The Pursuit of Happyness and Free Cushions
A couple days ago, I was waiting for the light to turn green at Broadway and Avenue 22. The driver of the lowered rice burner to my passenger side decided to demonstrate his machismo by revving his engine, which sounded like golf balls rattling around in a coffee can, hooked up to an amplifier. Was he serious? He waited a few seconds for my reaction and did it again. As tempted as it was to humiliate him when the light turned green, I deflated him with a quick blip of my throttle. An auto magazine once described the GT tuned Mustang 4.6 liter V-8 as sounding like the scream of a Pterodactyl accompanied by thunder. Rice burner driver sunk into his seat and didn't rev anymore. No time for such silliness--I was in a hurry, trying to get to the queen mother of all thrift stores St Vincent de Paul before it closed. I'd been trying to find sofa cushions, not have a drag race in Lincoln Heights. By my calculations, I'd have exactly 7 minutes to scan for a donor sofa before closing.
I'd stuck out at St Vincent but left with a big roll of nubby seafoam green mid-century fabric for $5. Future bedroom curtains. This has been my longest free cushion dry spell in a long time. I usually got them from Craigslist but months had gone by and still nothing acceptable. Everything was rode hard and came from grungy apartments and unacceptable zipcodes. Why do I search for sofa cushions? Rufus. My 12 year-old Greyhound has decided he can pee wherever he wants. Additionally, he can be rough on furniture.
Four years ago (after a protracted search), I purchased a time capsule black naugahyde 50's sofa, perfect Mad Men style for $140. At nearly 60 years old, it was stunning, not a single rip, tear or sag. Ah, doggies. My German Shepherd mix Shadow helped, those claw marks looked a lot like hers. "Get a new sofa," the same people clamor over and over. I tell them his history and that it's probably just going to happen again. "Get a new sofa," still on repeat. They don't understand. They don't live with Rufus. So goes my perpetual search for cushions. I've tried tarps, tents, blankets, barricades and turning the coffee table upside down on the seat. Sooner or later he catches me snoozing, gets past them or just pees on it right in front of me. Why would I put up with this? Rufus makes me laugh every day of my life and he's a kind, gentle soul.
My last cushions came from a sofa on the "poor" side of Beverly Hills. Yes, there is such a thing--below Wilshire Boulevard, all apartment buildings. The ad was a bait and switch--four photos of a gorgeous green velvet Z Gallerie looking thing. In person was a leatherish hulk. I wasn't at all dismayed by their rouse--the cushions fit perfectly and were almost the right color. But c'est la Rufus.
This evening I was back at St Vincent with 45 minutes to look. Day 4 on a juice fast, operating from desperation. All I needed were cushions, not a whole sofa. I hadn't thought the whole thing through. Clusterfucked, I escaped to the men's clothing section. After sneering at vintage suits marked up to $49.99, I spotted a flawless dark grey London Fog Pea Coat that fit perfectly and made me look thinner. Sold. Price tag said $19.99. I flirted with the cashier and she let me have it for $16.99.
Back on CL, someone in Burbank was getting rid of a green sofa sectional. On location, I surveyed the home from the 11pm shadows of Gaylord Street. Part of doing this successfully is getting the pedigree of the furniture as well as its owners. Sufficiently boring, Muggle-y conversation from the immaculate, well-lit 1940's tract bungalow reached the shadows where I lurked. Always get used cars and furniture from boring people. I swear. Everything sexy beauty queens own is rode hard when they give it up. I stuffed the cushions into my Stang like I was stealing them, leaving the bad ones. The unit had some damage so I could harvest the cushions without guilt--no one was going to haul the thing into their pad, despite their cutsey signs tacked to it or their detailed ad complete with flowery descriptions of them and their lifestyle. Their hopeful "free" sign was accompanied by another "bulk pickup" scrawled on printer paper next to it. The ad smacked of sentiment. They'd picked this piece up with their sleigh bed and distressed armoire to hide their big box TV, plenty of storage for video tapes. When it was new, they had probably flopped on it in big-legged 90's jeans wearing mud colored matte lipstick (hope she isn't still wearing it), watching Friends and Seinfeld. They probably pulled the hunter green tab-top curtains closed to cut the glare on the screen.
In the afterglow, I stopped at Home Depot to purchase paint for my bedroom, thinking I'd pick up some heavy duty garbage bags to wrap cushions under the covers (to protect from...moisture). I reflected the luxurious, deep purple I'd picked out a few days before and how the small section of my bedroom wall I'd painted reminded me of a cartoon dinosaur. The paint is my current project, the cushions were a detour. During a juice fast it's easy to get distracted by shiny objects. After painstakingly comparing paint chips with the existing bold color choices in my apartment, I left with a deep greenish blue. The name that had something to do with an airplane. Bye purple.
