with peroxide or bleach, and I washed and dried according to the care instructions. But the tops of the pillows, and the top of the fitted sheet were pale yellow compared to the rest of the fabric, which was still gold.

I sent pictures to the customer service of the store where I bought the sheets, and they said I could replace them, no problem, they had never heard of this happening before. When I took the sheets back to the store, they were sold out of my size. OF COURSE THEY WERE. They said it would take 2-3 weeks to get the sheets back in stock, if I wanted to wait. Of course I didn’t want to wait, I had spent 3 months on my dream bed and I didn’t want it to end. So after an eternity of considering other sheets to exchange them for, and talking at length with the cashier about which sheets were best, I settled on another pattern that I hated but hated less than the other ones. I’d only have to wait two days for our size to come in. Which sucked, but a few days was better than a few weeks.

Two days later, the new sheets came in. I went to pick them up, and LO AND BEHOLD, there were my gold sheets of glory, in our size. I brought them up the counter, and the same cashier that had been really helpful was there. I told her I how excited I was, and she said they got an unexpected shipment. I asked if I could just take these instead, since they were what I really wanted, and she said no. She had already done the exchange, and she couldn’t do an exchange on top of an exchange since it was an exchange on a faulty product. I tried my best to beg her, but she wouldn’t budge. I took the shitty sheets home, wondering how fucked that was. I didn’t think it was so big an ask, and it was a simple issue (not one cent in price difference) and something I would have (and did, when I worked in customer service) worked out for a customer. I wrote another email to corporate, asking if there was anything that could be done. Corporate basically wrote “nope, sorry, you had your chance, suck it loser.” So I wrote off that store forever. It was dead to me.

The shitty sheets never became un-shitty, and after a few weeks went into the donate pile. And I sneered every time I walked past the store.

But still.

They put those beautiful gold sheets in the window, and I’ve had to pass them weekly as I leave the grocery store. It’s a strange thing to be haunted by bed sheets, but there I was. I haven’t been able to find a pair of sheets that I like as much, and it killed me to see them drop lower and lower in price, knowing that they were dead to me.

So, a couple weekends ago, I let myself do the unthinkable: I went inside the dead store and went to the clearance section and checked, just checked, if they had our size. OF COURSE THEY DID. They may have my size, and they might be 50% off, but this place is dead to me. I put the sheets back and left quickly. I felt dirty.

As I was walking home, I thought to myself, “why did I think it was ok to give ex-boyfriends and bad jobs and McDonald’s infinity billion chances after fucking me over, but I wrote off this one store after one bad jib? What’s the point, if I love the sheets so much, can’t I just let it go?” “Yeah, but you left those boy friends and jobs for a reason and you don’t eat McDonald’s because it’s terrible for you. You don’t have the money to spend on those sheets. So stop it.” Shut up, brain.

And so, the arguing between my good brain and my bad brain continued arguing all through the week.

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right up to the point where I threw my hands in the air and said FUCK IT, and brought the sheets to the register, and more so when I tapped my debit card on the machine, and even still when I brought them home. And even MORE arguing when Joel came home and didn’t hate them. And yet MORE arguing when I impulsively threw them in the washer and dryer, because it was 9* and dark outside and they wouldn’t have dried in time even though the care instructions said to line dry only SHUT UP GOOD BRAIN — and finally, when I made the bed with the glorious new sheets, and got into bed and felt the inevitable scratchiness of karma, and Joel said “wow these sheets feel rough,” my brain all at once came together in unison to say “Yeah you really shouldn’t have bought these.”

SO yes, I was in a foul mood all night, as the scratchy fabric ruined my dream bed, and I felt more guilty for spending the money. That sucked. It seems, through  like these sheets and I are not meant to exist in a perfect union. I’ve been Googling “how to soften sheets that you put in the dryer because you can’t control your impulses and now you’re stuck with shit sheets,” (apparently the trick is washing them with baking soda, and rinsing them with white vinegar) and I’m holding onto hope that they’ll continue to soften over time.

And that I’ll be able to curb my bedding habit.

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Doubtful. But hey, we live in hope.

xo

Affirmations

I’ve been dying for a rainy day during my time off. Why? Because there are few things better than waking up to a torrential downpour and feeling that warm, slow, smug realisation of “Hey – I don’t have to go anywhere or do shit today.” Continue reading “Affirmations”

Prepositions

I couldn’t sleep the other night. I tried reading blogs and Googling random celebrities (did you know that Dianne Wiest was basically broke in 2015 and almost lost her apartment?), which are my go-to sleep tricks, but to no avail. So I turned off my phone, closed my eyes, and started diagramming sentences.  Continue reading “Prepositions”

Catchup.com – January

Forgive the radio silence around here – I’ve been trapped in a time warp where the only hours I’m conscious are between 8AM-5PM. And before I know it, I’m waking up to get ready for work again.  I blame the 800% humidity and 37*C temperatures and my debilitating cramps and two relatively stressful weeks at work. So in all honesty, blogging got lost in the cray. Hoo-ray. Continue reading “Catchup.com – January”

Christmas!

