I love me some Groupon. It is the only reason I'm on my way to becoming a professional kickboxer, the reason I finally decided to go rent kayaks and float along the lake that I live 20 yards from, and a life saver when it comes to trying new restaurants I would not have otherwise considered. Groupons are tops, in my book.
There are limits, though. In my life, there are a few things I'd prefer NOT to use a coupon for. Things that you shouldn't skimp on. One of those services is Brazilian waxing. CrowdCut (basically Groupon Lite) sent me this "deal" today. Thanks, but no thanks, CrowdCut. I figure that if I EVER were to consider such a, uh, delicate and intimate procedure, I'd like to think I wouldn't make the decision based on a 56% discount. This is up there with the time they sent out a coupon for discounted Lasik eye surgery. Say whaaaaaa? Who uses a COUPON for SURGERY? That just, no, I think, but if, maybe when, no. Just No. That's just not right.
I used to feel utter humiliation at the mere thought of - gasp - using a coupon. What do I look like, a homeless person?! When I was younger, my sister Padrin would take me shopping, and I shuddered at the point in the trip when she'd inevitably drag me to the Marshall's in the basement of Southdale Mall. Discount shopping? In EDINA?! What if some popular rich girl from my 6th grade class saw me walking into Marshall's instead of J.Crew? I'd never live it down. I had a REPUTATION to uphold, people. And Marshall's didn't fit into my carefully crafted aura of Spoiled Brat.
These days, I obvs love Marshall's and pretty much anything that includes the words "BUY ONE GET ONE FREE" (especially when it relates to beer). Discount shopping is now an art form. (Have you ever seen the show Extreme Couponing?! Okay, personally I haven't, but I get the premise - people obsessed with coupons to the point where they get $600 worth of groceries for $6.) Hence, my appreciation for programs like Groupon.
But again, I've got my limits. I don't go for those things that are like "Free 16 oz bottle of hair spray with purchase of 16 hairbrushes". Those are just silly. And despite a deep discount on Yoplait yogurt at the grocery store, I still opt for my pricier and deliciousier Chobani yogurt. Because money can't buy happiness when it comes to yogurt.
My friend Kim has this handy dandy little mini-accordian binder thingy that she keeps in her purse. Inside, she keeps a bunch of organized coupons that she will likely use that week. I loved that idea. It was all so neat and tidy and nerdy and cost-effective. I tried copying her for like a week, but ended up with purse full of loose coupons for everything from mouthwash (which I don't use) to Jack's pizzas (which I only buy at 1 a.m. on Saturday nights) to free underwear at Victoria's Secret. Inevitably, they'd all expire or annoy me so thoroughly that I'd just crumple them up and toss 'em in the garbage. Literally throwing money away.
That's why Groupon rules. No waste, no problem. And usually I love convenient little deals sent to my email. But that Brazilian wax (and Lasik) deal really threw me for a loop. Some things just shouldn't discounted. When it comes to that kind of stuff, I'll gladly pay full price if only to give me the peace of mind that I will emerge from said service with full eye sight and no bacterial diseases. And can you really put a price on that?
(Love this song. Hate this video. Skip to 2:30 and commence rocking out.)
Showing posts with label Financial Planning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Financial Planning. Show all posts
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Help Wanted
Remember on Thursday when I said "Hopefully I'll have some crazy cute pics to show on Sunday night! And, for your sake, I hope they're of an adorable baby and not me with a green balloon leprechaun hat on"?? Well, without further ado, here you go!
Yeah. No baby. My sister is still preggers. Prinna, my mom, and I walked around shopping at the Mall of America for about 6 hours on Saturday, hoping to walk the baby out of Prinna, but nothin'. I, on the other hand, seem to have given birth to an awesome new green Calvin Klein spring coat, a springy red dress, and like a zillion new shirts and some pants, though (crazy deals at Gap, BTW - just don't go there hoping to NOT do any math. "Buy One Get One" left Prinna and me scratching our heads because there were STILL all these weirdo stipulations and crazy percentages to figure out).
Today was my sister-in-law Leah's birthday. We all had a lovely bday dinner for her at my parents house. Prinna was there with her girls, and I took the opportunity to help Prinna go into labor (she's tried going bowling, acupressure on her feet, and bouncing up and down on a yoga ball, so my tactics were limited.) I tried blackmailing the baby to come out by threatening to dress him up in dresses all the time, I laced Prinna's cracker/cheese combo with a huge heap of spicy red pepper jelly hoping her heartburn would shoot through her and light a fire under that baby. I had my nieces Annabelle and Eve try and talk to the baby and ask him nicely to come on outta there and play with them. NO. BABY.
So, I tried another tactic on my way home from my parents. I swung by Target and loaded up on "prizes" for the baby (and his soon-to-be big sisters) should he decide to make his move. Now I'll sit just back and wait for a phone call.
Still waiting...
In the meantime, I had an impromptu Skype date with my friend Madeline on Friday night. We decided we both need a major vacay - all this planning and waiting for my sister to have a baby is really taking it out of me. Madeline helpfully suggested that we get outta town and go somewhere to drink margaritas by the boatload. So my new project is to find an all-inclusive paradise that is supah cheap. So far, no luck. I'm not giving up, though. I WILL find a place where room service is a given, a place that has either a pool or ocean in which to frolic, no kids, no obnoxious Spring Breakers drinking alcohol for the first time, and, ideally, with swim-up bars. Okay, so maybe I'm a little picky, but whatevs. I'm just a girl who knows what I want. Do you know of a place where we can have all that? Anyone? Bueller?
Help me help you, people. If I get to take a nice little vacation, I'll be all rejuvenated with great vacation stories to tell you. I was thisclose to posting a blog about the cavernous pot holes in Minneapolis, so to save you all from that post, I urge you to help a sister out. (Note: This is not to say I WON'T post the pot hole blog...I'm not that desperate. YET.)
So you guys get to work on planning my vacation, and I'll get back to kickstarting Prinna's labor. We've got a lot of work to do, people, so let's get to it!
Yeah. No baby. My sister is still preggers. Prinna, my mom, and I walked around shopping at the Mall of America for about 6 hours on Saturday, hoping to walk the baby out of Prinna, but nothin'. I, on the other hand, seem to have given birth to an awesome new green Calvin Klein spring coat, a springy red dress, and like a zillion new shirts and some pants, though (crazy deals at Gap, BTW - just don't go there hoping to NOT do any math. "Buy One Get One" left Prinna and me scratching our heads because there were STILL all these weirdo stipulations and crazy percentages to figure out).
Today was my sister-in-law Leah's birthday. We all had a lovely bday dinner for her at my parents house. Prinna was there with her girls, and I took the opportunity to help Prinna go into labor (she's tried going bowling, acupressure on her feet, and bouncing up and down on a yoga ball, so my tactics were limited.) I tried blackmailing the baby to come out by threatening to dress him up in dresses all the time, I laced Prinna's cracker/cheese combo with a huge heap of spicy red pepper jelly hoping her heartburn would shoot through her and light a fire under that baby. I had my nieces Annabelle and Eve try and talk to the baby and ask him nicely to come on outta there and play with them. NO. BABY.
So, I tried another tactic on my way home from my parents. I swung by Target and loaded up on "prizes" for the baby (and his soon-to-be big sisters) should he decide to make his move. Now I'll sit just back and wait for a phone call.
Still waiting...
In the meantime, I had an impromptu Skype date with my friend Madeline on Friday night. We decided we both need a major vacay - all this planning and waiting for my sister to have a baby is really taking it out of me. Madeline helpfully suggested that we get outta town and go somewhere to drink margaritas by the boatload. So my new project is to find an all-inclusive paradise that is supah cheap. So far, no luck. I'm not giving up, though. I WILL find a place where room service is a given, a place that has either a pool or ocean in which to frolic, no kids, no obnoxious Spring Breakers drinking alcohol for the first time, and, ideally, with swim-up bars. Okay, so maybe I'm a little picky, but whatevs. I'm just a girl who knows what I want. Do you know of a place where we can have all that? Anyone? Bueller?
Help me help you, people. If I get to take a nice little vacation, I'll be all rejuvenated with great vacation stories to tell you. I was thisclose to posting a blog about the cavernous pot holes in Minneapolis, so to save you all from that post, I urge you to help a sister out. (Note: This is not to say I WON'T post the pot hole blog...I'm not that desperate. YET.)
So you guys get to work on planning my vacation, and I'll get back to kickstarting Prinna's labor. We've got a lot of work to do, people, so let's get to it!
Monday, February 28, 2011
On the House
I got a not-so-subtle email from my dad yesterday. In it, he basically suggested I start seriously considering buying a house. As in, a whole house. I think it’s because he is of the mindset that any adult my age should have something to call their own - besides some awesome Kate Spade bags, I guess. But I laughed out loud to myself when I read his email, and murmured, “Oh Dad…” 'Cause that is pretty much the last thing on the planet I could imagine purchasing right now. Plus, I’m almost positive I’m a lousy candidate for home ownership. Until I lived in my current place, I moved every single year since I was a freshman in college. And after being in my current house for the past 3 years, I’m more than ready to move on – pun INtended. How am I supposed to explain to my dad that I have no interest in buying a house because I am totally flaky when it comes to a permanent residence?
See, now this is exactly the same reason I lease my cars. You know what happens every 3 years? BRAND NEW CAR. I haven’t had to go get a new engine, or new brakes, or new anything on a car in like 5 years. Then by the time I get sick of a car, it’s time to trade it in anyways. So instead of buying some used car with 100,000 miles on it and keeping it until I run it into the ground, I start fresh with an upgrade every few years. Onward and upward. The same concept goes for a house. I would NEVER be able to buy a house in the perfect, safe, quiet, fancy schmancy neighborhood I live in now. Never. If I actually BOUGHT a house, I guarantee you I’d be way too far from the big city to continue having an active social life. If I bought a house now, I may as well also buy 100 cats to live in it with me.
Plus, when you buy a house, you also buy all the problems it has. I have a very dependent relationship on our handyman guy who comes and fixes everything from a clogged sink to our furnace. For free. He comes in, fixes the problem, and leaves. Sometimes, he comes over when I’m at work, which, at that point, makes him like a magical little house fairy who I can’t see, but I know he’s been hard at work when I walk in and we have new bathroom fixtures. Voila!
A few of my friends are home owners. Congratulations, dudes! How was shoveling your OWN driveway this winter? Suckers. They’re all like “nesting” and “settling down” and I guess that concept only works if you’re ready to settle down for longer than a year at time. I have NO clue where I’ll be in a year from now. None. One thing’s for certain, though: I’ll probably be ready to move again.
