Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Fill-In Blogger: Stacy's Nightstand

(Stacy Without an E isn't feeling very well today. He's mostly been on the floor of his office begging for a nap. When he does rise to sit behind his desk, everything gets blurry and dizzy and then nausea comes to play. Since Stacy Without an E abhors his blog becoming a vacuum, he has decided to allow his Nightstand to speak it's mind.)

Hello everyone, I'm Stacy's Nightstand. I used to be part of a set, but Stacy Without an E couldn't really afford my brothers and sisters, so I'm an only child now.

I remember when I first met Stacy Without an E. It was Xmas morning about 7 years ago and Stacy's sister decided he needed something more than milk crates for furniture.


Truth be told, milk crates have a bad attitude and have awful, filthy mouths, so my arrival was for the best.

(normal vocal volume)

Stacy was going to put me together for the first time, but his sister didn't trust him. She thought he might assemble me incorrectly and I'd end up being a really incomplete coffee table. I despise coffee tables too. They think they're so high and mighty sitting there as the centerpiece of the living room. If I had a finger, I'd flip off every coffee table I ever met. Snooty bastards.

Anyway, his sister assembled me and I travelled to his sparsely furnished studio apartment in Long Beach where he was going to school. He had just graduated and owned very few pieces in his bedroom. It was mostly milk crates and cardboard boxes. It was hell every day. Once Stacy would leave, the milk crates would start talking about my mother and my family. Sometimes the microwave would stick up for me, just to shut them up, but it rarely succeeded.

My fondest days are when Stacy actually used me for what I was supposed to be used for, an accessory to the bed.

I felt bad for Stacy Without an E sometimes because he would come home night after night, appearing more and more tired and weak. It had gotten to the point when I couldn't remember the last time he had brought someone home, opened my singular drawer and pulled out a condom.

They were pretty loud that night, so I tried to distract myself by imagining I was in the jungle on safari and we stumbled upon a primitive tribe who could only communicate in moans and yells.

Later that evening I did have some fun because when the bed shook, so did I. It was like a carnival ride for free.

Those days are long past, but I'm still here. We haven't even had an earthquake here lately so I haven't had any fun. Now he fills up my drawer with old Altoids containers filled with screws and keys to furniture and doors he doesn't even recognize any more. There's also some playing cards in here, a number of medication containers and some old gum way past it's prime.

Lately I've been feeling rather bad about myself. Every few nights I see Stacy Without an E looking through catalog's of bedroom sets he wants to save for. They look fantastic, all smooth and polished. I'm chipped and my drawer doesn't close correctly. And he's always piling my shelf with Entertainment Weekly's and Playboy's. I don't care what anybody says, but you place two or three Playboy's on a shelf and said shelf might just give in. Those suckers are heavy.

I shouldn't complain. He's treated me well. He never takes me apart when we move and he always tries to be careful when he places me next to his bed.

Hopefully when he's ready, he'll sell me with some of his other furniture to some college student. That'll give me a chance to have a little excitement at the very least.

This concludes my first ever blog. I wasn't as angry as the toaster oven or as interesting as a milk crate, but at least we had a chance to spend some time together.

If I can leave you with any thought for the day, that would simply be: varnish stings.

(Stacy Without an E hopes to return this weekend. He's not really used to working full time after seven days off. He should have taken it easy by working part time for a few days, but that just wouldn't do. He's a born and bred workaholic, and lately his work is all that distracts him from the soulless life he has been burdened with. Lambada.)

1 comment:

  1. I think that our new friend the nightstand is really sweet, caring, misunderstood and underappreciated. Like me!