Swedish Modern

Yesterday evening, B and I, aided by our invaluable friend, the inimitable K, hit up Ikea. We dropped what the Italians refer to as un sacco di soldi on new furniture: a loveseat, a new bookshelf, a desk setup for me, some other crap.

You see, tomorrow we move again, this time back to our beloved Southeast Portland, some thirty blocks to the east of B's and my first apartment from seven years ago. It's a few blocks from Laurelhurst park, next to all kinds of neat stores, and at the foot of Mt. Tabor, Portland's scenic walking bump (i.e. it's a big bump you can walk on/up.) The apartment itself looks different depending on your background and point of view:

1. If you are used to nice things, it looks like a slightly worn-out, funky two-bedroom apartment in a red brick building in need of a little sprucing up.
2. If you are used to living in Santa Cruz, California, it looks like the Taj F'ing Mahal, dude. It's huge. It costs precisely 50% of the equivalent in Santa Cruz. It has storage. It has enough counter space in the kitchen. And, OMFG, it has a dishwasher. I am ALL A-TITTER about this place.

Tomorrow, the gang shows up around 11am, just as I return to the house with the Uhaul. I figure it won't take too long to load up our stuff (which is mostly still in boxes) and drag it on over. Then I call in the pizza, return the truck, and celebrate the arrival of quality living.