Tag Archives: Ikea


26 Mar

What is a home?

If you Google it you get:

The place where one lives permanently, esp. as a member of a family or household.
Of or relating to the place where one lives: “your home address”.
To the place where one lives: “what time did he get home last night?”.
(of an animal) Return by instinct to its territory after leaving it: “geese homing to their summer nesting grounds”.
noun. house – residence – dwelling – abode – habitation
adjective. domestic – native
adverb. homewards – at home – indoors

Wikipedia will give a similar answer, but I am not the only one to contemplate the word’s meaning beyond a physical structure or area.

The saying goes that the home is where the heart is. What if you’re heart lives everywhere. Does that mean you are homeless? or schizophrenic? Then, what becomes of your body which can only remain in any one place at any one time?

Growing up, my family moved around a lot. My mother was never satisfied with the space we physically occupied. Never satisfied with the places that sheltered us. I never had one specific place to call my “home.” Perhaps that is why I wander so much, yet at the same time yearn to be grounded.

It perhaps is also why I struggle with that initial question so much. What is a home?

My home has always been where my family is. No matter where I go I always refer to where they are as my “home” (even if that changes often).

I also continuously end up calling the building where I sleep most often “home” as well. This can get very confusing in conversations I have with others who often find the need to ask “which home?”

To complicate things even further, although I would never verbally refer to either of these places as “home,” Gordon, where I found who I was, and Vermont, where I found who I was not, are both filed under the box in my heart as “home.”

The list could go on from there, but I think you get the point.

There is a line in a Something Corporate song that I love, “I met a girl who kept tattoos for homes that she had loved. If I were her I’d paint my body until all my skin was gone.” The song itself is fantastic, all about taking risks, seeing the world as an adventure and being a part of something bigger, at least that’s what I get out of it.

Its hard to leave the homes you love. Whether home means a place you’ve been your whole life, or the places your heart has found shelter. The more homes you have, the more full you feel, but the harder it is to look back, and sometimes to look forward.

LP and I went to Ikea yesterday. We bought a coffee table and while we were out I bought new sheets for my new bed along with some other random details that now are part of this home we’ve created. For now its complete, whole. She called it OUR home, and I agreed because that’s what it is. We live here together and form it into something that feels like we belong in it. Its a place to ground myself for awhile and I am blessed to share it with someone I love. I know I’ll have to leave it one day, and probably a piece of me will stay, always connected, but the memories will move with me me and I’ll always have this moment in time.

The Wardrobe

3 Mar

Funny story, I wrote the title to this blog and then laughed because our nic name for our apartment is “Narnia.” Someone named it that on foursquare and it kind of just stuck since its so maze-like.

Anyway, sidetrack (I feel like that may happen again), but the goal here is to tell the story of my wardrobe adventure. However, being slightly drunk and having skrillex playing in the background is not helping my concentration at all.

Lets attempt this though. My story begins a few weeks ago when one of my roommates decided to move out. It is customary in our apartment to offer up your room to the other roommates when you leave. We all pay the same amount, but the rooms are not equally sized. The one leaving had been there the longest and, therefore, had the largest room, while I still had the smallest room. No one else wanted the now vacant bedroom, but, being fairly lazy, I debated the decision to leave my accustomed habitat. Plus, now empty room’s closet was in the hallway…I’m a girl, clothes are important!

After much deliberation, I finally moved. That in itself is not an entertaining story, but amusing to envision since it took me the majority of a Tuesday night. Twirly hallway+weak white girl+key heavy objects begin pushed down the hall=one hell of a show+obscenities.

This happened a couple weeks ago. I decided I could manage having the hall closet if I could find a wardrobe for my room which could hold necessities. Being broke made this more of a challenge so there has been LOTS of craigslist surfing.

FINALLY I found THE PERFECT wardrobe. It had a bar, shelves, drawers, and it was only $30!! PLUS, the girl said she could break it down into pieces so it could fit in my car instead of me having to bribe someone with a larger vehicle. (Skittles=great for mpg, bad for transport of large objects).

Then it got tricky.

I went to Brookline (LOVE BOSTON!), the girl was nice enough to help me load it into my car, and I drove off with a smile on my face…SO EXCITED!!! I was farily confident I could do this on my own being the strong independent young girl that I am. Hell, I did P90X biotches!

Getting home took some of the fire out of my determination, rush hour traffic can do that to you. But I made it and I even found a spot in 15 minute parking in front of my door. The plan was to get all the pieces in the lobby and then drag them up the four loooooong flights of stairs to my apartment. This worked out well until about the third trip, My biceps were ON FIRE! Particle board is fucking heavy! However, I was DETERMINED DAMN IT!!! Finally, with muscles screaming and head spinning (since I’m so out of shape and 5 trips up and down four flights it exhausting), every last bit was in my room and waiting for construction.

Too bad I had to go.

I scarfed the quickest dinner I could find and then was out the door because I promised a client I would go see her play. For middle schoolers, they did pretty good, but the whole time I was dreaming of the finished product.

Around 10:30 I was finally home, armed with a box of wine (yeah we’re broke enough for the boxes), and determined as a fat kid waiting for cake to get this done. That’s when the mayhem ensued.

Building a wardrobe reckless-style:

Step 1: Pour first glass of wine.

Step 2: organize pieces (and thank God previous owner was as addicted to sticky notes as you are)

Step 3: screw on bottom thingies.

Step 4: have a dance party for accomplishing so much!!

Step 5: get back to work and spend 17 minutes getting next piece attached (begin wondering why you didn’t ask someone to help)

Step 6: finish glass of wine

Step 7: stare at project, wonder if it will ever be done

Step 8-10: somehow get two sides and top together (during this process it may be helpful to scream obscenities and curse your roommates for having lives and not being around on a Friday night to help you put together this shit)

Step 11: pour more wine, drink

Step 12: debate whether a back is really necessary, decide it is, but decide to move on to the next step anyway

Step 13: shelves? really!? Fuck screws

Step 14: drink more wine


Step 16: Fuck step 16

Step 17: Aren’t we done yet??

Step 18: Ok somehow you have gotten most of the piece of shit together, except the door, you’ve gotten this far, time to ge this shit done!

Step 19: drop door on foot

Step 20: google how to put Ikea hinges together…realize this is a pointless task that is just leading to further frustration

Step 21: get on knees, praise God for the creation of alcohol

Step 22: give up on door, OBVIOUSLY this task is intended for a sober person, more than one drunk person, or a person with seven arms and telekinesis

Step 23: cry a little then deny it to anyone who asks

Step 24: give up, push wardrobe into corner, forget door until morning

Step 25: drink more wine so your failure matters less

And that has been my night. With the addition of random video chats with Vermont peeps more drunk than me.

Updates to come later….maybe.