Spoiler Alert: There Are No Mattresses at the Mattress Factory

Corey and I were duped into thinking that the Mattress Factory had switched exhibitions, so we lassoed up his girlfriend Danielle and my friend Laura and revisited the industrial abode of contemporary art yesterday. Turns out, it was the last day for the current exhibits, so we got to ogle a roomful of handheld bread rolls again. But Corey and I didn’t really care, we were just happy to get out of the sweltering July sneak peek-heat.

EXCEPT THAT THE MATTRESS FACTORY IS NOT AIR-CONDITIONED. FOILED!!

I was pretty upset that the balloon room I saw on the website was not there. I really wanted to release a balloon, and then write my own dreams and wishes on one to replace it.

I’m pretty sure everyone was getting completely annoyed with me whining about it.

Thank god Jonny Craig was there to console me. When he wasn’t getting nipple-nuzzled.

At this moment, Corey was in the middle of saying something and then just stopped. I guess the view of Northside rooftops stunned the words back into his mouth.

It was so face-meltingly hot in that joint that it was almost hard to enjoy everything. And then I accidentally accosted someone in a dark hallway, poking them so hard that my finger bent all the way back. I screamed as a reflex (probably in their face, I couldn’t see) and then we all got a good laugh. Well, me and my group did anyway. I think the person I finger-jabbed was this older man whom I kept mistaking for Philip Seymour Hoffman every time I would see him in my periphery. I do not think he nor his non-smiling wife were amused by any of us at any point during our cultural sojourn, and Corey and I weren’t even really being assholes on this day. It was just too hot!

 

Got this ring from the gift shop! I had openly coveted it when Corey and I were there over the winter, but I think I had like, $20 in my bank account that I needed to stretch out for the next week. So I did not indulge.  This time, however, I could’t resist, though I did text Henry and ask him as a courtesy. His reply was “How much is it?” and then after making me wait forev-hev-er (at least it was air-conditioned in the gift shop), he finally texted back a simple “whatever” that I just knew was oozing defeat and possibly even a little hatred.

Since it was “art,” it wasn’t as cheap as most of my jewelry is (flea market swag!).

The Mattress Factory has an additional building down the street, called the Annex. It was closed when Corey and I were last there, but this time it was open. That is how I learned that there would be balloons after all! Yes, I realize that I essentially paid $12 for the opportunity to choose a balloon. I’m alright with that.

Along the length of outside wall of the Annex, there are red downspouts. Some of them had mirrors placed inside so you could look in and essentially see nothing, but that was still wildly exciting for me. My favorite was the one that had an illustration of an ear at the opening, and if you put your head against it, you could hear music playing from inside the building.

It’s the little things.

 

This scene of a woman getting out of the shower was projected on a wall.  There was also, on the ceiling above a staircase,  a projection of a woman walking up stairs, and a bathroom that had a projection of a design on the shower curtain with a recording of some lady singing behind it. IDEAS FOR MY FUTURE HOUSE.

BALLOONS! FINALLY! BALLOONS AND DREAMS EVERYWHERE!!! $12 BALLOONS!

I’m afraid to know what Corey wrote on his.

This is the one he took to release, specifically because someone wrote “I wish I banged her” on it. I took one that said, “I wish for the liberation of the moose.” Because that is a solid wish that deserves to come true.

The handrail had water runnng down it. I touched it, expecting it to be crisp and cold, refreshing; but instead it was WARM BORDERING ON BOILING. I screamed, “OMG IT’S HOT!!” at an alarming decibel.

There was a midget-considerate door which was just enough ajar to let us peek inside at a projection of (presumably) the same woman from the other procted scenes, this time getting her spin on.

 

 

All that fuss over the balloons, and I didn’t even release mine myself. I took it home and let my neglected son do it, since I’m such a shitty mother.