IKEA: Or, why we can never go there just ONCE in a day...

Ah, IKEA. Say it with me now, "IKEAAAAAAAA...." Let it linger on your tongue, for you know the goodness that IKEA brings. As all are Irish on St. Patty's Day, all are Swedish for the hour and a half you're in IKEA. From the meatballs and lingenberry sauce to the Rykstopp pillow cases and Orgendorf side table, it's a festival of all things the good ol' Swedes do best - make stuff. Mostly furniture. Sometimes bizarre lamps. But strap on your clogs, friends, for a trip to IKEA is more than just bright blue and yellow tarp bags and DIY bookcaes. Oh no no no. Don't let the adorable names and cutsey kids' playsets fool you. IKEA is an beautiful, wonder, but totally evil trap. It sucks you in and makes you incapable of purchasing the correct parts for anything you buy. It blinds you with cuteness and makes you feel like you're finally doing something good for yourself and your home. And then it turns on you...

Trust me.

I've been there twice today. That's right. Twice. This, my friends, did not make me at all happy. Certainly not clog-wearing, meatball-eating, Orgentopp-buying happy. Nope. Two trips in one day is badddddddd. It makes Rachel maddddddd.

Mind you, this store is approximately 45 minutes away. Add in the outrageous lines (it's a TUESDAY, people!! What are you doing in IKEA?!?! Don't you have jobs???), the traffic jams in the textiles department, and you've got yourself a full-on afternoon spent Swede-ing it up in a gigantic West Chester superstore. Oh, and to make matters worse, I heard at least two Spice Girls songs while I was there. Ok, well, maybe that makes things better... but you get my point.

I always have to gear myself up for these IKEA trips, especially when Jacob goes with me. He and I have the inane ability to spend massive amounts of money when we're together. We pawn it off as loving gestures to one another, like, "Oh, well if that extra $50 basket will really make you happy, then let's get it!" Or, "It's just $28 extra worth of pillow cases, so that seems reasonable..." And then we put it in the cart (or, if it's IKEA, one of those industrial sized dolleys) and go on our merry way to the next inappropriate purchase. So, today, before we left, I mentally prepared myself for the economy-stimulating afternoon ahead, drank my latte, and told myself to just enjoy.

And, to my shock, when we got there at about noon, the store was RELATIVELY quiet. I mean, I wasn't bumping into someone every time I turned around, but I did definitely step on a very short woman's foot while Jacob and I were looking for couches (NOT on our list of things to be looking for) and then I hit a kid in the neck with a rug. Don't ask. Suffice it to say, Jacob and I were having a blast, picking up things for my office (which is what we were making the trip for) and doing some other fun shopping.

Things were looking up.

Then you hit the "Self Service" area. We all know what this looks like. It's an airplane hangar sized room lined on opposing walls with Costco-esque shelves filled with piles and piles and stack and stacks of materials. You want a dresser? Good! Aisle 32 Bin 21. A hangar that houses all your scarves? Aisle 14 Bin 9. And so on and so on. Hopefully you wrote this code down while you were walking around the store, or else you're screwed. I also hope that you can reach and lift whatever t is you're looking for. It's not always a given that the 6 foot tall mirror you want is within reaching distance. It probably also weighs about 100 lbs, so good luck with that one, too.

This, my friends, is when you first start to think that IKEA is somewhat evil. But, again, the blue and yellow signs assuage your fears and you continue to numbly hunt around. This is FUN, remember??

Ok, ok, so let's assume that you get what you need, lug it to the check out (labels forward!), stuff it into your car (have any of you ever hit the wall on this one? Those damn shelves just... won't... get... into.... the back... of the... damn minivan!!!!), and get home. You're excited. You're jazzed. You've just gotten the best shelving system or coffee table or desk or whatever and you're stoked to put it together. What a blast! Maybe you even got some IKEAchocolate on the way out and you've got this great sugar-buzz going on and you're just ready to DIY the shit out of your IKEA purchases.

You love IKEA again. It's true. You've totally forgotten about the splinter you got lifting the wooden shelf or the toe that got crushed by the over-zealous 20-something lady that stomped on your foot while she was running from couch to couch with her husband (um, sorry about that...). No matter that you spent two more hours in that store than you planned! Or the fact that the drive home was miserably uncomfortable because you had to push the seat all the way forward, making you eat dash, just so the love seat would fit in the back of the car. It was all in the name of getting somewhat inexpensive, somewhat adorable, but totally freaking awesome stuff into your poor, badly decorated, horribly organized home. Ah yes. It's love again.

But then... you realize it. Your stomach flops over. The bile rises in your throat. The scream barrels out of your mouth, "NOOOOO!!!" Yes, you realize it. Or in my case, Jacob realizes it. We've totally miscounted how many sides we needed to our book shelf system. We needed 4. We bought 3. OMFG (as Jacob would say). But wait wait wait. It gets better! The shelves we've purchased don't have the hardware that's usually strapped on them. They're useless. We just purchased $100 worth of wood, basically. Just piles of wood. Awesome. This was supposed to be my desk and shelving system. I guess I could just stack it all up and sit next to it and use THAT as my desk...?

And, this is what I'm talking about. EVIL IKEA! You swoon me and make me love you and then, WHAP! You take it all away. Just like that. Granted, I'm the idiot that forgot to buy the stupid side part of the shelf, but you, YOU were the idiot that didn't attach any freaking hardware! Not my fault, IKEA. And now I have to trudge back, 45 minutes and a million lines and a stupid return policy later, to get new little silver pieces to attach my shelves. Those little silver bolts and fasteners will be the end of me...

This is not the first time, nor will it be the last time, I'm sure, that I will be forced into a two-a-day IKEA excursion against my own will. And yet, I do sometimes wonder if I'm just the only stupid person that cannot just do it right the first time. Or why I haven't learned my lesson and started to check and double check my items before checking out and taking them home... but for some reason, my IKEA trips are just plain flawed.

Maybe it's me. Maybe it's IKEA. Either way, as I sit at my Ivar desk on my Uterstafajfkdorflskna chair, I begrudingly admit that I love to hate IKEA. I confess, I can't wait to go back to that store. I want those meatballs even though they make my stomach hurt. I want to sit on the gigantic shopping cart while Jacob pushes me through the over-sized aisles. I want more stuff. ANd, yes, I know I'll screw it up or THEY will screw it up, and I'll think it's evil and out to get me. But, it's IKEA. The giver of all things good and sweet and honest. The place where magic happens and kids eat free before 11am. IKEA. Say it with me now, "IKEAAAAAAA..." Ah. That's better.