Take a look at my couch:
There's nothing fancy about it, really. It was purchased from IKEA, not nearly big enough for me to lay horizontally on and strikingly inoffensive. It's neutral, safe and moderately effective. I pretend to use it while watching movies, because I much prefer the floor two feet from the television. It's a couch. It's my couch. But give me a few big fluffy pillows in place of it and I can throw the damn thing in the trash.
But since other human beings occasionally enter my living space, I figure a general seating area is a good idea. Unfortunately, it's horribly uncomfortable and no one likes to sit there. I've seen it with my own eyes. To put sole blame on the couch is unfair, since the coffee table is so close to it, it forces you to maneuver your way through, only to have your legs bunched up and cramped. Very impersonal and frustrating, almost as if it was planned that way. Maybe I purposely positioned the coffee table in that manner? Maybe I booby trapped my own apartment in a clever way to fend off social gatherings and get-togethers? The world may never know yeah I did it on purpose. Stay outta my shit.
And do you know why I did this? Do you know why I cringe every time people come over to hang out and converse? Why my biggest fears lie in someone carting over food and drink into my secret hideout?
BECAUSE OF THIS:
That. THAT THING. I hate it and it drives me up the wall.
I hate stains. It really bothers me to know that what once was is now all wrong. I remember going to the movies when I was younger and partaking in what is known as "a giant tub of greasy fucking popcorn." This experience has since evolved into my current phobia, because ever since then I haven't been the same.
You see, movie theater popcorn is wet. Wet with grease, butter, salt, whatever. Blame it on age or lack of experience, but I never failed to lose control of this buttery beast and spill at least a few popped kernels on my clothes. You can wipe away the initial evidence, but as soon as I got home...stains were present. It ruined my self confidence, toyed with my emotions and turned my wardrobe into leopard skin. And this is just example #1.
I can go on forever, but it would be quicker to let you know that all these experiences and more, through my life, have transcended into a greater and grander neurosis. Which really just means I hate it when someone drops burrito juice on my couch.
Looking at my poor couch, I can't quite tell you what each individual stain's origin is and what it represents (aside from crippling pain and infinite sadness) but I'm positive that they're all food related. If you look closely, you'll see they even come complete with an outer stain-shell created by all the weird chemicals and stain removers I've doused the infected area in. In my eyes, it's even worse than the stain itself, but during those fervid moments of frantic scrubbing, I truly thought I was doing the right thing. I was drunk with rage, eyes and mind blurred by tears and violence! It's not my fault!
Today, things would change.
What could I do? I can't very well start over with a new couch, nor am I about to run out and buy replacement cushion covers (well over a hundred bucks, if you can believe that garbage) so my mind raced to the next best option.
Blankets. A great and grand blanket the size of a circus tent that can be draped over the couch, concealing the sins and follies of the last two years.
I went out. I hit all the stores. I surfed the web, did the research and tweeted help. Surprisingly, not a whole lotta cool blankets floating around these days. I was only lucky enough to find what I found on a "rock and roll" website, amidst Bob Marley gear and U2 junk. I did not choose either one of those options, for I chose this:
A KISS blanket!
Authorized and approved merchandise by KISS themselves! And only twenty bucks! Say it ain't so!
Well, I can't say I'm a big KISS fan, but I like to live my life in bewildering lies, so yeah, if anyone asks...I'm a big KISS fan.
To be fair, I like KISS's aesthetic. I like the act, the stage show, the merchandise, the look and feel of it all. Now, the music? It's tough to say. They have, undoubtedly, some incredible songs, but the rest of their catalogue is so far removed from anything that can be remotely "cool" it's ridiculous. Don't argue with me, people. Because I seriously have no defense against these claims. I've only heard two KISS songs. I can shut up now.
In all seriousness, I really do like the idea of having a fuzzy blanket of all four members in colorful attack-mode. My couch was once covered in pizza, but today, will now be covered in pizazz.
I feel calm inside. Knowing that deep down underneath Paul Stanley's ass lies a buffet of food shit is mind numbing, but Paul Stanley's ass eases this pain. I'm truly an "out of sight, out of mind" kinda guy, so for the time being, I'm satisfied with this solution.
I think what sucks is that I bought this online, only to find it with a cheaper price tag in a used record store a week later. Oh, and it didn't smell like cat piss. Because the one I got smells like cat piss.
Hey, at least I have something new to complain about.