But this all comes on the heels of my dad’s latest hare-brained scheme. He wants to buy himself a nice, little teeny 2nd house with a two-car garage. Why? So he has a place to store his boat in the winter, and he thinks the high prices that storage places charge are absurd. That’s like buying a private jet because baggage fees get you down. I gotta hand it to him, though. The man definitely thinks outside the box. But whenever he gets into a new obsession, he likes to bring one of us kids in there with him. Since I'm the only "renter" in my family, I guess I'm the lucky one?
I haven’t responded to my dad's email yet. I don’t want to burst his bubble. He’s so earnest, and he was very encouraging in his email, too, saying things like how I might enjoy “ rehabbing old properties, bringing things up to code, whatever”. And he gives me a lot of credit (too much, probably) when it comes to home repair and maintenance. Sure I CAN get my hands dirty and solve a problem when I have to, I just don’t really WANT to. Then, as if to really drive his point home, he took a little jab at my current home city: “I will say, too, driving around Mpls was a bit eye-opening yesterday. Don't you people plow your streets? There is a LOT to be said for living in the suburbs!!!”
Schplurg. I don’t know. Maybe the antsiness I've been feeling as of late isn’t really cabin fever, but more, like, “nomadic living fever”. Maybe I’d be all calm and adulty if I wrote my name down on a mortgage and bought a lawn mower. I see the positives of home ownership, I do. I just can’t let go of the negatives. But I do know one thing: telling my dad that I don’t want to buy a house because I really don’t like mowing the lawn or snaking my own drains won’t exactly win me any points. I should probably just blame it on the market because I’m pretty sure you can’t argue with the “market”. Whatever that means...or is.
See, now this is exactly the same reason I lease my cars. You know what happens every 3 years? BRAND NEW CAR. I haven’t had to go get a new engine, or new brakes, or new anything on a car in like 5 years. Then by the time I get sick of a car, it’s time to trade it in anyways. So instead of buying some used car with 100,000 miles on it and keeping it until I run it into the ground, I start fresh with an upgrade every few years. Onward and upward. The same concept goes for a house. I would NEVER be able to buy a house in the perfect, safe, quiet, fancy schmancy neighborhood I live in now. Never. If I actually BOUGHT a house, I guarantee you I’d be way too far from the big city to continue having an active social life. If I bought a house now, I may as well also buy 100 cats to live in it with me.
Plus, when you buy a house, you also buy all the problems it has. I have a very dependent relationship on our handyman guy who comes and fixes everything from a clogged sink to our furnace. For free. He comes in, fixes the problem, and leaves. Sometimes, he comes over when I’m at work, which, at that point, makes him like a magical little house fairy who I can’t see, but I know he’s been hard at work when I walk in and we have new bathroom fixtures. Voila!
A few of my friends are home owners. Congratulations, dudes! How was shoveling your OWN driveway this winter? Suckers. They’re all like “nesting” and “settling down” and I guess that concept only works if you’re ready to settle down for longer than a year at time. I have NO clue where I’ll be in a year from now. None. One thing’s for certain, though: I’ll probably be ready to move again.
But this all comes on the heels of my dad’s latest hare-brained scheme. He wants to buy himself a nice, little teeny 2nd house with a two-car garage. Why? So he has a place to store his boat in the winter, and he thinks the high prices that storage places charge are absurd. That’s like buying a private jet because baggage fees get you down. I gotta hand it to him, though. The man definitely thinks outside the box. But whenever he gets into a new obsession, he likes to bring one of us kids in there with him. Since I'm the only "renter" in my family, I guess I'm the lucky one?
I haven’t responded to my dad's email yet. I don’t want to burst his bubble. He’s so earnest, and he was very encouraging in his email, too, saying things like how I might enjoy “ rehabbing old properties, bringing things up to code, whatever”. And he gives me a lot of credit (too much, probably) when it comes to home repair and maintenance. Sure I CAN get my hands dirty and solve a problem when I have to, I just don’t really WANT to. Then, as if to really drive his point home, he took a little jab at my current home city: “I will say, too, driving around Mpls was a bit eye-opening yesterday. Don't you people plow your streets? There is a LOT to be said for living in the suburbs!!!”
Schplurg. I don’t know. Maybe the antsiness I've been feeling as of late isn’t really cabin fever, but more, like, “nomadic living fever”. Maybe I’d be all calm and adulty if I wrote my name down on a mortgage and bought a lawn mower. I see the positives of home ownership, I do. I just can’t let go of the negatives. But I do know one thing: telling my dad that I don’t want to buy a house because I really don’t like mowing the lawn or snaking my own drains won’t exactly win me any points. I should probably just blame it on the market because I’m pretty sure you can’t argue with the “market”. Whatever that means...or is.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Control Issues
Another weekend, another ridiculous snow storm in Minnesota. Juuuuuuuust great. I was all "Spring Fever, baby!! Time to put away the turtlenecks and bust out the strappy sandals! When do the Farmer's Markets start again?!" Blurg. Wrong again, Pharon. Wrong again.
In between fits of cursing the weather while curled up with my spring dresses and flip flops and crying, I tried to warm my frigid bones by shopping. On Saturday, I went out to the mall with my sisters and my 11 year-old niece Rachel. I had like a long list of necessities that I was on the hunt for: a grey sweater, a pair of sunglasses, a new bag, red lipstick that doesn't make me look like a lady of the evening, and possibly a nice, structured, perfect little black dress. Turns out, I was feeling very Audrey Hepburn-y for some reason.
Anyway, I did not get any of those things. I DID, however, find a silver sequined scarf at Limited Too. Yes, a child's clothing store. Uhhhh...Right. I bought one for me and one for Rachel because it's less weird to buy sequined clothes at a store for girls under 13 years-old if you also buy one for your niece, right? Guh...that's so NOT Audrey Hepburn.
Today, though, I braved the wintry storm to go out shopping and found a super cute bag and the red lipstick I wanted (after I got home and tried out the lipstick, Geo saw me and said "Oh. So. That's new. You don't usually wear lipstick. You look, um, like, really dressed up in your sweatpants." Nice.) So I at least got THAT accomplished, I guess.
See, the big plan was to treat myself because I was under the impression that I had somehow made a bunch of extra money this weekend. I went to Bingo with Kim and Claire on Friday night - where I did NOT win - and last night someone wanted to buy my Wii that I listed on Craigslist - who did NOT end up buying it - and I finally got the last form I needed to file my taxes - which I didn't end up doing, what with all the time I spent shopping. Whoops. Talk about putting the cart before the horse...
Okay, so my priorities were all messed up this weekend. What can ya do? I'm surprised I was able to reign myself in as much as I did though. I did NOT buy a knit wool winter hat at Len Druskin because I told myself winter was over, and I only bought 2 boxes of Girl Scout cookies, both of which I've already eaten. I'm proud of my self-restraint, though. With the shopping, I mean. Not with the cookies. That was just crazy. Geo went to open one of the boxes and said "Where did all the cookies go?" I wiped the crumbs from my face and mumbled "Don't judge me." He shook his head and sighed "Too late."
So what? I ate a couple boxes of cookies, but I ALSO ate a salad and raspberries which totally balances that out. And yes, I bought a sequined scarf I totally don't need, but I kind of HAD to because then Rachel and I could match and it's adorable when a grown up matches a pre-teen, right? I thought so.
Well, I did an okay job controlling myself this weekend and not doing anything too crazy. It would be way better if I could also control the weather, though. Stay warm and safe out there this week!
In between fits of cursing the weather while curled up with my spring dresses and flip flops and crying, I tried to warm my frigid bones by shopping. On Saturday, I went out to the mall with my sisters and my 11 year-old niece Rachel. I had like a long list of necessities that I was on the hunt for: a grey sweater, a pair of sunglasses, a new bag, red lipstick that doesn't make me look like a lady of the evening, and possibly a nice, structured, perfect little black dress. Turns out, I was feeling very Audrey Hepburn-y for some reason.
Anyway, I did not get any of those things. I DID, however, find a silver sequined scarf at Limited Too. Yes, a child's clothing store. Uhhhh...Right. I bought one for me and one for Rachel because it's less weird to buy sequined clothes at a store for girls under 13 years-old if you also buy one for your niece, right? Guh...that's so NOT Audrey Hepburn.
Today, though, I braved the wintry storm to go out shopping and found a super cute bag and the red lipstick I wanted (after I got home and tried out the lipstick, Geo saw me and said "Oh. So. That's new. You don't usually wear lipstick. You look, um, like, really dressed up in your sweatpants." Nice.) So I at least got THAT accomplished, I guess.
See, the big plan was to treat myself because I was under the impression that I had somehow made a bunch of extra money this weekend. I went to Bingo with Kim and Claire on Friday night - where I did NOT win - and last night someone wanted to buy my Wii that I listed on Craigslist - who did NOT end up buying it - and I finally got the last form I needed to file my taxes - which I didn't end up doing, what with all the time I spent shopping. Whoops. Talk about putting the cart before the horse...
Okay, so my priorities were all messed up this weekend. What can ya do? I'm surprised I was able to reign myself in as much as I did though. I did NOT buy a knit wool winter hat at Len Druskin because I told myself winter was over, and I only bought 2 boxes of Girl Scout cookies, both of which I've already eaten. I'm proud of my self-restraint, though. With the shopping, I mean. Not with the cookies. That was just crazy. Geo went to open one of the boxes and said "Where did all the cookies go?" I wiped the crumbs from my face and mumbled "Don't judge me." He shook his head and sighed "Too late."
So what? I ate a couple boxes of cookies, but I ALSO ate a salad and raspberries which totally balances that out. And yes, I bought a sequined scarf I totally don't need, but I kind of HAD to because then Rachel and I could match and it's adorable when a grown up matches a pre-teen, right? I thought so.
Well, I did an okay job controlling myself this weekend and not doing anything too crazy. It would be way better if I could also control the weather, though. Stay warm and safe out there this week!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Future's so Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades
Halleluiah! You guys? The SUN...was OUT...TODAY. I dug around in my purse, and had to take out my Kindle, my planner, my phone charger, my Kate Spade card holder/wallet, my keys, my iPod, a coin purse, a pair of mittens, and a pack of gum, but I finally found them. My Sunglasses. I haven't gotten to use my sunglasses in, well, many many moons. But oh! The glorious sun has decided to make a much anticipated cameo in Minnesota. And believe you me, I was in desperate need of the Vitamin D. I ran outside during lunch, with my mittens on, my full-length, down, enormo-coat zipped up, and the hood pulled up over my head, and just stared straight up at the sun. I willed the 4 square inches of my visible face skin to absorb all the vitamins and warmth and loveliness possible. I put my sunglasses on and it felt almost alien to have them on my face again. But there they sat, for 7 glorious minutes before I had to run back inside and thaw out my eyelashes.
That's something I always forget about in winter: sunglasses. I NEVER need to use my sunglasses in winter, unless I'm driving and the hazy sun somehow still manages to bounce right off the snow and directly into my corneas like I'm an ant at the mercy of some bratty kid with a microscope. But that almost never happens anyway. Usually I'm tucked inside work or my house or a bar, far away from the bitter cold of the ruthless Outdoors. So when I put my sunglasses on today, I was finally convinced that Spring is definitely right around the corner.
