Ikea Zombie Defense

I've been spending a little time trying build myself a home lately. Not literally, I mean, I buy a crate and by the time it gets home it's crooked. But in other ways, moving in with the girlfriend, bringing out some of my art, and buying a good piece of furniture that can hold my clothes. One that isn't black, plastic, and with the words "Glad" on the outside of the box. So I made my way to Ikea in New Jersey, which is in the middle of an industrial war zone, and I found myself wandering through the isles with one stark realization. Ikea would make terrible zombie defense structures.

Now mind you this is a pretty random thought, but whenever I go to Ikea I know what I want. It should take me no more than fifteen minutes to get in, buy what I want, and get out. Yet that place is a maze that rivals a casino in massive amounts of confusion. Shortcuts? Not with how we all read that freaking map. And why can't I just turn around and walk back the way I came? Why do I have to walk through EVERYTHING just to get to where I'm going to have to carry some heavy furniture by myself? So while I wandered, my mind went to very obvious places. Zombie defence.

Now Ikea is known for its cheap furniture, some of it as thick as tank plating, some of it is paper colored to look like wood. This is the first part of the problem. Because some parts of Ikea furniture are thick and sturdy, you assume you can toss it around, right? Wrong. The paper mache doors on your wardrobe monstrosity cannot handle the rage that's building while reading the instructions. You think that flimsy door panel can hold up to a zombie attack? So now you have to defend all the windows in your house and you won't get any sleep. What if they just built some zombie defense furniture? That brings me to my second point. Cause I'm making two.

After my epic journey titled "Lord of the Rings: The Get Me Out of Ikea/Mordor" occured and I somehow fit my massive armoire in my two door Civic Coupe, I headed home to put the massive beast together. Yes I know this blog is riddled with run-on sentences, eat it. When I finally got home and took out all the pieces and dug around I found the instruction manual. While I sat there and looked through the small novel of instructions I realized the other problem for zombie defense that occurs when putting together Ikea: the instructions are in ancient Egyptian. It's pictures, and they number the parts on the instructions, but they don't number the pieces. So you have this black and white picture showing you different boards that are of similar length and width and then you have to put it all together. Make sure the holes are facing the right direction on the sides! There is a help line on the instructions, but it's in Swedish and without the bikini team Sweden has nothing I want and that's including furniture. Stupid guy in the beginning of the instructions looks all happy, that's just because he doesn't have to put the furniture together. I'm on day three, three, of putting together the armoire. I know zombies move slow but I just couldn't outrun them trying to put together this barricade. Anyways that's my second point, those instructions suck balls.

Being that the moveable closet is almost finished, I'm really starting to feel at home again. Home has been an odd word for me. Really the lifestyle I've chosen makes the concept of home very fluid, because it has to be. Yet here I find myself, nestled in to a place I'd never thought I'd be. While I've taken time to bash New Jersey and the numerous things I've come to be annoyed with by it. I still find some threads falling into place that make me feel at home. Every morning I grumble about my commute, but there's this moment, every single morning, that I get to watch the sun rise over a mountain. I smile every time I see it crest. And the commute home is long, and it will wear on me from time to time. When I leave work I don't say I'm going back to my apartment, I say I'm going home. Because there is a young woman here who make me feel welcome, who has made her's mine, and of course mine her's. I've found a peace here, I am still a wanderer at heart and with my travels, but no matter how many times I put on my shoes, I know exactly where my feet will lead me. I just might take a round about way to get there. And that I'll still blame on the Jersey roads, which were of course designed by Ikea.