Our beautiful new wood floors are in, but unfortunately since they're slathered in a thick coating of stinking oil based polyurethane, I'm sitting next to the window with fans blowing my hair out like a fashion model (and now my hair is far too glamorous for my pajamas and unscrubbed visage), trying to avoid going on a polyurethane gas trip. It's cold outside. My fingers are numb and now I've got a sore throat. I really wish I were staying here:
Ahhh... The Propeller Island City Lodge, located in Berlin, features this luxurious yet spare room replete with fluffy clouds! and clean (polyurethane) gas free sheets! Oh, happy warm sunlight and fresh air!
Yet somehow I have descended down into the seventh level of renovation hell, wherein I have no sink, no stove, no access to tv (!!!) and my home is full of dust and toxic off gassing. It's like an acid trip gone horribly wrong, and I'm a thinkin' the Propeller's other rooms are more reflective of my current state of mind.
Yes, the Padded Cell room is particularly fitting right now, although perhaps the Therapy Room could save me from certain restraint.
You see, crazy artist Lars Stroschen opened The Propeller with a vision, a vision of utterly insane fantastic interiors. Each of the 45 rooms has a different theme, ranging from the serene Temple Room:
To the bizarrely disorienting Topsy Turvy Room:
To the abject horror of finding yourself locked in a sanitarium, aka the Wrapped Room:
Some of the rooms are less hair raising. I could use a dip in the Orange Room:
Filled with sunny optimism, I would bask in the glow of my self worth. Rejuvenated by the healing powers of orange, I would heroically go out into the world ready to take on anything. Except floor refinishing.
And who doesn't love castles? Is this the perfect honeymoon suite or what? Ok, maybe the kiddie graphics are more playful than romantic (although I'm not judging if you think otherwise), but they're better than this:
Dear gawd, a mirrored Bucky Ball with a bed in the middle of it! I for one do not need that many angles on my ass. Unless it's pitch black in there, in which case mon derriere c'est magnifique! Whew, I think the fumes are talking... This is what they're saying to me:
You CAN read that, right?
Perhaps I just need a little love and attention from dear, sweet Grandma, who inexplicably has her very own room at the Propeller. Dear Grandma, I would like some hot lemonade and peace and quiet. This may involve turning that creepy stunning portrait of you towards the wall. Is that ok?
I've been feeling a bit wan and pasty from the winter so I wouldn't mind spending some time chillin in the Space Room, where I could work on my tan 24 hours a day. Or for about 15 minutes before I turned into an Irish potato french fry.
I may fare better in the Landscapes Room, which features picture windows and skylights along with strange wavy walls. Nah, I can see all that right here at home. Especially the wavy, moving walls.
I could stay in the Hollywood Room, but for some terrifying reason the bathroom is translucent and red. Enough said.
I could stay in the Blue Room, but the funhouse mirrors at home already freak me out, so I don't really want them wall mounted in order to facilitate easier viewing.
I could stay in the Two Lions Room because it actually has a gorgeous bathroom with a clawfoot tub.
However, I don't really think that the beds, er, I mean raised cages, would really suit my needs, although I am a typical Leo and every now and then I need to be put in my place.
No, where I really want to stay is at home, in my own comfortable bed with my own snuggly pillow and my blankie (I'm not the only one with a blankie, am I?). Sadly, I think I'm going to have to bust out of the Prison Room for the day and wait for the fumes to air out. Otherwise, I might end up in the Coffin Room:
So if I've been a little absent from the blogosphere, it's because I'm trying to avoid certain death. No biggie. But I'll be back on Thursday in full force with a kitchen update, to prove to myself that almost dying was worth it.