I need to buy new sunglasses, though. The ones I have now are, obviously, Kate Spade. And though I love them, due to my habit of tossing them into my purse with keys, pens, and apparently open switchblades, the lenses of the glasses are totally scratched beyond repair. There is nothing, in this blogger's humble opinion, dumber than dropping a huge chunk of dough on sunglasses. Sure, they may be cute or cool or like 3-D or something, but unless it says "Will not Break When Your Friend Ally Sits on the Them" or "Lenses Are Made Out Of Diamond", it's such a waste. I love the $5 sunglasses at Heartbreaker. Soooooo cheap! Sooooo cute! And somehow, they NEVER BREAK. I just straight up lose them. I'd go into cardiac arrest if I bought like a $750 pair of sunglasses and accidentally left them in the bathroom McDonald's. Good bye, money. Good bye, useless status symbol.
I bought Geo a pair of sunglasses for Christmas. He is a legit sunglasses hoarder. He has at least 6 pairs just in his car at any given time. Anyway, so Geo and I watch this show called Sons of Anarchy on FX (if you aren't watching this show, you are bad at life). It's about a motorcycle gang who have hearts of gold. (Sort of. They like deal drugs and run guns and hang out with, eh hem, ladies of the night, but it's SOOOOOOO good.) Whatever, the main character, Jax - played by the very yummy and drool-worthy Charlie Hunnum, wears these sunglasses on the show whenever he's on his Harley. Geo wanted them soooo badly. So one day, I looked them up. I found them, and they are legit. They are old-school authentic motorcycle glasses that have been around since the 50's. The best part? Eight dollars. Eight little bitty dollars. So, I ordered them and was ready to lie my face off and tell Geo they were mad expensive. However, apparently he had already done some of his OWN research, and confessed that he was already planning on ordering like 10 pairs of them so he had them every where at all times.
For all intents and purposes, sunglasses are basically disposable, though. That's why I think spending a ton of hard-earned cash on something you're just going to sit on anyway is crazy. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I need some new ones. I like the obnoxiously large ones, too. Geo says they make my freakishly small head look smaller. I'm pretty sure that's an insult, but whatever. They also leave horrible sunglasses tans in the summer. But I just figure it's a highly effective way of preventing premature aging of my eyes, and also hiding hangovers . And Punxutawney Phil basically guaranteed that I'll be laying out and drinking Mojitos by the Lakes in no time, so I need to be ready!
Alright, loveys. I'm signing off for now. I hope you have a bright, sunny, and wonderful weekend!
That's something I always forget about in winter: sunglasses. I NEVER need to use my sunglasses in winter, unless I'm driving and the hazy sun somehow still manages to bounce right off the snow and directly into my corneas like I'm an ant at the mercy of some bratty kid with a microscope. But that almost never happens anyway. Usually I'm tucked inside work or my house or a bar, far away from the bitter cold of the ruthless Outdoors. So when I put my sunglasses on today, I was finally convinced that Spring is definitely right around the corner.
I need to buy new sunglasses, though. The ones I have now are, obviously, Kate Spade. And though I love them, due to my habit of tossing them into my purse with keys, pens, and apparently open switchblades, the lenses of the glasses are totally scratched beyond repair. There is nothing, in this blogger's humble opinion, dumber than dropping a huge chunk of dough on sunglasses. Sure, they may be cute or cool or like 3-D or something, but unless it says "Will not Break When Your Friend Ally Sits on the Them" or "Lenses Are Made Out Of Diamond", it's such a waste. I love the $5 sunglasses at Heartbreaker. Soooooo cheap! Sooooo cute! And somehow, they NEVER BREAK. I just straight up lose them. I'd go into cardiac arrest if I bought like a $750 pair of sunglasses and accidentally left them in the bathroom McDonald's. Good bye, money. Good bye, useless status symbol.
I bought Geo a pair of sunglasses for Christmas. He is a legit sunglasses hoarder. He has at least 6 pairs just in his car at any given time. Anyway, so Geo and I watch this show called Sons of Anarchy on FX (if you aren't watching this show, you are bad at life). It's about a motorcycle gang who have hearts of gold. (Sort of. They like deal drugs and run guns and hang out with, eh hem, ladies of the night, but it's SOOOOOOO good.) Whatever, the main character, Jax - played by the very yummy and drool-worthy Charlie Hunnum, wears these sunglasses on the show whenever he's on his Harley. Geo wanted them soooo badly. So one day, I looked them up. I found them, and they are legit. They are old-school authentic motorcycle glasses that have been around since the 50's. The best part? Eight dollars. Eight little bitty dollars. So, I ordered them and was ready to lie my face off and tell Geo they were mad expensive. However, apparently he had already done some of his OWN research, and confessed that he was already planning on ordering like 10 pairs of them so he had them every where at all times.
For all intents and purposes, sunglasses are basically disposable, though. That's why I think spending a ton of hard-earned cash on something you're just going to sit on anyway is crazy. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I need some new ones. I like the obnoxiously large ones, too. Geo says they make my freakishly small head look smaller. I'm pretty sure that's an insult, but whatever. They also leave horrible sunglasses tans in the summer. But I just figure it's a highly effective way of preventing premature aging of my eyes, and also hiding hangovers . And Punxutawney Phil basically guaranteed that I'll be laying out and drinking Mojitos by the Lakes in no time, so I need to be ready!
Alright, loveys. I'm signing off for now. I hope you have a bright, sunny, and wonderful weekend!
Monday, January 31, 2011
I'm Not a Businessman, I'm a BUSINESS, MAN!
I talked to my friend Madeline today (Yay! She has a new blog! Check it out: Reckless Reading) and we came up with a business plan. We're going to make something and then we're going to sell that something. I'm not going to say what it is, because I don't want you thieves to steal our idea. Also, we're stealing the idea from someone else, and I'm not prepared to deal with any legal ramifications just yet. But the point is, we've got a plan and we're going to do it and then we're going to make a zillion dollars. I will say that it involves a lot of crafting, and everyone knows I'm crafty.
Anyway, mere minutes after figuring this out with Madeline, I got an email from my dad. It was a link to an article about 10 people who made a million dollars by the time they were 25 - like, say, Mark Zuckerberg. Well, Dad, I hate to break it to you, but despite my youthful glow and my affinity for using adolescent slang, I am not 25. I missed that Millionaire Mark, and by quite a ways. But my dad, God love him, is insistent that at least one of his kids becomes an overnight millionaire. None of us is sure exactly why, but in my case, I'm sure it has everything to do my English degree and lack of a savings account.
Around Christmas, my dad wanted us kids to make a viral video. There wasn't really a concrete IDEA or CONCEPT, but he just wanted us to put our minds together and come up with the next "hide ya kids, hide ya wife" video and cash in. Needless to say, we didn't do it. We're not exactly "viral" material. Plus, can you even MAKE MONEY on those videos? I kind of doubt it. But to my dad's credit, seriously how hard could it be to make a video like this: Annoying Orange.
See, here's where my dad and I go our separate ways. First of all, he's hopelessly optimistic in the abilities of his kids, whereas I'm surprised if I remember to brush my teeth at night. My dad sees something good and thinks "Why couldn't we do that?" whereas I think "This could be cooler if I had a vodka tonic". My dad DOES things. I, on the other hand, need someone to tell me exactly what to do, and then I do it and the results are average. Sure I have my creative moments, but my talents are solely in writing snarky comments about celebrities and my sub-par grooming habits.
Example: I had a poster Istole from my dad found in college, of the iconic Farrah Fawcett. I love that poster. I wanted to hang it up, but I didn't have a frame. So I cut the cardboard out of a huge moving box and Scotch taped mounted the poster on top of the cardboard. Voila! Acceptable. My DAD, on the other hand is quite the opposite. My mom saw a big piece of geometric art in a Pottery Barn catalog. She loved it, and she wanted it. My dad was all "Uh, it's like $450,000,000,000. And it looks like something I could make." My mom called his bluff. So what did he do? He went out and bought paint and supplies and recreated the whole damn thing. It was an incredibly accurate reproduction - like, freaky good. See? He can DO those kinds of things. He recreates works of art, I mount posters onto cracked cardboard with tape.
I have yet to start a business, or film a wildly viral video, or start Facebook. I do take the opportunity whenever possible, to remind my dad that I write a blog like, every night! Still he sends me these emails, with encouragement like "Go check out what this person did on $20 and a dream" and then say something like "Why couldn't WE do something like this?" And I'm all "But Dad, my blog...it's like, sooooooooo important!" and he's all, "I just don't get how you're going to make a million dollars with it, though."
Despite my less-than-desirable skill set when it comes to businessing (it's a word), my dad continues to have an unshakable faith in me that I can start (or help start) the next Google. I mean I can't do math, I lose interest in things quickly, and my knowledge of economics and other abstract concepts is, uh, nil. But I CAN come up with punny product names. If anything, I've got a shot at NAMING the next million dollar idea. Maybe that's what I need to do. That'll be my business. You come in with your fancy idea or product, and I'll tap my chin, lean back in my chair, and say something genius. You have an innovative knife sharpener? Blade Runner. Boom. Give me a million dollars. (Okay, so that's a horrible example, but I'm not going print my best ideas on here! I'm savin' 'em up to cash in at the patent office!)
Well, luckily Madeline is a vicious go-getter who has no patience for slacking, so the above mentioned business we're going to start is sure to be a success. I mean, IF we start it. Sorry, Madeline, but I kind of have a history of flaking once an idea has lost its luster. Just ask my dad.
Anyway, mere minutes after figuring this out with Madeline, I got an email from my dad. It was a link to an article about 10 people who made a million dollars by the time they were 25 - like, say, Mark Zuckerberg. Well, Dad, I hate to break it to you, but despite my youthful glow and my affinity for using adolescent slang, I am not 25. I missed that Millionaire Mark, and by quite a ways. But my dad, God love him, is insistent that at least one of his kids becomes an overnight millionaire. None of us is sure exactly why, but in my case, I'm sure it has everything to do my English degree and lack of a savings account.
Around Christmas, my dad wanted us kids to make a viral video. There wasn't really a concrete IDEA or CONCEPT, but he just wanted us to put our minds together and come up with the next "hide ya kids, hide ya wife" video and cash in. Needless to say, we didn't do it. We're not exactly "viral" material. Plus, can you even MAKE MONEY on those videos? I kind of doubt it. But to my dad's credit, seriously how hard could it be to make a video like this: Annoying Orange.