Ah, Christmas. I love this time of year. I’m even accepting that it’s a summer holiday now, and somehow it’s just never going to snow and I won’t get to wear sweaters. And I’m like, almost ok with this. Continue reading “Christmas!”

Heeeere’s Johnny

I love Stanley Kubrick. And I love The Shining. And when I found out that I could see it for the first time on the big screen, I was all yusssssss.

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missing letters – awesome. And +10 for Jewish film festival.

The Hayden Orpheum Picture Palace – yes that is its real name – has held a Kubrick Film Fest all month long, showing every one of his movies. After I saw totally had a life changing experience seeing 2001: A Space Odyssey in 70mm Cinerama, my life mission has been to see all his movies on the screen. So this month has been one of those times where I really, really, really wish I was independently wealthy and could have taken the month off of work to see all of them. Alas, I am poor. So I chose The Shining and got real excited.

The first time I saw The Shining, I was 10 years old. It was at my birthday party, where we had a taco bar and watched movies (badass). We capped the night off with this beauty, and I can’t figure out why my mom thought it was appropriate. I was always creeped out by the movie box, which looked like this:

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Seriously – what the fuck is that face in the title font? /shudder

And my mom told me about the Redrum! Redrum! scene, which was instantly intriguing to my eerily obsessed with insanity 10 year old self.

But 10 year olds are dumb. And 10 years growing up in the Beavis and Butthead era are even dumber. We were idiot children cackling and making 10 year old jokes about rotting corpse booobies in the bathroom, high fiving any time Jack said fuck, making fun of Shelley Duvall’s teeth, starting blankly at the screen as we, a room full of kids, witnessed furries in action for the first time, not knowing what we just saw, just knowing that it was fucking weird (pun intended). We complained about the lack of gore and there was many a “THIS ISN’T SCARY” to be heard. As I said before, dumb kids.

But I’m all grown and up and totally sophisticated, and The Shining is unsettling and beautiful and a damn near perfect ghost story – actual, demonic ghosts, and the lingering ghosts from addictions and rage and disappointment. And Jack Nicholson. Shit.

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Seeing it in theatres was amazing. The soundtrack engulfed me and I felt it right in my bones, and since I was riding solo, I had no one to fan girl to incessantly, so I noticed little nuances and nods to the novel that I hadn’t seen before (like when Wendy and the doctor are sitting in the Torrence’s apartment, the only book with its spine facing the audience is called The Wise Child? Or Jack reading a copy of Playboy in the Overlook’s lounge?) And even though everyone in the audience had seen it before, so when Jack gave lines like “I’d never hurt you. Or your mother,” everyone cracked up. It was one of those instantly annoying/instantly bonding moments – a small part of me was like, aw man, can’t we pretend we all don’t know it’s going to end with an ax murder?

And you want to know how to make that blood coming from the elevator door scene even creepier? See it on a giant screen with booming orchestration. /yikes But I think my new favourite part is the scene between Wendy and Jack, when she brings him breakfast in bed. She asks how his writing is going, and he’s less than enthusiastic. So she says, “it’s all about getting in the habit of writing everyday.” And Jack kinda gives her this half smile, half fuck you face while saying “Yep. That’s all it is.” And it’s just magical. Like, I feel that.

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All in all, I had a great time.  The Hayden is an art deco style, independent theatre and it’s really fucking cool. Each theatre has its own theme and lush Gatsby era decor. The candy bar sells inexpensive candy and popcorn – in cardboard movie boxes – and not hot dogs or chicken wings. The seats don’t recline, and you can’t buy alcohol. The staff wear vests and bow ties and they still tear tickets. It’s my new favourite place.

 

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Or Flash City
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dat ceiling

It was perfect.

And yes, I’m pretty sure I’ve found a new place to spend all the money I don’t have.

Also, I still sometimes make fun of Shelley Duvall’s teeth. As I said before, I am totally sophisticated.

Things I love: The Silver Stallion

The Silver Stallion. 

The first time I saw it, I was 10 years old, at a slumber party with a couple of my friends. Before the party began, my mom took us all to Blockbuster Video to rent some movies – because staying up all night watching movies and eating junk food is the best part of being a kid. Or a 31 year old. Who’s counting. Anway.

My mom was very adamant about us only watching age appropriate movies – which really sucked when you were trying to be the coolest 10 year old in the room and your mom won’t let you rent Interview with the Vampire. My friends and I decided on a Japanese movie about giant, homicidal dinosaurs rising from the ocean to destroy Tokyo. I think it was called Dinosaur Land or something else equally irrelevant. I remember the cover was a hand drawn image of a platysaurus in the water, with a woman hanging out of its mouth, and Tokyo visible in the background. We are all super pumped.

