If You Like It Then You Shoulda Put A Frame On It

First of all, I have to clear something up. That icky "she's just 16 years old" song that I was singing yesterday? That is not, apparently, an Eddie Money song. It's some one-hit wonder dude named Benny Mardones. Look at me, besmirching Eddie Money's name like that. I take it back, Eddie!

Ok, now that I have cleansed myself of soiling the good name of a man who only wants us to have Two Tickets to Paradise, I can move on.

Last night, I spent two hours in my car. I know there are many who commute this every day but most of my car rides are 10 minutes or less, or else I am riding the bus or walking or what have you. So after two hours in my car last night, I wanted to cut someone, for real.

First of all, I had to go to this art store to get something framed. Can someone please explain to me why getting something framed is so bleeding expensive? I am willing to be schooled on this. In fact, I really want to be schooled on it, because I need it to make some sense to me. Four pieces of wood around a picture plus a clear covering over the top and this is many many dollars? Really? So far in my life I have actually avoided ever getting anything framed, because Nordic Boy usually will just get the glass cut at the hardward store hisself and make a frame easy peasy for me. But lately he is super busy what with re-plumbing our laundry room and hightailing it to Portland every week so I thought I would go ahead and just go to a frame store. I did my homework by asking around and looking on Yelp! and so forth, so I am confident I did not go to a place that was outrageous (and although it was not exactly near my house-hence part 1 of the Driving Extravaganza- I went to a place that was highly recommended everywhere I looked just in the hopes that I would not be punctured with a new a-hole along with my frame job). But still. Three prints of less than one-square-foot each and it cost me one whole Benjamin. A WHOLE BENJAMIN. A Benjamin and a Jackson, actually. Plus they told me it was going to take them until after Thanksgiving to have it ready. What the WHAT??? Is there some sort of framing craftsmanship that I don't understand? Because I just can't accept this. Well, I can't accept it in theory, because I forked the money over. Which made me feel like a royal chump. With crown and scepter.

Phooey.

At any rate, I got back in my car and started the drive back to my neighborhood to go to the grocery store to get some dinner. While in the car, Nordic Boy called from Portlandia and me being the hands-free cell-phone user that I am, talked to him on speaker while my phone sat snugly on my lap. Then I forgot all about it being there, and when I got to the grocery store I got out of the car and heard a sickening thud. OH MY DEAR IPHONE I HAVE GONE AND KILLED YOU.

Normally, I might have waited to fix my phone, but the thing is, when Nordic Boy is in Portland he calls me, like, a lot. A lot a lot. And if he can't get a hold of me, he pretty much thinks I am dead. The reason for this is not because he is maudlin, but because I have drilled into him after many years together that one of us could die at any moment, especially when we are apart. It's a cheery thing to be around, I assure you, and I know you are so jealous of Nordic Boy right now to have landed a catch such as yours truly. So after the grocery store I drove my phone to the Apple Store (drive drive drive) as if I was on fire and because everyone else in Seattle lives at the Apple Store too they told me that they could not fit me in to see a Genius (and can I just ask you what kind of an establishment is that that deems themselves, individually and collectively, GENIUS? Who are they, Wile E. Coyote or something?) that night. It was then about 7pm, and to think that Nordic Boy would be trying to call me from 7pm until the next day? Not acceptable. So I might have prostrated myself at the feet of the goddamn Geniuses and begged them to help me. Just a little. And they did. So ok, they can be Geniuses, fine.

Then I had to drive to the dry cleaners to pick something up, and then had to go to the co-op. And then my butt grew right into my car seat and I became a Transformer and rampaged through my fair city. BLAH.

In non-grumpy news, my friend Hopscotch is having a baby boy who we have fortunately/unfortunately started to call TimJim. Also, my friend Maddie wrote for The Colbert Report a couple of days ago, which made Nordic Boy and I act as though we had something to do with it, which, you know, we totally did, if by that you mean that we watched and squealed and clapped at the screen and looked at each other with smug faces.

This post is so grand, I think you should frame it.