See, here's where my dad and I go our separate ways. First of all, he's hopelessly optimistic in the abilities of his kids, whereas I'm surprised if I remember to brush my teeth at night. My dad sees something good and thinks "Why couldn't we do that?" whereas I think "This could be cooler if I had a vodka tonic". My dad DOES things. I, on the other hand, need someone to tell me exactly what to do, and then I do it and the results are average. Sure I have my creative moments, but my talents are solely in writing snarky comments about celebrities and my sub-par grooming habits.
Example: I had a poster I
I have yet to start a business, or film a wildly viral video, or start Facebook. I do take the opportunity whenever possible, to remind my dad that I write a blog like, every night! Still he sends me these emails, with encouragement like "Go check out what this person did on $20 and a dream" and then say something like "Why couldn't WE do something like this?" And I'm all "But Dad, my blog...it's like, sooooooooo important!" and he's all, "I just don't get how you're going to make a million dollars with it, though."
Despite my less-than-desirable skill set when it comes to businessing (it's a word), my dad continues to have an unshakable faith in me that I can start (or help start) the next Google. I mean I can't do math, I lose interest in things quickly, and my knowledge of economics and other abstract concepts is, uh, nil. But I CAN come up with punny product names. If anything, I've got a shot at NAMING the next million dollar idea. Maybe that's what I need to do. That'll be my business. You come in with your fancy idea or product, and I'll tap my chin, lean back in my chair, and say something genius. You have an innovative knife sharpener? Blade Runner. Boom. Give me a million dollars. (Okay, so that's a horrible example, but I'm not going print my best ideas on here! I'm savin' 'em up to cash in at the patent office!)
Well, luckily Madeline is a vicious go-getter who has no patience for slacking, so the above mentioned business we're going to start is sure to be a success. I mean, IF we start it. Sorry, Madeline, but I kind of have a history of flaking once an idea has lost its luster. Just ask my dad.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Who is Lange Zyne, and How Old IS She?
You knew it was coming, didn’t you? Like I said before, I don’t typically make New Year’s Resolutions, so I guess maybe these should be considered a To Do List for 2011. Or, maybe more like “Pseudo-Challenging Goals Most People Do Anyway”. I feel like resolutions are so, I don’t know, final and scary. I would list things like “Learn Chinese” or “Shower Everyday” but everyone who knows me knows that those are impossible, and therefore won’t make any list I ever compile, unless it’s a list of things I’ll never do.
Without further ado, here’s my List of Things I Will Really Try and Do This Year, But Don’t Quote Me On It:
* As I’ve previously mentioned, learn how to put on makeup. As I write this list, I am relishing in Day Two of no makeup, and I will be sad to see these days go.
* Stop doing my laundry at my parents house. (NOTE: I KNOW how to do my own laundry. I’ve been doing it since I was 16, and in fact DO my own laundry, just at my parents house.) Here’s the thing: I HAVE a washer and dryer in my house, but I’ll admit it. I’m very afraid of our basement. It’s dark and scary and full of storage stuff. I just KNOW there are mice hiding down there. And mice are scary. It’s time I stop avoiding the little buggers and just wear football spikes down to the basement.
* Learn how to change a car tire. I don’t know why, but I have always wanted to be able to do this. I think it has something to do with the fact that I know a lot of guys who can’t do it, and need to call AAA. But how awesome would it be to pop out of the car, take off my Louboutins (which I will also buy this year), and change a tire myself? Answer: Very awesome.
* Be more spontaneous. Typically, Monday-Friday, my hours are planned out down to the minute, until 6 p.m. when I just park it on my couch and write. I have GOT to stop doing that. “Pharon, do you want to go to a movie that doesn’t START until 9:30 p.m.?” Old answer: No way, too late. New answer: Fine. Well, unless there’s one at 7:30? No? Okay, count me in.
* More happy hours. I can’t believe I have to actually WORK on this. I love Happy Hours, but as of late, I’ve really been slacking in the post-work drink arena. Must remedy this soon.
* No more roommates. I think I’m finally at the age where it’s getting a little weird to live in a house with 3 people to whom I’m not related. I really hope this is the year I move out of my favoritest house in the world into a small, crappy place in the ‘burbs probably, because I can only afford my sweet pad right now with the THREE roommates. No, I think it’s time to downsize and grow up.
* Stop watching TV marathons. Or at least limit them. I can sit and watch America’s Next Top Model marathons for 4 hours without even thinking about it. And God help me if there’s a Bridezilla or True Life marathon on. I may as well grow roots in the couch. But no, I must stop doing this.
* No. More. Clothes. From. Forever. 21. No more. They are cheap and only good for one or two wears. Unless it’s for a costume or something. Nope. I’m going to focus on QUALITY clothes over QUANTITY of clothes.
* Stop eating like a guy. I need more veggies and fruit in my diet, plain and simple.
* Keep blogging. If you guys promise to keep reading, I promise to keep blogging.
Those are my goals for 2011. What are yours? What will you change? What do you want to KEEP doing? (And HEY! If one of your resolutions is to write kick butt Cheesy Movie Storyline, don’t forget to send it to pharonsquare@gmail.com for your chance to win an authentic Pharon Square t-shirt AND your story featured on an upcoming blog!!)
Be safe out there guys. Have fun ringing in the new year, and I hope you have the night of a lifetime!! I’m sad to see 2010 go, because it was a pretty darn good year. I hope next year is as good, if not better. For me AND for you! See you all in 2011!
Sars about the video below, but it’s the only thing I could find with my favorite version of the New Year’s Song! Close your eyes and dance…
Without further ado, here’s my List of Things I Will Really Try and Do This Year, But Don’t Quote Me On It:
* As I’ve previously mentioned, learn how to put on makeup. As I write this list, I am relishing in Day Two of no makeup, and I will be sad to see these days go.
* Stop doing my laundry at my parents house. (NOTE: I KNOW how to do my own laundry. I’ve been doing it since I was 16, and in fact DO my own laundry, just at my parents house.) Here’s the thing: I HAVE a washer and dryer in my house, but I’ll admit it. I’m very afraid of our basement. It’s dark and scary and full of storage stuff. I just KNOW there are mice hiding down there. And mice are scary. It’s time I stop avoiding the little buggers and just wear football spikes down to the basement.
* Learn how to change a car tire. I don’t know why, but I have always wanted to be able to do this. I think it has something to do with the fact that I know a lot of guys who can’t do it, and need to call AAA. But how awesome would it be to pop out of the car, take off my Louboutins (which I will also buy this year), and change a tire myself? Answer: Very awesome.
* Be more spontaneous. Typically, Monday-Friday, my hours are planned out down to the minute, until 6 p.m. when I just park it on my couch and write. I have GOT to stop doing that. “Pharon, do you want to go to a movie that doesn’t START until 9:30 p.m.?” Old answer: No way, too late. New answer: Fine. Well, unless there’s one at 7:30? No? Okay, count me in.
* More happy hours. I can’t believe I have to actually WORK on this. I love Happy Hours, but as of late, I’ve really been slacking in the post-work drink arena. Must remedy this soon.
* No more roommates. I think I’m finally at the age where it’s getting a little weird to live in a house with 3 people to whom I’m not related. I really hope this is the year I move out of my favoritest house in the world into a small, crappy place in the ‘burbs probably, because I can only afford my sweet pad right now with the THREE roommates. No, I think it’s time to downsize and grow up.
* Stop watching TV marathons. Or at least limit them. I can sit and watch America’s Next Top Model marathons for 4 hours without even thinking about it. And God help me if there’s a Bridezilla or True Life marathon on. I may as well grow roots in the couch. But no, I must stop doing this.
* No. More. Clothes. From. Forever. 21. No more. They are cheap and only good for one or two wears. Unless it’s for a costume or something. Nope. I’m going to focus on QUALITY clothes over QUANTITY of clothes.
* Stop eating like a guy. I need more veggies and fruit in my diet, plain and simple.
* Keep blogging. If you guys promise to keep reading, I promise to keep blogging.
Those are my goals for 2011. What are yours? What will you change? What do you want to KEEP doing? (And HEY! If one of your resolutions is to write kick butt Cheesy Movie Storyline, don’t forget to send it to pharonsquare@gmail.com for your chance to win an authentic Pharon Square t-shirt AND your story featured on an upcoming blog!!)
Be safe out there guys. Have fun ringing in the new year, and I hope you have the night of a lifetime!! I’m sad to see 2010 go, because it was a pretty darn good year. I hope next year is as good, if not better. For me AND for you! See you all in 2011!
Sars about the video below, but it’s the only thing I could find with my favorite version of the New Year’s Song! Close your eyes and dance…
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Come On Down!
So, as you may know, I’m in the middle of a 2-week staycation from work. Last week was full of Christmas prep stuff, and now this week, I’m all laid back and enjoying the time off. It’s been loverly. I’ve made a major life decision too. I’ve decided that I’m going to go on a game show. And then win the million dollar jackpot. I made this decision this morning while I was getting ready to go over to Prinna’s to help her turn her office into a nursery. I was drying my hair and got absolutely sucked in to The Price is Right. And tonight, I caught an episode of Wheel of Fortune, which solidified my plan.
I don’t really watch a lot of game shows on an average day. I have nothing invested in them, you know, like I do with Glee or The Soup. No, game shows are basically good time killers. But tonight, watching Wheel, the guy won like $75,000. Just because he spun a wheel and played Hangman in front of an audience. I could TOTALLY do that. I’m not sure I’d want to be on Wheel of Fortune, though. So, I’ve done a little thinking and decided to become a millionaire on a show that doesn’t rely on arm strength and whether or not I can afford a vowel.
The Price is Right: Prinna LOVES this show. She went on the Vegas version of it when she, Padrin and my mom went to Sin City. I believe she won a washer/dryer or lifetime supply of glue or something. I personally couldn’t do this. Do YOU have any idea how much Gold Bond Medicated Powder costs? Cause I sure don’t. I wouldn’t have any idea how much a set of men’s luxury ties would cost, and wouldn’t make it past Contestant’s Row. Even if DID, I’d only have a chance at Plinko, because that game rules and is totally reliant on luck. Then comes that giant wheel, and I am certain I’d be the first person to spin it, fall on my head, cut my face open and end up with $0.35 anyway. Also, Bob Barker is gone. Nope, the price is wrong for me on this one.
Deal or No Deal: Definitely not. This has everything to do with odds, probability, percentages, and no, just…NO.
Cash Cab: I LOVE this show. It’s a game show, but it takes place IN A CAB. It’s all random trivia, most of which I would have an okay shot at guessing. Plus, even if you lose, you get a free cab ride at least partway to your destination. The one thing that concerns me is that I truly believe I’d be a very annoying contestant. I’d be too loud, too indecisive, and and screaming out “w00t!” more times than anyone ever should. I wish I could be on this show, but I don‘t even live in New York anyways (where the Cab is).
Family Feud: This won’t work for a number of reasons. One being that the total won isn’t all that much because you have to split it amongst the members of your family. Also, there’s NO way my family would agree to dress alike, high five each other every 2 seconds, and NOT berate someone for a bad answer. No, we take Feuds too seriously.