The sage green plush corduroy cushions stood in stark contrast to my sleek mid-century statement. Although functional, I scolded myself for not having 3 sets of reproduction cushions made in proper black Naugahyde. My sister's opinion: "It looks fine! Kinda cool." I was happier about the red light bulb I'd just installed in the hall that I'd picked up with the paint, illuminating my two genuine Joan Crawford by George Hurrell photos like the vestibule of a brothel. At least I can use my sofa again. Rufus's leopard blanket would look killer on the sofa--but that would encourage him to get up there again. Sigh. Anyone know who will make black naugahyde cushions in bulk? Maybe I could put an upholstery shop on retainer.
I'd stuck out at St Vincent but left with a big roll of nubby seafoam green mid-century fabric for $5. Future bedroom curtains. This has been my longest free cushion dry spell in a long time. I usually got them from Craigslist but months had gone by and still nothing acceptable. Everything was rode hard and came from grungy apartments and unacceptable zipcodes. Why do I search for sofa cushions? Rufus. My 12 year-old Greyhound has decided he can pee wherever he wants. Additionally, he can be rough on furniture.
Four years ago (after a protracted search), I purchased a time capsule black naugahyde 50's sofa, perfect Mad Men style for $140. At nearly 60 years old, it was stunning, not a single rip, tear or sag. Ah, doggies. My German Shepherd mix Shadow helped, those claw marks looked a lot like hers. "Get a new sofa," the same people clamor over and over. I tell them his history and that it's probably just going to happen again. "Get a new sofa," still on repeat. They don't understand. They don't live with Rufus. So goes my perpetual search for cushions. I've tried tarps, tents, blankets, barricades and turning the coffee table upside down on the seat. Sooner or later he catches me snoozing, gets past them or just pees on it right in front of me. Why would I put up with this? Rufus makes me laugh every day of my life and he's a kind, gentle soul.
My last cushions came from a sofa on the "poor" side of Beverly Hills. Yes, there is such a thing--below Wilshire Boulevard, all apartment buildings. The ad was a bait and switch--four photos of a gorgeous green velvet Z Gallerie looking thing. In person was a leatherish hulk. I wasn't at all dismayed by their rouse--the cushions fit perfectly and were almost the right color. But c'est la Rufus.
This evening I was back at St Vincent with 45 minutes to look. Day 4 on a juice fast, operating from desperation. All I needed were cushions, not a whole sofa. I hadn't thought the whole thing through. Clusterfucked, I escaped to the men's clothing section. After sneering at vintage suits marked up to $49.99, I spotted a flawless dark grey London Fog Pea Coat that fit perfectly and made me look thinner. Sold. Price tag said $19.99. I flirted with the cashier and she let me have it for $16.99.
Back on CL, someone in Burbank was getting rid of a green sofa sectional. On location, I surveyed the home from the 11pm shadows of Gaylord Street. Part of doing this successfully is getting the pedigree of the furniture as well as its owners. Sufficiently boring, Muggle-y conversation from the immaculate, well-lit 1940's tract bungalow reached the shadows where I lurked. Always get used cars and furniture from boring people. I swear. Everything sexy beauty queens own is rode hard when they give it up. I stuffed the cushions into my Stang like I was stealing them, leaving the bad ones. The unit had some damage so I could harvest the cushions without guilt--no one was going to haul the thing into their pad, despite their cutsey signs tacked to it or their detailed ad complete with flowery descriptions of them and their lifestyle. Their hopeful "free" sign was accompanied by another "bulk pickup" scrawled on printer paper next to it. The ad smacked of sentiment. They'd picked this piece up with their sleigh bed and distressed armoire to hide their big box TV, plenty of storage for video tapes. When it was new, they had probably flopped on it in big-legged 90's jeans wearing mud colored matte lipstick (hope she isn't still wearing it), watching Friends and Seinfeld. They probably pulled the hunter green tab-top curtains closed to cut the glare on the screen.
In the afterglow, I stopped at Home Depot to purchase paint for my bedroom, thinking I'd pick up some heavy duty garbage bags to wrap cushions under the covers (to protect from...moisture). I reflected the luxurious, deep purple I'd picked out a few days before and how the small section of my bedroom wall I'd painted reminded me of a cartoon dinosaur. The paint is my current project, the cushions were a detour. During a juice fast it's easy to get distracted by shiny objects. After painstakingly comparing paint chips with the existing bold color choices in my apartment, I left with a deep greenish blue. The name that had something to do with an airplane. Bye purple.
The sage green plush corduroy cushions stood in stark contrast to my sleek mid-century statement. Although functional, I scolded myself for not having 3 sets of reproduction cushions made in proper black Naugahyde. My sister's opinion: "It looks fine! Kinda cool." I was happier about the red light bulb I'd just installed in the hall that I'd picked up with the paint, illuminating my two genuine Joan Crawford by George Hurrell photos like the vestibule of a brothel. At least I can use my sofa again. Rufus's leopard blanket would look killer on the sofa--but that would encourage him to get up there again. Sigh. Anyone know who will make black naugahyde cushions in bulk? Maybe I could put an upholstery shop on retainer.
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