Thoughts that keep me awake

A quick update, friends.

9 days after my last communication, IKEA has continued to ignore me. What the hell kind of company simply ignores a customer who is rightly outraged at their defective product and miserable customer service?

I started to compose a new email when I just stopped. They’re not interested in what I have to say. Which is why I’m taking back to the blog, because you’re listening. And you’re so much more important than they are. The more people who know how poorly they operate, the better. I hope IKEA has PR people checking the internet and they see this. Because they should be embarrassed. They should be mortified at how their company represents itself. I’ve been talking to people all over New York City about this, and they’re as bewildered as I am. You’re losing customers IKEA. I got a big mouth, and you’ve pissed me off enough that I’m not going to stop running it until things are made right.



Being a 20something urbanite, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’ll own at least one piece of IKEA furniture. Quick, inexpensive, and simple to put together. We’ve all got something from there – the ubiquitous Billy Bookshelf, a bureau, a chest of drawers.

When I made my first IKEA purchase for my new home last month I was thrilled. A new bed! The Fjellse model to be exact. I went to IKEA Brooklyn and bought it, along with the necessary support slats. I put it together with ease.

Imagine my surprise when less than one month later, at 5am, the main crossbeam of the bed abruptly shattered, sending me tumbling to the ground in a shower of terrified panic and splintered wood. Important sidenote: I’m not obese. There was no reason for the wood to break. When the bed is put together correctly and the inhabitant is of normal weight, for the product to shatter out of nowhere is completely insane.

So I calmly did what made sense to me. I photodocumented  the entire incident before calling the IKEA hotline. Have you seen my pictures? I put them on Facebook, for the whole internet to see.!/media/set/?set=a.613538262363.2100449.12201992&type=1

I spoke to a representative who told me to email my story, along with the photographs, to their customer service department and I would be contacted shortly thereafter.

The IKEA rep who contacted me days later was BEYOND rude. I, a normally calm and relaxed person, nearly flew into a rage.¬† Here’s what I was told:

*Despite photodocumenting the entire incident, I was not believed. The only way to obtain a refund for my fault bed (whose breaking, it was acknowledged, was not my fault) was to bring the entire frame back to Brooklyn. To do that, I would have to take a $50 cab ride. I explained that the cab ride would cost as much as the frame itself. I asked if there could be a guarantee that I would be reimbursed for the cab ride, to which the customer service rep rudely responded “We’re not having this conversation over the phone.” I was speechless. How dare she?

*Getting to IKEA Brooklyn is difficult but not impossible via public transit. It’s 2 trains and a bus away for me. I offered bring the much smaller broken pieces of the bed back for the refund. This was deemed unacceptable. They also refused to come pick up the broken bed from my apartment. I offered to meet them halfway by coming to Brooklyn with the broken pieces and it was thrown back in my face.

Where is all this now? I’ve received 4 indifferent emails from 4 different customer service reps, refusing to budge. I’m so enraged that a company that claims to be about creating homes in small urban spaces can be so unmoving when it comes to the problems of city living! I know this can’t be the first time this has happened. IKEA Brooklyn knows it caters largely to the NYC population, who don’t have access to cars, and couldn’t possibly transport large items back to them via subway.

So here’s what I say to you, friends. IKEA is a crock. Especially IKEA Brooklyn. I need your help to get the word out about this, how terrible their practices are, and the rudeness of their customer service. Please tell your friends who are looking for furniture to try elsewhere:, Bed, Bath and Beyond, Container Store, Local furniture stores. I ended up getting a new, better, bed from Sleepys. Look anywhere else for your needs. IKEA will completely hang you out to dry. I will never, EVER use them for anything again, and I encourage you to do the same.

Greetings, fellows.

I write to you from a small coffee shop (with unparalleled lattes and cheese scones) at the foot of the Appalachian mountains. It’s beautiful. Looking up into the fog drifting slowly down the foothills, I keep thinking that I should be hiking through those mountains, stretching mind and body, rather than doing lessons plans, and getting distracted by blogging.

I’m thinking of taking a Mulligan on my 20s (my 29th birthday is next month, and though I’m not technically out of the woods yet, I feel emotionally as if I’m already 30, so that’s that) and hitting the reset button on my life. In one way, I’m fortunate to feel like there’s so much possibility to begin anew – not everyone feels that comfortable and strong in their ability to start again in a new place, with another job, meeting new people, and so on. Now, this isn’t 100% by any means – I still plan on heading back to New York when my contract here ends and seeing if we (NYC and I) can fall back in love again. I don’t think my ex-boyfriend and I can find that though. That chapter is closing. Not sure about my job either. There are a lot of skeletons in New York’s closet. But there are so many great things too. The city, for one. I’m never bored. The amazing network of friends I’ve got there. Theatre. Movies. There’s so much good.