Jeopardy: The only way I’d win big money is if I were playing against kids or celebrities (who aren’t very bright as a whole), or if the categories are like “Britney’s Boyfriends”, “Kate Spade Bag Names”, or “Unscramble this Word” (because I’m really freaky good at that). Otherwise, I’d be leaving a loser.
Name That Tune: I think this is the one for me. I’ve never actually WATCHED this show, but if it ever came back on the air, I’d try out for it. And I’m really hoping that there’s a prize of a million dollars (if not, I would settle for Wheel of Fortune). I would consider that show Don’t Forget the Lyrics, but I just totally hate the hosts of those shows. Regardless, I’m fantastic at knowing the lyrics of songs, and being able to identify them very quickly. Yeah, if there’s a big bank to be won, I think this would definitely be my game show.
So, I guess I’ve got it narrowed down to two. Now I’ve got to work on adjusting my Five Year Plan to include a trip to LA, and an investment in outfits that look good on TV. Plus, I’ll have to make time for all the trips I’ll win to Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and Rome. What about you guys? Which show would you go on?
I don’t really watch a lot of game shows on an average day. I have nothing invested in them, you know, like I do with Glee or The Soup. No, game shows are basically good time killers. But tonight, watching Wheel, the guy won like $75,000. Just because he spun a wheel and played Hangman in front of an audience. I could TOTALLY do that. I’m not sure I’d want to be on Wheel of Fortune, though. So, I’ve done a little thinking and decided to become a millionaire on a show that doesn’t rely on arm strength and whether or not I can afford a vowel.
The Price is Right: Prinna LOVES this show. She went on the Vegas version of it when she, Padrin and my mom went to Sin City. I believe she won a washer/dryer or lifetime supply of glue or something. I personally couldn’t do this. Do YOU have any idea how much Gold Bond Medicated Powder costs? Cause I sure don’t. I wouldn’t have any idea how much a set of men’s luxury ties would cost, and wouldn’t make it past Contestant’s Row. Even if DID, I’d only have a chance at Plinko, because that game rules and is totally reliant on luck. Then comes that giant wheel, and I am certain I’d be the first person to spin it, fall on my head, cut my face open and end up with $0.35 anyway. Also, Bob Barker is gone. Nope, the price is wrong for me on this one.
Deal or No Deal: Definitely not. This has everything to do with odds, probability, percentages, and no, just…NO.
Cash Cab: I LOVE this show. It’s a game show, but it takes place IN A CAB. It’s all random trivia, most of which I would have an okay shot at guessing. Plus, even if you lose, you get a free cab ride at least partway to your destination. The one thing that concerns me is that I truly believe I’d be a very annoying contestant. I’d be too loud, too indecisive, and and screaming out “w00t!” more times than anyone ever should. I wish I could be on this show, but I don‘t even live in New York anyways (where the Cab is).
Family Feud: This won’t work for a number of reasons. One being that the total won isn’t all that much because you have to split it amongst the members of your family. Also, there’s NO way my family would agree to dress alike, high five each other every 2 seconds, and NOT berate someone for a bad answer. No, we take Feuds too seriously.
Jeopardy: The only way I’d win big money is if I were playing against kids or celebrities (who aren’t very bright as a whole), or if the categories are like “Britney’s Boyfriends”, “Kate Spade Bag Names”, or “Unscramble this Word” (because I’m really freaky good at that). Otherwise, I’d be leaving a loser.
Name That Tune: I think this is the one for me. I’ve never actually WATCHED this show, but if it ever came back on the air, I’d try out for it. And I’m really hoping that there’s a prize of a million dollars (if not, I would settle for Wheel of Fortune). I would consider that show Don’t Forget the Lyrics, but I just totally hate the hosts of those shows. Regardless, I’m fantastic at knowing the lyrics of songs, and being able to identify them very quickly. Yeah, if there’s a big bank to be won, I think this would definitely be my game show.
So, I guess I’ve got it narrowed down to two. Now I’ve got to work on adjusting my Five Year Plan to include a trip to LA, and an investment in outfits that look good on TV. Plus, I’ll have to make time for all the trips I’ll win to Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and Rome. What about you guys? Which show would you go on?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Go Ahead...Make My Day
I got my hair cut tonight. Exciting, huh? I know, my life is sooooo glamorous. But sitting in that salon chair got me thinking. About what? I don’t know. Lots of stuff, I guess. One of those things was how much I babble when I’m sitting there. I used to go to the same girl over and over. But the conversations got stale, and she was one of those people who blasted my face with the hair dryer until I couldn’t breathe. Yeah, she got the boot.
So, now I visit the Aveda Instruction Salon from time to time, where the stylists are like not quite certified and they need live models. You know, like animal testing. Because let’s face it, people. I’ve got the hair of a hippie. It’s long, straight, and just kind of like there. It’s too thin to be luxurious, too fine to be voluminous. The point is, it’s not hard to cut my hair. Snip, snip, clip, clip, pay at the front desk. I used to spend $75 at the fancy salon with the cucumber water and complimentary micro-dermabrasion treatments in the lobby. And then I’d walk out looking much like I look tonight. But now, going to the teaching salon, I saved like $50. Sure, my hair wasn’t completely dry when I left, and it took like an hour-and-a-half to trim ¾ of inch off, but I participated in the teaching experience. And I’m proud of that.
Okay, so I’m sitting there, telling myself to just chill and play it cool. Before I knew it, though, I found myself telling this girl, who was all of 17, about all my personal issues. Family issues, living-arrangement issues, I just basically threw up on her. Poor Alexis. She handled it like a champ, though. And yes, I have a clump of my own hair in my mouth, but she was really very sweet.
Another thing I noticed, when my hair was all wet and matted down to my head, and my tiny pinhead was sticking out the top of a giant cape, was that I don’t wear enough make up. Or have a tan. And at the end of the work day, the make up that I DID have on had gradually made its way down my face and into thin air. I was a straight-up mess. I looked awful. I looked around at all the shiny haired, perfectly coiffed stylist girls, each with their fancy matching outfits and coordinated jewelry, and I just felt like an ogre. Salons are supposed to make you feel good. Aveda, in particular, is supposedly full of “Day Makers”. Not the case. I’d prefer my stylists homely and unfortunate with a jelly stain on their sweater. I’d feel GREAT there. Anyone know of a place like that?
So, then the big reveal came. She whips the cape off, spins me around and says, “So???? Whaddya think??” I always feel like I feel when the waiter opens a bottle of wine for me and stands there while I pretend to know what I’m supposed to say. I WANT to say, “Yeah. So…it’s shorter! And, it appears as though it’s shiny and clean. Thanks!” I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t know how carefully to inspect it, or how much I need to gush. I always ALWAYS overdo it. “OHMYGOD! I love it! It’s like I have different hair! This looks amazing!”
I left feeling like instead of having MY day made, I made HER day. And then I over-tipped because I can’t do math and panicked at the check out desk. I think I might consider going back to my old system of trimming my own hair after a glass of wine with dull scissors from the knife block in the kitchen.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
So, now I visit the Aveda Instruction Salon from time to time, where the stylists are like not quite certified and they need live models. You know, like animal testing. Because let’s face it, people. I’ve got the hair of a hippie. It’s long, straight, and just kind of like there. It’s too thin to be luxurious, too fine to be voluminous. The point is, it’s not hard to cut my hair. Snip, snip, clip, clip, pay at the front desk. I used to spend $75 at the fancy salon with the cucumber water and complimentary micro-dermabrasion treatments in the lobby. And then I’d walk out looking much like I look tonight. But now, going to the teaching salon, I saved like $50. Sure, my hair wasn’t completely dry when I left, and it took like an hour-and-a-half to trim ¾ of inch off, but I participated in the teaching experience. And I’m proud of that.
Okay, so I’m sitting there, telling myself to just chill and play it cool. Before I knew it, though, I found myself telling this girl, who was all of 17, about all my personal issues. Family issues, living-arrangement issues, I just basically threw up on her. Poor Alexis. She handled it like a champ, though. And yes, I have a clump of my own hair in my mouth, but she was really very sweet.
Another thing I noticed, when my hair was all wet and matted down to my head, and my tiny pinhead was sticking out the top of a giant cape, was that I don’t wear enough make up. Or have a tan. And at the end of the work day, the make up that I DID have on had gradually made its way down my face and into thin air. I was a straight-up mess. I looked awful. I looked around at all the shiny haired, perfectly coiffed stylist girls, each with their fancy matching outfits and coordinated jewelry, and I just felt like an ogre. Salons are supposed to make you feel good. Aveda, in particular, is supposedly full of “Day Makers”. Not the case. I’d prefer my stylists homely and unfortunate with a jelly stain on their sweater. I’d feel GREAT there. Anyone know of a place like that?
So, then the big reveal came. She whips the cape off, spins me around and says, “So???? Whaddya think??” I always feel like I feel when the waiter opens a bottle of wine for me and stands there while I pretend to know what I’m supposed to say. I WANT to say, “Yeah. So…it’s shorter! And, it appears as though it’s shiny and clean. Thanks!” I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t know how carefully to inspect it, or how much I need to gush. I always ALWAYS overdo it. “OHMYGOD! I love it! It’s like I have different hair! This looks amazing!”
I left feeling like instead of having MY day made, I made HER day. And then I over-tipped because I can’t do math and panicked at the check out desk. I think I might consider going back to my old system of trimming my own hair after a glass of wine with dull scissors from the knife block in the kitchen.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Phoney Baloney
Oh, hey Blackberry! What’s that little “SOS” symbol on your non-touch pad screen? Hmm…it’s so strange because all you’ve been doing is laying around in my purse, so I don’t know WHY you would randomly stop accepting and making phone calls. Okay, so maybe you’re moody for no reason. Where on EARTH would you get that characteristic?! Oh, you learned it from watching me? Fine, I get it. The point is, my phone is on the fritz, and I’d very much appreciate it if it would get over itself. It’s randomly not working, and me yelling at it is seemingly having little to no effect on it. Well, I’m out of solutions.
I’ll admit it. I made some compromises when I got this recent excuse for a mobile device. I gave up the 3G network, the flash on a camera, the one-touch ability to change my ringtone…because all I wanted was a full keyboard and a functioning camera (despite the no flash thing, which I didn‘t realize until much much later). Those were luxuries my old phone didn’t have. Though, my old phone DID double as a mirror, which totally ruled. It was the LG Shine, and I got it because LC from The Hills was in an ad for it, and that’s all I needed. Plus, it was essentially indestructible. I treated that phone like a brick yo-yo. Never once did it SOS on me.
