I survived Ikea and all I got was this Billy bookcase.

For years, every trip to Ikea was the same.

Risk life and limb navigating past the loading zone and in the front door, race by the ball room and up the stairs, and join the masses plodding through the living, bedroom, kitchen and office displays, like herds of joyless Billys from the Family Circus, late for dinner and sure to get an eyeroll from Dolly and a finger wagging from Grandpa's ghost.

In short order I'd be completely overwhelmed. Ektorp and Blanda and Klippan and Lack. It all sounded familiar, but I didn't know what any of it meant. Where the hell was I, really? What if there was an earthquake? How would I get out with no natural light to guide me? This is California, people! And why, why, why did the whole fucking place smell like meatballs?

By the time I'd make it through the warehouse and caught sight of the long checkout lines, I would have completely lost my sense of direction and be well on my way to losing my mind. At the first glimpse of the exit sign, I'd make a run for it, abondoning my cart and leaving empty handed.

It's a system that has served me well and kept my home free of flat-packed furniture for years.

Eventually I developed a coping strategy, though. If there's something I really have to have, I go in the exit, cut through the warehouse, and walk against traffic directly to whatever it is I want. Then I grab it and get the hell out of there before I change my mind.

This Sunday I bought 12 yards of fabric that will eventually become drapes for my bedroom. My mom came with me--we made it to the rugs before she realized we were going the wrong direction--but she bought me the little black and pink vases to go with the fabric.

I'm thinking about getting the reverse print to upholster a headboard and some seat cushions. I'll show ya pictures when it's done!