Mom, however, showed us a movie called The Silver Stallion. And the collective womp womp womp was heard throughout the land. Who wanted to watch a movie about horsies? There were no Brad Pitt Vampires and no people eating dinosaurs and no curse words and no possibility of seeing Brad Pitt’s naked vampire butt. LAME. But mom insisted that we would love it, and we left Blockbuster both really excited and really bummed out.

Once everyone went to bed and we had the TV to ourselves, we put in the lame horse movie to get it over with. After a few minutes of hemming and hawwing and making fun of it, the room got quiet and we were glued to the screen. When it was over, we couldn’t stop chatting about it.

The gist: An Australian movie based on a popular children’s book, made in 1993. The plot is pretty simple: an author living in the bush is writing a story about the life of Thowra, an Australian wild horse, or “brumby”, and his rise to king of the brumbies while constantly outwitting the the Man in Black, who wanted to capture him. The author’s daughter reads along with the story, and falls in love with the wild horse. In a turn of events, the daughter finds out that Thowra is real, and is devastated to hear that the Man in Black has a fail-proof mission to finally capture the wild horse. The author and her daughter wait with baited breath to hear the final fate of Thowra and his reign as king of the brumbies.

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As the author narrates her story, the scenes are acted out by real horses in sequences shot amazingly in the mountains. Here’s a mash up of scenes put to the music from Requiem for a Dream, which kinda fits it perfectly (except there’s no heroin in The Silver Stallion. I mean, not that I know of)

 

It’s a dark, sad children’s story that is beautifully told – there are no silly horse voices or cheese ball animal/human friendship or “everyone is happy and learns a valuable lesson”ending. It makes you think of what separates a human from a villain. All in all, it’s just a good movie. Oh, and it stars a baby Russell Crowe as the wiley Man in Black.

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We put on Dinosaurs Eat People and barely paid attention to it, because it was super lame. There were no beautiful horses running free in the mountains, no dramatic horse fights, no crazy horse chases, no subtly dark story lines, and still no chance of naked Brad Pitt vampire butt – just badly clay animated dinosaurs and badly dubbed English lines and no gorey peple eating scenes. We didn’t even finish the movie before we put Silver Stallion on again.

And thus began the obsession. I convinced my friends to pretend to be the horses in the movie and we would run around the woods making up different Thowra stories. We would watch it whenever we got the chance (I begged my parents to rent it so often that 5 years later, when I started working at Blockbuster, the manager told me on my first day that she remembered me as “the silver stallion girl”), and it became a weird thing that bonded the three of us.

My sister Mary was always horse crazy while we were growing up, and I liked horses, but I was way more into dogs, orcas, tigers, and lions. However, once I watched this magically lame horsie movie, all I could think about were horses. I started tagging along with my dad and my sister to her horse back riding lessons, and became something of a barn rat. “Can I brush your horse?” “Can I walk your horse?” “Can I clean that stall?” “Can I do ANYTHING remotely related to being near a horse?” Eventually, I started taking riding lessons too, and that was it. I was hooked. My sister and I rode competitively and basically lived at the barn for years. And funny enough, we came to own a horse who’s name was Brumbie. Go figured.

I still have a huge fondness for the flick. I own a copy and I dust it off and watch it from time to time.And this morning when I woke up and Joel had already left for work and it was cold and pouring rain, I instantly felt like watching it. So I scoured the internet and vaguely considered trecking out to JB HiFi in the rain to buy it (movie obsession turns me into a driven lunatic bent on success) until I found it on Youtube because it’s so irrelevant that not even Amazon or iTunes will stream it.

From the title card, this movie always takes me back to being a 10 year old. It makes me think of my dream of spending my days riding my horse through the country side and spending my nights pounding out stories on a typewriter as I wear a big woolen sweater – and my vampire Brad Pitt husband brings me coffee. #dreams

My first thought was “wow, I guess I didn’t really achieve what 10 year old Audrey wanted.” But then I thought more about it, and I’m actually pretty close to this dream – I mean, I live in Australia now. And I still write (kinda), and I have a big sweat shirt and a much more handsome, much cooler, non-vampire, sexy man to bring me coffee. But I did think really hard about sending my mom $200 so she can mail me my typewriter. Annnnd I may have looked up how much horse back riding lessons cost around here. Spoiler alert – they’re expensive.

Here’s to nostalgia.  Brb, I’m going out to get a big wool sweater. And maybe a horse colouring book.

 

*fun fact, those same girls and I had another slumber party a few months later and we totally watched Interview with the Vampire. And I got in trouble. #worthit