Full disclosure: I once had a pager in middle school. I have no idea why. I remember the songs it played - later called “Ringtones” - and all the hilarious one-word L33T speak words that would pop up every once in awhile. HELL. HELLO. BOOBS. BOOB. Endless fun!! My first phone was that Nokia phone every person on the planet had. No texting, no camera, no colored screen. No frills. Just a regular ol’ phone. And when I got it my parents enforced the “FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY!” rule by loading it with like 20 minutes a month. I was in college before I got a phone I could actually talk on long enough to explain what I was going to wear out that night. (Side note: my roommate Tina, who is all of 21 years old, thinks it’s positively HYSTERICAL that I didn’t have a cell phone in middle school. Sorry girl, but I got Jem and the Holograms, strong interpersonal skills, Reebok high tops, day-glo, and the ability to research information NOT on wikipedia. I think we can all agree that I come out ahead.)
My mom was IT when it came to adopting the “wireless phone” phenomenon. She was the first person I ever knew that had a phone she could carry around with her. She had this phone that was attached to a 25-pound charger that she easily toted around in a giant shoulder bag. And she looooves to tell us the story of when she got her first “wireless phone” call. She explained to us 5 kids that the phone was for EMERGENCIES ONLY. The first call she got from us? One of us in hysterics because someone had eaten the last of the cereal. The term “emergency” is so subjective.
Still, I have no desire to get one of those crazy fancy phones, shoulder bag or not. Kim (sorry to call you out, Kim, but this is just too good) is on her 3rd iPhone, I believe. People don’t realize how easily, and often, a phone can fall into a toilet. I myself am far too clumsy to own a phone that costs more than I would spend on a Kate Spade bag. But, hindsight being 20/20, I should have at least sprung for the 3G on this phone. Or at least the “Non SOS’ing” function. Let’s be honest though. My current phone bill shows that I’ve used 250 minutes of talk time all month. On the other hand, I’ve sent 1,000 text messages. I just don’t talk on my phone that much. Talking is for people who still have 3 letters on each number on their phone. Sheesh, n00bs.
So, I guess I’m stuck in a perpetual state of SOS. I made a snap decision that only took into account the price, and the so-called “smart”ness of a smartphone. Sure, I can take a low-quality picture of a fox eating a Big Mac and send it right to Facebook and Twitter, but at what cost? Someone could be calling me right now. Right this very moment. And I’d look at it and ignore it, and then text them back saying “What’s up?” Instead, I guess I’ll just wait for my phone to get over itself and come back to life. The good news is that I’ve got plenty of cereal to tide me over for awhile.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
I’ll admit it. I made some compromises when I got this recent excuse for a mobile device. I gave up the 3G network, the flash on a camera, the one-touch ability to change my ringtone…because all I wanted was a full keyboard and a functioning camera (despite the no flash thing, which I didn‘t realize until much much later). Those were luxuries my old phone didn’t have. Though, my old phone DID double as a mirror, which totally ruled. It was the LG Shine, and I got it because LC from The Hills was in an ad for it, and that’s all I needed. Plus, it was essentially indestructible. I treated that phone like a brick yo-yo. Never once did it SOS on me.
Full disclosure: I once had a pager in middle school. I have no idea why. I remember the songs it played - later called “Ringtones” - and all the hilarious one-word L33T speak words that would pop up every once in awhile. HELL. HELLO. BOOBS. BOOB. Endless fun!! My first phone was that Nokia phone every person on the planet had. No texting, no camera, no colored screen. No frills. Just a regular ol’ phone. And when I got it my parents enforced the “FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY!” rule by loading it with like 20 minutes a month. I was in college before I got a phone I could actually talk on long enough to explain what I was going to wear out that night. (Side note: my roommate Tina, who is all of 21 years old, thinks it’s positively HYSTERICAL that I didn’t have a cell phone in middle school. Sorry girl, but I got Jem and the Holograms, strong interpersonal skills, Reebok high tops, day-glo, and the ability to research information NOT on wikipedia. I think we can all agree that I come out ahead.)
My mom was IT when it came to adopting the “wireless phone” phenomenon. She was the first person I ever knew that had a phone she could carry around with her. She had this phone that was attached to a 25-pound charger that she easily toted around in a giant shoulder bag. And she looooves to tell us the story of when she got her first “wireless phone” call. She explained to us 5 kids that the phone was for EMERGENCIES ONLY. The first call she got from us? One of us in hysterics because someone had eaten the last of the cereal. The term “emergency” is so subjective.
Still, I have no desire to get one of those crazy fancy phones, shoulder bag or not. Kim (sorry to call you out, Kim, but this is just too good) is on her 3rd iPhone, I believe. People don’t realize how easily, and often, a phone can fall into a toilet. I myself am far too clumsy to own a phone that costs more than I would spend on a Kate Spade bag. But, hindsight being 20/20, I should have at least sprung for the 3G on this phone. Or at least the “Non SOS’ing” function. Let’s be honest though. My current phone bill shows that I’ve used 250 minutes of talk time all month. On the other hand, I’ve sent 1,000 text messages. I just don’t talk on my phone that much. Talking is for people who still have 3 letters on each number on their phone. Sheesh, n00bs.
So, I guess I’m stuck in a perpetual state of SOS. I made a snap decision that only took into account the price, and the so-called “smart”ness of a smartphone. Sure, I can take a low-quality picture of a fox eating a Big Mac and send it right to Facebook and Twitter, but at what cost? Someone could be calling me right now. Right this very moment. And I’d look at it and ignore it, and then text them back saying “What’s up?” Instead, I guess I’ll just wait for my phone to get over itself and come back to life. The good news is that I’ve got plenty of cereal to tide me over for awhile.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I Wanna be a Toys R Us Kid
Can I ask you a dumb question? Where’s the line between growing up and getting old? I’m at a crossroads here, people. On the one hand, the thought of having a child/buying a house/”settling down” is still preeeeeetty terrifying. On the other hand, I’m starting to wonder what’s wrong with ‘kids these days’. One hand has a beer in it; the other hand is curling into finger-wagging position. I’m torn. I don’t know which end is up. I’m scared. Hold me.
Now, I like fun as much as the next guy. But lately, everything is just….louder. And more obnoxious. I caught myself thinking the phrase “infernal racket” at one point today. I get cranky when I’m hungry, and I keep wanting to yell at random strangers “PULL YOUR PANTS UP!” or “GET A JOB, HIPPIE!” Give me a pipe, sweater vest, and floppity toupee and I’m an old man.
However, I’m still kind of attached to MTV, and I’m sticking pretty hard to my devil-may-care attitude about bill paying. I still firmly believe that the only bad Happy Hour is the one not attended. I see no point in being serious in many (most) situations. When I babysit for my nieces, I stuff them full of Twizzlers, suckers, and Fun Dip then head home for a night of doing whatever I want. Currently, I have blue fingernail polish on, and I’ve got some Silly Bands on my nightstand.
Today, I was thinking about this conundrum as I was planning my upcoming weekend. My roommate is having a party at our house (for her 24th b-day), and it will be chock full of other early 20-somethings. And I can’t stop worrying about the glasses that will be broken, the smell of rancid beer on the floors, and the inhumanely loud noise level that will seep out of our windows. So, part of me wants to check out and go hang at a friend’s house and avoid the stress altogether. But the other part of me is like “Uh, there is a PARTY. And it’s at YOUR HOUSE. If you leave, you may as well finish up that AARP application and start carrying butterscotch candy and a Kleenex in the band of your watch.”
So, where’s the line? Is there a line at all? One day will I just wake up, pay all my bills, buy some sensible shoes, and start visiting websites that do NOT focus on Hollywood gossip? Well, that just scares me. But how far away is that from my current state? I mean, I’ve started really listening to wrinkle cream commercials. And I’ve seriously considered galoshes.
Ugh. I don’t know. I’m scared. I can actually see why someone would want to take on all the problems and permanency of home ownership, when you can actually paint the walls without asking permission first. I’m flummoxed by people who didn’t grow up to the words “This week, on a very special Blossom…”. So what happens next? When does the floor drop out from under me and I start wearing a slip and pantyhose? When does dying my hair for a little change turn into covering gray?
That seals it. I’m going to put on my best hoop earrings and American Apparel outfit, Twitter my brains out, and do my very best keg stand this weekend. I will NOT grow up. I will NOT! I might just need a couple naps, though. And I’ve got to make some time to catch up on the vacuuming, and let me just quick pick up the house before we have guests. Oh, and don’t let me forget to take my multi-vitamin. This rain is really taking its toll on my sinuses and joints. But THEN! THEN it’ll be crazy fun! YEAH!
Happy Weekend, everyone!
Now, I like fun as much as the next guy. But lately, everything is just….louder. And more obnoxious. I caught myself thinking the phrase “infernal racket” at one point today. I get cranky when I’m hungry, and I keep wanting to yell at random strangers “PULL YOUR PANTS UP!” or “GET A JOB, HIPPIE!” Give me a pipe, sweater vest, and floppity toupee and I’m an old man.
However, I’m still kind of attached to MTV, and I’m sticking pretty hard to my devil-may-care attitude about bill paying. I still firmly believe that the only bad Happy Hour is the one not attended. I see no point in being serious in many (most) situations. When I babysit for my nieces, I stuff them full of Twizzlers, suckers, and Fun Dip then head home for a night of doing whatever I want. Currently, I have blue fingernail polish on, and I’ve got some Silly Bands on my nightstand.
Today, I was thinking about this conundrum as I was planning my upcoming weekend. My roommate is having a party at our house (for her 24th b-day), and it will be chock full of other early 20-somethings. And I can’t stop worrying about the glasses that will be broken, the smell of rancid beer on the floors, and the inhumanely loud noise level that will seep out of our windows. So, part of me wants to check out and go hang at a friend’s house and avoid the stress altogether. But the other part of me is like “Uh, there is a PARTY. And it’s at YOUR HOUSE. If you leave, you may as well finish up that AARP application and start carrying butterscotch candy and a Kleenex in the band of your watch.”
So, where’s the line? Is there a line at all? One day will I just wake up, pay all my bills, buy some sensible shoes, and start visiting websites that do NOT focus on Hollywood gossip? Well, that just scares me. But how far away is that from my current state? I mean, I’ve started really listening to wrinkle cream commercials. And I’ve seriously considered galoshes.
Ugh. I don’t know. I’m scared. I can actually see why someone would want to take on all the problems and permanency of home ownership, when you can actually paint the walls without asking permission first. I’m flummoxed by people who didn’t grow up to the words “This week, on a very special Blossom…”. So what happens next? When does the floor drop out from under me and I start wearing a slip and pantyhose? When does dying my hair for a little change turn into covering gray?
That seals it. I’m going to put on my best hoop earrings and American Apparel outfit, Twitter my brains out, and do my very best keg stand this weekend. I will NOT grow up. I will NOT! I might just need a couple naps, though. And I’ve got to make some time to catch up on the vacuuming, and let me just quick pick up the house before we have guests. Oh, and don’t let me forget to take my multi-vitamin. This rain is really taking its toll on my sinuses and joints. But THEN! THEN it’ll be crazy fun! YEAH!
