Tuesday, August 14, 2012

One iota...

I woke up one morning recently with the vague, semi-lucid thought that I'd confused Ikea for Iota.
  • Ikea, as you may know, is a store filled with simplecomplex furniture made (by you) of particle board.
  • Iota, as you may or may not know, is an excellent bar in Arlington, Virginia, I frequented about twelve years ago, with fabulous live music and good bartenders and amazing food and possibly even better memories.
And having woken completely from that jarring thought, I then started making a list of sentences in which it might be bad to have that confusion.

  • "Oh, yeah, I saw Frank Black at Ikea. You know, from the Pixies?"
  • "We used to go to Ikea after work at the bar."
  • "I love the food at Ikea, but the service is crap."
  • "I don't go to Ikea as often as I used to, but I like to go feel like I'm a 28-year-old waitress with cool friends and good taste sometimes."
  • "I met this porn director at Ikea once who had coincidentally lived in my exact apartment. Weird, right?"
OK, some of those actually work, disturbingly.

Maybe it's better when I don't share my semi-lucidity with you.


Joe said...

Are you still sick?

Mike said...

You should team up with Emily Flake or Ruben Bolling and make a cartoon essay out of this.

Mike said...

(Or Bill Brown, for that matter.)

bzzzzgrrrl said...

Joe- Eh. I'm off-and-on. But this particular post was written by a woman who was neither delirious nor under the influence of drugs.

bzzzzgrrrl said...

It's a fine plan. I know one of the three of those people. Maybe he'll stumble across this and volunteer.