I find my fingers itching to click "Buy" on polo shirts. I spend a goodish chunk of every day combing websites and sales and coupons for Want Not, and of course some of the deals I'm finding, I'm also buying. I consider it an occupational hazard. Though I don't really consider it a hazard, even when my daughter opens the pantry and beholds fifteen boxes of cereal and dryly inquires, "Exactly how many people do you think live here, Mom?" My standard line is that I am cursed with tightwad tendencies but impeccable taste; for me, the deals are about getting the expensive stuff for cheap, not...
Let me preface this by saying that the following can obviously be filed under "first world problems;" the fact that I have more than a battered tin pot in which to boil gruel means that none of this actually matters, but that's not going to stop me from rambling on about it, anyway. You've been warned. I am probably better at recalling the various cooking implements from my past than I am at conjuring memories of past boyfriends. This may be because cooking is more meaningful to me, or it may be because I have a weird memory. Hard to tell. I'm guessing it's okay with Otto, though, as being...
You are all nice. So nice! Ponies for everyone. Except now we have to go back to pretending everything is fine, because I can only think about the Not Fine stuff in short bursts, lest my brain melt. Today, for example, I am busy making Black Friday my bitch, and to celebrate that, I am also giving away an iPod Touch over on Want Not. So feel free to come over and enter that. And possibly do some shopping. P.S. We had a lovely Thanksgiving, with much for which to be thankful. I hope it was the same for you. With extra gravy.
We finally have a local Trader Joe's, and I am probably more grateful for it than is reasonable. Go ahead and scoff, but I'll take my convenient, low-price, delicious opportunities to be elevated to hero status where I can find them, thanks.
I'm going to a conference next week. As is my wont when I have a business event coming up, I carefully get all my ducks in a row: First I book my travel, then I organize the calendar to make sure the kids are covered while I'm away, next I make a hair appointment (lest you think I'm terribly girly, it's generally only because I have 3+ inches of gray roots which need to be beaten into submission), and finally I commence freaking out about my clothes. Sometimes I sort of want to punch myself in the face. That feeling generally comes on right after I either think or actually say, "I have...
It's not that the irony of being someone who mostly works at home in solitude (and prefers jeans when heading out into the world) doling out fashion advice is lost on me, it's just that it all seems to have become quite SERIOUS up in here, the last couple of weeks. And I need a break. Also, I've been shopping. And out in the world with people. And I have opinions. STRONG opinions, I guess you might say, about things that people are wearing and doing. No one died and left me boss, but my inner Fashion Hulk would like to vent a bit. (My inner Fashion Hulk likes to put on my son's Hulk...
I'm thinking it's not much of a secret that I like to shop. But the thing is that I like to shop, but I don't like to spend money. Those two things can go together, of course, but it takes a little more work. One of the things I've done for years and years is to maintain a stash of gifts---assembled from various clearance finds---and then when it's time to head to a birthday party or round up teacher gifts, I don't have to run out and shop. This saves me from going to actual stores (because those places are filled with cranky people, plus they require getting dressed and leaving the house),...
"Is there a way for me to write about this without sounding like a materialistic asshole?" I asked Otto. "I dunno," he answered. "Maybe not," I countered. "Maybe," he said. I hate it when he won't do my thinking for me. That's totally why I hired married him. Nevertheless, I have to take the chance here, because it is amusing. And far be it from me to pass up the chance to make fun of myself. So I am going to have to confess the entire sordid tale right from the beginning. It starts, of course, with me being stupid. The scene is Black Friday: I am up long before dawn, scoping out the deals...
Way back whenever it was... I guess about three years ago, now... I started Want Not on a lark, because I tend to bargain-hunt the way other people have actual, you know, hobbies. I mean, normal people are all, "Want to play tennis this week?" Whereas I've always sort of been like, "Oh, exercise makes me all sweaty and I hate that. But do you want to go see if there's any Cole Haan purses over at Goodwill?" Back during the very lean times after the divorce, I was able to put my sleuthing skills to good use: I would find rich people's cast-offs at thrift stores and sell them on eBay for...