But the idea of a clean start is so appealing to me. I just can’t get it out of my head….I guess we’ll have to see. I think I’d have to do a bit of travelling to find that place….the place I’d be happy ushering out my 20s and welcoming in the next stage…

Now onto the generosity portion of this post. I’m typing from a computer (a netbook, technically) that a dear friend simply gave me out of the kindness of his heart! (That and the fact that he had several lying around.) My friend Chris, who is married to my dear and wonderful friend Meghan, writes software, and is kind of a huge deal in his field. Subsequently, there is top of the line technology scattered all over their flat. So when I was there last week for a drink, he asked if I knew anyone who needed a laptop. Long story short, this little machine is a beauty. Fast, lightweight, perfect. It’s like having a Pegasus at the Kentucky Derby. I’m still very humbled by the generosity shown me.


When is a friendship really and truly over?

The answer, I discovered, is when someone you were already drifting apart from publishes heinously offensive things concerning people you care about on the motherfucking internet.

*Now, wait a sec, you might say. Aren’t you doing the same thing, by talking about it in your blog?*

Glad you asked that question, editorial voice in my head. Because I believe the answer is no. I’m going to explain why I’m angry, but not give any clues to my relationship with this former friend, or whom it was she insulted. Subsequently, you won’t be able to guess her identity. To the contrary, my former friend¬† made it very very clear whom she was insulting.

I seriously couldn’t sleep last night, I wanted to verbally slaughter this girl so badly. I wanted to call her (but luckily, deleted her number before I could do harm) and let her know what a disgusting, useless, hypocrite she is. I wanted to let her know how vain and silly she is. I wanted her to know that if we ever cross paths again, she can look forward to a massive wad of my spit hitting her right in the face.

RAGEY, right? And that’s so completely not my style. After thinking of why this made me so blind with rage, I understood, it’s because this girl and I used to be close friends. I loved spending time with her. I stood up for her, stood by her, and was always happy to see her. When we grew apart, I was sad, but that’s growing up….but when this happened, I feel like I never really knew her at all. The cute, fun girl I thought was my buddy was just a dream. And all I’m left with is an alarming amount of hate in my heart, the kind that consumes your thoughts and keeps you up all night.

So I called my boyfriend and let all this out. Then I steeled myself for what would inevitably be the realization of his terrible mistake – he doesn’t want to date some Crazypants McRagemachine! Talented, handsome guys like him (who can cook like pro chefs) don’t need to put up with that shit. But he didn’t bolt. He invited me to talk about it, and listened to why I was upset. He’s kind of amazing like that. Also, seriously, he’s the most amazing cook in the world. He’s made me like eating salmon and brussel sprouts (!) and I would pretty much commit murder for the veggie tacos he fixed for lunch today.

Lesson? Friendships fall apart. People aren’t always who we thought they were, or who we hoped they would be. But it’s the ones who are left standing with us who will matter in the long run. Especially if they can make french fries from scratch.

2 years ago today, my BFF married an incredible man at a lovely and truly heartfelt ceremony….

1 year ago today, those same friends came to New York to watch the final show of my first major play production…

Today I was ignored and treated like a useless waste of space at work.

Game fucking over. I’m taking my life back. I feel so much anger and determination it’s like there’s lightning in my hands.

March 15….beware the Ides….

Someone made the unfortunate mistake of giving me unfettered access to a list of our clients email addresses at work. And oh holy shit, if there’s ANYTHING in this world I love to judge, it’s email addresses….and headshots. My favorite headshot pose? Kneeling on a cobblestone street – “Lost in Charleston!” But I digress – at this gig, it’s just critiquing emails, and the getting is good!

I feel strongly that once a person reaches the age of 18, they have new powers (cigarettes! Porn!) but also great responsibilities which include ditching the ridiculous email address they first picked out for themselves in junior high. This means the end of and accepting (which I hope is still free because now I want it).
Why? Because if you expect to be taken seriously as an adult human being, you MUST lose the silly and childish e-handle. As I obviously cannot use our clients as direct examples, I can give you an idea of some of the absurd fucking monikers that grown ass women instruct me to contact them at:

….there was also one where the client misspelled her own name. That was clutch.

I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not. And I’m as guilty of this as anyone. I had a very childish email when I was younger, but the minute I started sending resumes to potential employers I followed the advice of the Holy Bible, put away childish things and grew the fuck up – that’s verbatim, you can check it.

Post Script Fun Fact – This was written on the 4 train around midnight – I’m all kinds of sneaky! You never know where I’m going to be, laying down my judgements!

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