Happy Weekend, everyone!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
I've Got Spirits, Yes I Do! I've Got Spirits, How 'Bout YOU!?
I went to a psychic at the Aquatennial Block Party in Minneapolis the summer after my freshman year of college. She told me I would be a fashion designer, that I would meet my husband in college, and that I would have twins “because multiples run in my family, don‘t they, deary?”. So far: 0 for 3. But the woman behind the crackled card table couldn’t have been more believable. She wore a SCARF, on her HEAD! She had rings on each finger and turquoise eye shadow. After I forked over the $10, she asked me my name and rolled her eyes into the back of her head for a minute or so before smiling knowingly. It was so clear, all of a sudden. My entire future spilled out of her mouth like oil. And it was my perfect future.
But I didn’t have much of a poker face back then, and my ginormous smiles and anxious nods probably helped her tell me exactly what I wanted to hear. I didn’t realize that I was in the midst of a fraudulent psychic. Then tonight, I talked to Madeline who visited Allison DuBois, who is NOT a psychic, but a Medium. (The TV show “Medium” is based on her life.) Anyhoo, DuBois claims to have the ability to contact the spirits of those who have passed, and harness their energy in order to guide those of us on Earth. Madeline got the opportunity to ask her a few questions, and the responses were spot on. I think.
Now, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m a skeptic when it comes to pseudo-science. You just can’t scientifically prove someone’s abilities to speak to spirits. It’s like trying to prove that I was just thinking about a purple fish with freckles. So, I was definitely skeptical when Madeline was telling me about her session with Allison. I mean, there really isn’t anyway to prove what WOULD have happened in someone‘s life. People also tend to hear what they want to hear when they seek out someone like Allison DuBois. So, I have my doubts.
But sometimes you just can’t argue when someone you just met can tell you your own secrets back to you. If someone said to me “I’m feeling an energy from you, like a walleye with melanoma. Or freckles.” I would freak! And sometimes you just need to hear some vindication about your life, and that you‘re headed in the right direction. Proven or not, I’m definitely a believer that people who have passed away look over us. Plus, I’m pretty sure there is a ghost who haunts me and follows me around tripping me. That’s the only possible explanation for the number of times I trip in a day.
Then again, I’m definitely not a fashion designer. But maybe it’s like getting a tattoo. If you visit a cartoony lady on the street for a tattoo, you almost certainly won’t get the same results as going to Kat Von D. The lady on the street could give you “NO REGETS” instead of “NO REGRETS”. I went to a sketchy woman and got a sketchy “reading”. Maybe Allison DuBois is the real McCoy. I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader. But is anybody?
But I didn’t have much of a poker face back then, and my ginormous smiles and anxious nods probably helped her tell me exactly what I wanted to hear. I didn’t realize that I was in the midst of a fraudulent psychic. Then tonight, I talked to Madeline who visited Allison DuBois, who is NOT a psychic, but a Medium. (The TV show “Medium” is based on her life.) Anyhoo, DuBois claims to have the ability to contact the spirits of those who have passed, and harness their energy in order to guide those of us on Earth. Madeline got the opportunity to ask her a few questions, and the responses were spot on. I think.
Now, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m a skeptic when it comes to pseudo-science. You just can’t scientifically prove someone’s abilities to speak to spirits. It’s like trying to prove that I was just thinking about a purple fish with freckles. So, I was definitely skeptical when Madeline was telling me about her session with Allison. I mean, there really isn’t anyway to prove what WOULD have happened in someone‘s life. People also tend to hear what they want to hear when they seek out someone like Allison DuBois. So, I have my doubts.
But sometimes you just can’t argue when someone you just met can tell you your own secrets back to you. If someone said to me “I’m feeling an energy from you, like a walleye with melanoma. Or freckles.” I would freak! And sometimes you just need to hear some vindication about your life, and that you‘re headed in the right direction. Proven or not, I’m definitely a believer that people who have passed away look over us. Plus, I’m pretty sure there is a ghost who haunts me and follows me around tripping me. That’s the only possible explanation for the number of times I trip in a day.
Then again, I’m definitely not a fashion designer. But maybe it’s like getting a tattoo. If you visit a cartoony lady on the street for a tattoo, you almost certainly won’t get the same results as going to Kat Von D. The lady on the street could give you “NO REGETS” instead of “NO REGRETS”. I went to a sketchy woman and got a sketchy “reading”. Maybe Allison DuBois is the real McCoy. I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader. But is anybody?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Sole Search
The good news is: I made it through the weekend alive. It was incredibly rejuvenating, and exhausting, being with great friends and laughing until my stomach hurt.
The bad news is, once left alone, I went ahead and fell in love. His name? Metallic Gray Stilettos (I think it‘s Dutch). Anyway, these shoes found their way into my heart this morning, and I’ve been obsessing every since. I can’t stop dreaming about outfits they’d complete, jeans they’d transform, and the adrenaline rush I got holding them in my hands. But, like many summer romances, that rush had to end. I wore them around the store, with my dirty red pants cuffed up to my knees, and I knew the second I looked at the price tag, this was but a fling.
I’m not the kind of girl who spends ridiculous amounts of money on shoes. I’m pretty sure I’ll never own a pair of Christian Louboutins. I can’t afford that kind of love. But I’ll salivate over the Gucci heels Victoria Beckham wears, and secretly kiss the Jimmy Choos featured in Vogue. I mean, they are positively tasty.
Guys may not appreciate the love a girl has for the leathery deliciousness wrapped around a foot. Last summer, I asked Geo to bring me a pair of shoes at work when we were on our way to a party. I specifically said “the black heels, with the little braid-y thing up the foot.” He showed up with a bag of 4 different pairs of black heels, with little braid-y things up the foot. He was astonished. “How could you have 4 pairs of shoes that are identical?” I was shocked. They were NOT identical. One pair has a strap around the ankle that I only wear with pants, another has an extremely skinny heel that only works when worn for very short periods of time, then there’s the patent leather pair, and finally the ones with tiny silver accents. See? Tooooootally different.
The guys I know have a similar relationship with their baseball hats, for example. You don’t have to explain it to me guys, I know. Each gnarly baseball hat serves a different purpose. One has the best fit, another is your favorite color, another your favorite team, and another one that’s just funny. I’ve known guys who actually have a “formal” baseball hat. The point is, I have zero baseball hats. I don’t see why you need 12 different hats, but hey, that’s just how you roll. I get it.
I’m ridiculous, I know. I’m still pining for the pair of Marc Jacobs Mary Jane’s (that’s a style of shoe, guys. Strap across the top of the foot. Very Catholic-schooly) that I found on CLEARANCE for almost HALF of what they were worth last year, and didn‘t buy them because I was trying to be “responsible“ with money. But oh my God. Perfect height heel, perfect patent leather black, and only one size left. Size 6. MY SIZE. I am obsessed with my shoe size. It’s display shoe size. That’s amazing. I’m not “display size” in anything. But with shoes, I can walk around any store and slip into any shoe I’d like. My shoe size never changes. I don’t have “fat foot days”, my feet are the most reliable thing about me. It’s so easy to find shoes that look cute on small feet, too.
But back to these shoes. If you didn’t know, gray is the new neutral. I mean, I can pretty much wear them with anything. It would almost be irresponsible NOT to buy them. But I’m giving myself 24 hours to decide. I’m going to take the time to weigh the options of paying my phone bill or buying a pair of shoes. Just don’t be surprised if you try and call me later this month and you can’t get through.
The bad news is, once left alone, I went ahead and fell in love. His name? Metallic Gray Stilettos (I think it‘s Dutch). Anyway, these shoes found their way into my heart this morning, and I’ve been obsessing every since. I can’t stop dreaming about outfits they’d complete, jeans they’d transform, and the adrenaline rush I got holding them in my hands. But, like many summer romances, that rush had to end. I wore them around the store, with my dirty red pants cuffed up to my knees, and I knew the second I looked at the price tag, this was but a fling.
I’m not the kind of girl who spends ridiculous amounts of money on shoes. I’m pretty sure I’ll never own a pair of Christian Louboutins. I can’t afford that kind of love. But I’ll salivate over the Gucci heels Victoria Beckham wears, and secretly kiss the Jimmy Choos featured in Vogue. I mean, they are positively tasty.
Guys may not appreciate the love a girl has for the leathery deliciousness wrapped around a foot. Last summer, I asked Geo to bring me a pair of shoes at work when we were on our way to a party. I specifically said “the black heels, with the little braid-y thing up the foot.” He showed up with a bag of 4 different pairs of black heels, with little braid-y things up the foot. He was astonished. “How could you have 4 pairs of shoes that are identical?” I was shocked. They were NOT identical. One pair has a strap around the ankle that I only wear with pants, another has an extremely skinny heel that only works when worn for very short periods of time, then there’s the patent leather pair, and finally the ones with tiny silver accents. See? Tooooootally different.
The guys I know have a similar relationship with their baseball hats, for example. You don’t have to explain it to me guys, I know. Each gnarly baseball hat serves a different purpose. One has the best fit, another is your favorite color, another your favorite team, and another one that’s just funny. I’ve known guys who actually have a “formal” baseball hat. The point is, I have zero baseball hats. I don’t see why you need 12 different hats, but hey, that’s just how you roll. I get it.
I’m ridiculous, I know. I’m still pining for the pair of Marc Jacobs Mary Jane’s (that’s a style of shoe, guys. Strap across the top of the foot. Very Catholic-schooly) that I found on CLEARANCE for almost HALF of what they were worth last year, and didn‘t buy them because I was trying to be “responsible“ with money. But oh my God. Perfect height heel, perfect patent leather black, and only one size left. Size 6. MY SIZE. I am obsessed with my shoe size. It’s display shoe size. That’s amazing. I’m not “display size” in anything. But with shoes, I can walk around any store and slip into any shoe I’d like. My shoe size never changes. I don’t have “fat foot days”, my feet are the most reliable thing about me. It’s so easy to find shoes that look cute on small feet, too.
But back to these shoes. If you didn’t know, gray is the new neutral. I mean, I can pretty much wear them with anything. It would almost be irresponsible NOT to buy them. But I’m giving myself 24 hours to decide. I’m going to take the time to weigh the options of paying my phone bill or buying a pair of shoes. Just don’t be surprised if you try and call me later this month and you can’t get through.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Weakend
We have this phrase we use in our house when someone is acting just a little off. We call them Bizarro. Typically it happens after someone’s had a few too many wine coolers. Like, they're all normal, cleaning dishes, or making a midnight snack, but they're doing it without pants on. This weekend was Bizarro.
