What $496.42 in Ikea Furniture Looks Like

My Ikea furniture arrived, and I wanted to show you all the finished project.

Do-It-Yourself Or Have Someone Do-It-For-You?

Mostly, when it comes to DIY projects, I either like to pay for what I need, ready to be used, or I just do without.

Me v. Ikea: A Lawsuit

A box fell on my foot at Ikea—and all I got was $10,586.

Small Luxuries: Putting Together a Starter Patio on a Shoestring Budget

After receiving $100 as a wedding gift, my husband and I decided to spend it on some patio furniture.

So You’re Ready To Buy Some Grown-Up Furniture

STEP 1: DON’T PANIC. Breathe in. Remind yourself that grown-up furniture often costs grown-up sums of money, and that’s okay. Breathe out.

Working 9-5, And Also 5-8 And Sometimes More For The Same Money

The latest domestic front on which the Obama administration is waging a battle? Paid overtime for the American worker.

Movin’ On Up While Keeping Costs Down

Prepping to move is a great time to try KonMarie!

How To Get Our Belongings of Questionable Worth Across The Country

You can’t take a baby in a U-Haul. I can’t, or won’t, will not take a baby on a week-long road trip, much as I love the idea of a transformative cross-country road trip.

Also as it turns out, renting a U-Haul and dropping it off elsewhere is somewhere (far) north of $3,000. Plus gas. Plus lodging and food for the week it would take driving out there (42 hours of driving at the minimum).

Baby Purchases, Reevaluated


There is something about reproducing that makes you an expert in buying shit you never cared or thought about before. Our child is eight weeks old and we are no exception.

The IKEA Furniture We Live With That Inevitably Ends Up on Craigslist

Two years ago, in a fit of mania and a deep desire to live in less hideous surroundings, I went to Ikea and bought a bunch of shit. My boyfriend and I lived in a one-bedroom on the first floor of a dumpy street, where we had a view of a blindingly bright auto repair shop that used more fluorescent paint than a rave. The apartment was stuffed with ugly hand-me-downs given to my boyfriend by his mother, and I’d occasionally wake up and gaze at my surroundings and think, “Am I 32? Is this what 32 looks like?” This crippling rumination often resulted with me on the couch on a sunny day, unable to do anything more than watch back-to-back episodes of Haven while eating gummy bears.