"Sweetie, I promise; after we people-watch - and I finish my lingonberry martini - Mommy will pick you up a nice Lewenhaupt on the way out."
"But Mom, will it match my Hastfer-Bielke?"
What makes a gay heart weep like the insanity brought on by cheaply-made/vastly-reduced Swedish furniture and the nutcases it attracts? I don't know, but, let's NOT fill me in, okay? I've seen enough to last several lifetimes.
[Just because your tee sports the Gold's Gym name and logo front and center, it doesn't automatically make you skinny. Especially when it's at least 2 sizes too small. A muffin-top isn't thin, even when you call it low-cal.]
My friends John and Mike - an adorable couple who nearly give me diabetes they're so sweetly cute together [seriously, if I ever get half as happy in a relationship as they are? I've done it right] - asked me to meet them [read: bribed me with lunch] at IKEA while they bought a few things.
After getting lost trusting GoogleMaps AND the friggin' signs [seriously, how shittily must you label your roads Northern VA?] I went with my gut and classic Ooh-I-sorta-recognize-these-landmarks to make it there.
[You'd think I couldn't get lost taking the straight-shot to a GINORMOUS mall and IKEA; you'd also think I wasn't screaming at every assclap on the road, but, then, you'd be wrong.]
Despite getting lost, I beat the boys there - how the hell? - and waited for them in the everything-lingonberry cafeteria. And despite my sitting ASFARAWAYFROMEVERYONEASFUCKINGPOSSIBLE I was quickly surrounded by cheerful families and bitterly nursing my very-obviously-75cents-burned-coffee.
Glaring and hating the perky people who'd suddenly surrounded me. Despite my love of all-things-possibly-bought here [and a compulsive-shopping form of OCD] I'm always in a bad mood at IKEA.
They found me 10minutes later and, somehow, soon had me laughing [have I mentioned how much I love these two? Because I do].
Much oohing and awing occured (including my awwing over how cute John and Mike are together - seriously, we're talking toothache level of sweet here, people) and we'd soon circled the whole of the place picking up damn-near-everything as we trailed the main floors.
[So many good deals, hideous outfits and how-I-want-to-punch-them-Hipsters float around an IKEA, you'd think it's their spawning grounds]
Despite coming with a specific set of shopping goals.
And spending limits.
While I watch these two friends of mine - and resist the urge to fling the inordinately ugly umlauted-name-tauting hideous whatever-the-hell-it-is into the nearest speaker screeching Lady Gaga [seriously, IKEA?] - I think back on my last two trips here.
"Ooh, look - I can see my house from up here."
"Dude, you can see the curvature of the earth from up here."
In 2006 I visited the church of all-things-Swede with my then-boyfriend, Patrick (a chef), and we did the rounds of the main floor - canoodling, holding hands and being that nauseatingly-cute couple everyone (including me) hates. Focusing on the various kitchens we contemplated just what types of appliances and layouts really struck us.
[Being 23 and 19, we really had no business looking at a future like that - looking back.]
I mean, I loved leaning against my almost-pocket-gay boyfriend for stolen kisses while we judged [harshly] the butcher-block tiered-kitchen-island in one layout. But, picturing a future together after only a month and a half of dating? WTF? He laughed and smiled at all the right moments, but, was reserved when my glance fell away. I should have seen the writing on the wall.
[Read: not have been such a complete dumbass.]
Cut to a week later, he went on vacation with his family.
A week after that? I received a Dear John Letter via myspace e-mail.
Not learning the perils of IKEA on my fragile relationships, I went back in 2007 with my new (and-probably-rebound) boyfriend [okay, everyone sees it coming, right?] Andrew. Together only a few weeks we both needed to pick up a few things from our friendly neighborhood (okay, 25miles away) IKEA.
My obsessive-compulsive shopping - which some have commented borders on lunatic - dragged us all over each of the floors, picking up various items we had no need (or want) of. Of course, I commented on how cute the giant bed with 50s vintage room-set would be if we got an apartment down the road.
[Stupid. Stupid. Stupid me.]
Less than a week later, in preparations for a matching Hallowe'en couple's costume Andrew says he's busy.
And doesn't call me back the next day. Or the day after. Or the week after.
Oh, IKEA, your Banshee wail calls out the death of my relationships.
Of course, most would argue those relationships were doomed and IKEA just helped speed them up. I call those people busy-bodies who need to shut the ... I mean, friends.
As we exit with the LED under-bed lights John and Mike came for in tow - shopping victory I say! - I mumble to myself: True, IKEA seems to hasten my relationships' demises - as it brings out more of my neurotic and rather bitchier sides - but, it isn't my enemy.
As I walk with my friends, and watch their adorable banter [again, so friggin' cute, these two], I know they're in no danger of falling victim to my IKEA-year itch.
I'm not a germaphobe but if I saw one of these snack stadiums at a Super Bowl party not only would my gayheart weep -- along with a certain family member's who shall go nameless, but we would run screaming from the toxi chemical food mess like foodies about to be infected with the Partially Hydrogenated Oil Virus. I posted one these creepy party buffets last year on Super Bowl Sunday as a joke and it's quite scary to see that they are now becoming a party thing! Yikes. I guess the reason is why actually cook good snacks when you can stop at 7-ll for junk food and toothpicks.
So who was the dumbass that thought the Animal Testing Cage look would be a perfect Easter novelty for kids? WTF???? Showing up in stores several years ago, these pathetic caged Easter bunnies even look sad - like they are pleading for help: "Save me, I don't want to eat the plastic carrot injected with foot cream!" Every time I see one my gay heart weeps, wanting to engage my hands in tearing apart the cage and setting the fake Easter bunny free. It should be allowed to live a full Easter bunny novelty life by having its ears and eyes torn off by a hellspawn child and eventually becoming the chew toy of a dog or cat.