Just call me Ms. Fancy Pants

I have tv in MY BEDROOM. I'm a fancy pants.

This tv has resided in my kitchen for two years. Yep, TWO YEARS, PEOPLE. I have used it as an island, an additional serving table, and a place to hold laundry.

It has sat there so long, in the box, that the warranty expired, AS WELL AS THE ADDITIONAL YEAR we bought.

Now it resides in a cabinet over the fireplace. A cabinet built by some nice handy dandy construction men and painted by the kid and I. Today the construction men came back and plopped that tv in and got the cable going as well.

I will need to do some sort of project on the doors since they are just white right now but it looks super.

The kitchen is spacious and almost looks naked without the giant brown Costco box. I don't miss it.

This is one of the best things about my schedule, I just got it done. The ex put everything off till the next day, or the day after that, or the year after that. In the long run, I saved a boatload of money by hiring the construction men. They came, they saw, they built, and they left. No running 32 times to Home Depot, no mismeasuring, no blowing fuses, no trips to the hospital. Just two days of work and DONE. And it works, with only ONE REMOTE.

The tv in the living room, which was installed by the ex, takes 6 remotes, reaching behind the tv and flipping some switches on this little box until the picture comes on, aiming one remote at the ceiling, another remote at the floor, and turning around 3 times counterclockwise and finally crying "Oh for the love of all things holy just bring up the flippin' episode of GLEE." Sometimes it works and other times I lay on the floor and cry.

Now I can just go upstairs, open a door, push a button and that is it. No crying, which will save me so much more time to whine about the stuff that is really important, HOW IN THE HELL CAN OLIVE STILL GET OUT OF THE YARD BUT NOT GET BACK IN.