To start, instead of having a weekend, I worked all the way through Saturday night. We have an annual Sales Conference every year, and it’s a really big deal. So I spent Friday night, all day Saturday and Saturday night with 45 reps from around the country being Bizarro Pharon (B.P. wears chic black dresses and lipstick, and loves to talk Business). Instead of feeling all “worky”, Bizarro Pharon actually had a good time. Example: At one point, one of the older reps, she’s probably about 75, says to me, “I may be old, but I still loooove to dance!” and then shook her booty in my general direction. Bizarre. And a little bit awesome.
Nevertheless, it was 120% exhausting. I came home and plopped down on the couch, turned on the TV, propped my feet up, and had a few glasses of wine. Oddly, no one else was home, so I enjoyed a little TV mash-up of Hannah Montana and Locked Up: Raw. Yeah, that’s a normal combo.
So, Sunday morning I woke up early (bizarre), ready to take on the day and cram a whole weekend of relaxing into one day. I got up and decided to make some toast. All the knives were dirty, so I buttered my bread with a steak knife, which is more difficult than it sounds. Then I went to Barnes & Noble to buy the book for our book club this week (Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang by Chelsea Handler). But, my intentions were not entirely pure when I swiped my credit card at the register. I was planning on reading the book then returning it. Twenty-five bucks for a book!? No thanks.
I packed up some water, a beach towel, and my soon-to-not-be-mine book (careful to leave the dust jacket in the car so I didn’t ruin it) and I headed down the block to read near the lake. I know of a little “secret spot” that no one knows about and was thus unoccupado. I spread out my towel and got down to business. It was wonderful. For 15 minutes. Then a couple with 2 of the whiniest babies ever came and set up camp next to me. Rude! And Bizarro! So, I left and read the entire book in the comfort of my own hammock.
Yeah, I finished the book, so what? So, I got in my car to return the book. I had a bulletproof response. “Of COURSE it’s never been read. I just bought it today. Who could read a whole book in one afternoon?!” As I gingerly slipped on the dust jacket, I somehow managed to rip it. Rather than risking looking like a Bizarro jerk trying to return a clearly-used book, I sped past Barnes & Noble and went to Target instead.
I’m sorry, I meant that I went to Bizarro Target. My beloved Regular Target is great, except on Sundays when it turns Bizarro. People understand the rules of shopping on a Tuesday night. Not so on Sundays. Slow drivers, slow walkers, slow talkers, slow cashiers, no carts. UGH! I got out of there in 10 minutes flat.
It’s like all the elements of a great weekend were there, the perfect weather, the relaxing time on the hammock, the errands, and the wine. But none of it was normal. None of it happened the way I wanted, or the way it typically would have happened. It’s like I ordered a plate of spaghetti and got angel hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and extra meatballs. Sure, it may taste good, but it’s not exactly what I wanted and certainly not what I ordered.
To start, instead of having a weekend, I worked all the way through Saturday night. We have an annual Sales Conference every year, and it’s a really big deal. So I spent Friday night, all day Saturday and Saturday night with 45 reps from around the country being Bizarro Pharon (B.P. wears chic black dresses and lipstick, and loves to talk Business). Instead of feeling all “worky”, Bizarro Pharon actually had a good time. Example: At one point, one of the older reps, she’s probably about 75, says to me, “I may be old, but I still loooove to dance!” and then shook her booty in my general direction. Bizarre. And a little bit awesome.
Nevertheless, it was 120% exhausting. I came home and plopped down on the couch, turned on the TV, propped my feet up, and had a few glasses of wine. Oddly, no one else was home, so I enjoyed a little TV mash-up of Hannah Montana and Locked Up: Raw. Yeah, that’s a normal combo.
So, Sunday morning I woke up early (bizarre), ready to take on the day and cram a whole weekend of relaxing into one day. I got up and decided to make some toast. All the knives were dirty, so I buttered my bread with a steak knife, which is more difficult than it sounds. Then I went to Barnes & Noble to buy the book for our book club this week (Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang by Chelsea Handler). But, my intentions were not entirely pure when I swiped my credit card at the register. I was planning on reading the book then returning it. Twenty-five bucks for a book!? No thanks.
I packed up some water, a beach towel, and my soon-to-not-be-mine book (careful to leave the dust jacket in the car so I didn’t ruin it) and I headed down the block to read near the lake. I know of a little “secret spot” that no one knows about and was thus unoccupado. I spread out my towel and got down to business. It was wonderful. For 15 minutes. Then a couple with 2 of the whiniest babies ever came and set up camp next to me. Rude! And Bizarro! So, I left and read the entire book in the comfort of my own hammock.
Yeah, I finished the book, so what? So, I got in my car to return the book. I had a bulletproof response. “Of COURSE it’s never been read. I just bought it today. Who could read a whole book in one afternoon?!” As I gingerly slipped on the dust jacket, I somehow managed to rip it. Rather than risking looking like a Bizarro jerk trying to return a clearly-used book, I sped past Barnes & Noble and went to Target instead.
I’m sorry, I meant that I went to Bizarro Target. My beloved Regular Target is great, except on Sundays when it turns Bizarro. People understand the rules of shopping on a Tuesday night. Not so on Sundays. Slow drivers, slow walkers, slow talkers, slow cashiers, no carts. UGH! I got out of there in 10 minutes flat.
It’s like all the elements of a great weekend were there, the perfect weather, the relaxing time on the hammock, the errands, and the wine. But none of it was normal. None of it happened the way I wanted, or the way it typically would have happened. It’s like I ordered a plate of spaghetti and got angel hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and extra meatballs. Sure, it may taste good, but it’s not exactly what I wanted and certainly not what I ordered.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Forgive me...
There are a few things you must know about me. I consider myself a pretty decent judge of music. I was in band and played piano until I was 18, and I go through phases of obsessively listening to every type of music from NWA to Prince to Reba McIntyre to Bob Dylan to Ke$ha. I’d also consider myself a pretty decent judge of literature. I majored in English in college, worked at a magazine for a few years and now work at a publishing company. Lastly, I’m obsessed with all that Kate Spade has ever made and everything she will ever put her name on. So, with all that explained, I have some confessions I’d like to make.
I love Miley Cyrus, Cosmo Magazine, and $10 bags from Heartbreaker stores.
Let me first explain Miley. I nannied for my niece Annabelle when she was 3 years old. I got positively sick of hearing Sesame Street or Dora the Explorer all the time. The happy medium we discovered was Mylie’s show Hannah Montana. She loved the music and colorful clothes, I loved that it wasn’t on PBS. But sweet nibblets! I got majorly sucked in. She’s like the new version of Clarissa Explains it All. So, when her songs started playing on the Top 40 radio station, I couldn’t make myself turn them off. She’s 17, not a “strong” performer yet, probably too provocative, maybe a little irresponsible, but what do I care? She’s not my daughter. So, I download her songs and crank them up. I have no apologies. Plus, I really doubt there’s anyone in the country who doesn’t know the words to Party in the U.S.A.
Second, Cosmo. I’ve read this magazine since I was 15 and stealing them from my older sisters. Cosmo is easy-reading full of girlie need-to-know stuff. Don’t know how to do a smokey eye? Here’s how: in 3 steps. Wondering what goes on in a guys brain on the first date? They’ve already polled 1,000 men. But my favorite part is always the quizzes. They could not be easier to ace. There’s always one crazy choice, one boring choice, and the perfect medium. This month, there’s a “What Kind of Hot Are You?” quiz. The results are: Statement-Making Hot, Down-to-Earth Hot, Bombshell Hot, and Girlie Hot. No matter what I choose, the result is: I’m Hot. It’s like a mug of hot chocolate for my self-esteem.
Finally, cheap bags. The only bag I carry right now is a Kate Spade bag with black and white logos on the outside, and purple silk on the inside. My boyfriend gave it to me for my birthday, and I adore this bag. But unfortunately, I do not enjoy the lifestyle that allows me to purchase Kate Spade items every day. I have Kate Spade shoes, jewelry, bags, wallets, stationary, glassware…most all of which have been gifts. So, when I’m really itching for a new bag, I feel like I’m cheating on Kate by buying a different, cheaper designer’s. Instead, I walk on down to Heartbreaker and by some no-name cheap pleather bag in a crazy color that I‘ll use like 5 times. It costs me all of $10, and I don’t suffer the guilt of investing in something non-Kate. When I’m finally at a point in life where I can choose quality over quantity, I would suggest you invest in Kate Spade stock.
Whew! That felt good to get that off my chest. Now I can get back to BBC and studying Pavarotti.
I love Miley Cyrus, Cosmo Magazine, and $10 bags from Heartbreaker stores.
Let me first explain Miley. I nannied for my niece Annabelle when she was 3 years old. I got positively sick of hearing Sesame Street or Dora the Explorer all the time. The happy medium we discovered was Mylie’s show Hannah Montana. She loved the music and colorful clothes, I loved that it wasn’t on PBS. But sweet nibblets! I got majorly sucked in. She’s like the new version of Clarissa Explains it All. So, when her songs started playing on the Top 40 radio station, I couldn’t make myself turn them off. She’s 17, not a “strong” performer yet, probably too provocative, maybe a little irresponsible, but what do I care? She’s not my daughter. So, I download her songs and crank them up. I have no apologies. Plus, I really doubt there’s anyone in the country who doesn’t know the words to Party in the U.S.A.
Second, Cosmo. I’ve read this magazine since I was 15 and stealing them from my older sisters. Cosmo is easy-reading full of girlie need-to-know stuff. Don’t know how to do a smokey eye? Here’s how: in 3 steps. Wondering what goes on in a guys brain on the first date? They’ve already polled 1,000 men. But my favorite part is always the quizzes. They could not be easier to ace. There’s always one crazy choice, one boring choice, and the perfect medium. This month, there’s a “What Kind of Hot Are You?” quiz. The results are: Statement-Making Hot, Down-to-Earth Hot, Bombshell Hot, and Girlie Hot. No matter what I choose, the result is: I’m Hot. It’s like a mug of hot chocolate for my self-esteem.
Finally, cheap bags. The only bag I carry right now is a Kate Spade bag with black and white logos on the outside, and purple silk on the inside. My boyfriend gave it to me for my birthday, and I adore this bag. But unfortunately, I do not enjoy the lifestyle that allows me to purchase Kate Spade items every day. I have Kate Spade shoes, jewelry, bags, wallets, stationary, glassware…most all of which have been gifts. So, when I’m really itching for a new bag, I feel like I’m cheating on Kate by buying a different, cheaper designer’s. Instead, I walk on down to Heartbreaker and by some no-name cheap pleather bag in a crazy color that I‘ll use like 5 times. It costs me all of $10, and I don’t suffer the guilt of investing in something non-Kate. When I’m finally at a point in life where I can choose quality over quantity, I would suggest you invest in Kate Spade stock.
Whew! That felt good to get that off my chest. Now I can get back to BBC and studying Pavarotti.
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