Don't get me started on that place, I walk in there & think, "this is what crack addicts must feel like: I need this, oh! that's pretty cool, etc...". Went in there yesterday to get a cheese-grater for my gf, ended up spending $200 on stuff I didn't know I needed.
Get your furniture from garage sales and Goodwill - spend next to nothing and get a kitschy, retro, sort of 70's look. (seriously - this has worked fine for me and agrees with my budget) As for the argument, every couple argues about dumb stuff, but you've got to wonder who would obsessively chronicle every little bit of it on a very long website. Serious issues there. I know he's trying to be funny, but <b>that much</b> at other people's expense and you gotta wonder. Oh well. Time to call my husband. We can argue about whether or not to spend the whole evening watching TV, who needs to clean up, and whose fault it was that we ended up with no findable car keys last night and had to stay up all night dealing with AAA and the locksmith.
It's really: EKAYA. I still shudder when I hear someone say "<b>I</b>kia . . . *yuck!* The Ikea near our house in Norway rocked -- they had 15 Kroner SoftIs (Ice Cream . . . kindof . . . 15K is a great price!)
They're probably both equally bad in quality. But Wal-Mart's cardboard furniture looks *much* worse than Ikea's cardboard furniture. Design is key!
I had no idea that IKEA could stir up such strong feelings in people! Sure, most of their furniture is assemble-it-yourself particle board. But, honsetly, I don't buy my furniture to pass down to my future grandkids anyway. Home decor styles change almost as fast as clothing styles do, so what's the point in spending thousands on some traditional, massive dark wood credenza that I won't even want to look at in six or seven years? We spend the real money on upholstered pieces with clean lines and neutral colors. Then the accessories (bookshelves, coffee tables, lamps, tv stands) come from IKEA. When styles change or we get tired of them, we sell them at one of our garage sales. I'm pretty sure we've helped to furnish a lot of college dorm rooms!
The Terror Of Lids: Yes, the rewards are high, but it's a game where the price of defeat is savage. Sometimes Margret, after grunting with it herself for a collection of 'hnggh's, will hand me a bottle or a jar that has a screw top along with an impatient 'Open that for me.' If the gods lie content in the skies above England at that moment, then what follows is a rapid flick of my wrist, a delightful 'click-fshhhh' gasp of surrender, and my handing the thing back to her FEELING LIKE A HERO OF NORSE LEGEND. Generally, though, what happens is that I strain for a while and strip the skin off the palm of my hands. Then I wrap the lid in a tea towel and strain some more to equal effect. At this point I'm on to using the jam of the door as a vice to hold the lid while I twist at the container; Margret will be saying 'Give it back here, you'll wreck the door.' and I'll be swearing and twisting and saying 'I'll repaint that bit in a minute.' The fear is upon me. If it's a fizzy thing, you can sometimes puncture the lid to relieve the pressure and then get it open, but you're not often that lucky. 'Give it back' Margret repeats, reaching around me, trying to take the item from my hands. I swivel away - 'Just a minute' - and desperately twist at the lid again, now not even attempting not to squint up my face as I do so. At last, though, Margret will manage to get the thing back. This is the darkest moment. If she tries again and it remains fastened, then I am saved. 'It's just completely stuck.' I'll say, 'It is. Stop trying now. Stop. Stop it.' However, there are times - and my stomach chills now, even as I write this - when she gets it back and, with one last Satanic effort, manages to spin the lid free. A slight smile takes up home on her face. 'What?' I say. 'Nothing.' 'No - what?' 'Nothing.' 'I'd loosened it.' 'I didn't say anything.' And I'll have to drag the tiny, damp shreds of my manhood away into the reclusive garage until the slight, slight smile disappears from her some thirty-six hours into the future. Oh man. I can only pray to god and hope that this never happens to me. I really feel for this guy.
Jeff, I never thought of you as someone who would define another human being by their furniture. I'm disappointed.
Damn I think this girl is one of my ex-girlfriends, or at least related to her. My ex gf once poked me in the eye because I eat french fries 3-4 at a time and that annoyed her. She also got mad one tim ebecause I tried to explain that a highway sign that said Conroe next 3 exits meant that you could take any of the next three exits and be in conroe. She thought it meant that you count 3 exits and then that was the one you had to take to get to conroe. CK
Jeff, I went back and read more of the posts; I didn't pick up on the sarcasm . That's one of the things I hate about communicating in this way. It's hard sometimes to pick up on the "tone" of a post, even when someone uses . It seemed out of character for you to say that the way I was taking it, hence the response.
