The winner of the mystery won is Janelle. I will be sending her fabulous prize out early next week. Congratulations, my friend! Don't spend it all in one place.
In blog news, I am looking for a new name for 'Stories from Korea', since my stories are no longer from Korea. If you have any ideas, let me know! As soon as I get a new name, I am going to have to figure out a way to get a new header. My clever brother-in-law made my existing one, which I love, but he is very fancy and important and most likely has better things to do than draw cartoons for me. Hard to believe, I know. Then, when that's done, I'm going to set up an email subscription form like Helen did. If you haven't signed up for notifications from 'Tips from the Trenches', you totally should right now, because it's awesome.
In some random Seattle-ish news, there are like a bazillion bald eagles flying around here all the time, a rousing Endangered Species Act success. Super cool. Also, I am very pleasantly surprised with the driving situation around here. There is a noticeable improvement in the traffic flow, even during the busiest times. Lloyd thinks it's because no one has a job anymore but WHATEVER; it gets me to the thrift store way faster than ever before!
And speaking of the thrift store, here's the weird news of the day: thrifting seems to have partially lost its luster. Maybe it's because all those people without jobs are can't afford to drive their cars to the donation center? That must be it. GET WITH THE PROGRAM, PEOPLE! GET BACK ON THE ROAD AND DROP OFF ALL YOUR OLD CRAP RIGHT NOW! There, that should do it.
And finally, here is the last boil report ever: the gaping hole has turned into a handsome little scab. Now it looks exactly like a half healed-up wound from a glancing blow from a paring knife. On my hipbone. Not that I would know.
Have a happy weekend! I'm off to the thrift store to get Janelle her treats from America. Okay, FINE. Maybe I'll go to Target, too.
Fit to post, that is, if you use the terms 'news' and 'fit' VERY loosely, indeed. First and foremost in everyone's mind, I'm sure, is the boil. It's good as new! I showed it to Lloyd this morning:
Me: Doesn't this look GREAT?
Lloyd: Relatively speaking.
Me (stung): What??!! It looks fantastic!
Lloyd: It looks better than before, but it's still hideous.
So that's all I have to say about that.
Moving on, we have spent a lot of time shuffling our Toyota minivan around from shop to shop. After having it in Korea for 2.5 years with minimal maintenance, it needed a little work. We took it into the dealer first. I'm thinking they might be getting a little desperate what with the whole recall thing because the first thing they said after they had put her up in the stirrups and looked at her private parts was, 'Maybe you should buy a new Toyota.' Now, I know we have the Fred Flintstone version of the Sienna but telling us our 12-year old Toyota is ready for the scrap heap is probably not the best way to sell us a new one. But maybe that's just me? In the end, Lloyd took it down to the local Dirty Joe Mechanic shop and they fixed it up real nice for about a fifth of the dealer quote.
My own reintegration to American society is going, um, not exactly seamlessly. My driver's license from three bases ago expired while we were at Osan, and apparently I will be required to take both the written and practical tests to get a new one. Because I am both infuriated and lazy, and also an exceedingly poor parallel parker, I haven't done it yet. This forces me to be less cavalier about traffic laws than I have perhaps become accustomed, coming from Korea where stop signals are optional at best, so as to avoid having to give Officer Friendly a sob story about why I am driving around with no license. I COULD curtail my driving, I suppose, but I'm not about to cut out any thrift store trips. I'm barely making my quota as it is.
I am absurdly pleased with myself for having acquired a cell phone, courtesy of my mother, but I had a ridiculously difficult time programming it online. I could almost hear myself muttering about newfangled contraptions and kids these days.
Also befuddling are the nosy old ladies here. The problem is that I can understand them, leaving me completely strategy-less. I've complained about the Korean ajimas before, and deservedly so. One of my friends, a pediatrician, for Pete's sake, was once practically chased home from a walk with her baby in a front carrier by a nosy old Korean woman shouting, 'Baby cold! Baby cold! Go home! Bad mother!'. The busybodies here can't really compete with that, but blowing past them while saying 'Good morning' with a big bright smile doesn't deter them. Actually, maybe it would. Or I could pretend not to speak English! I'm totally going to try that next time. I was at the park the other day and Shane was running with a stick, and this ajima wannabe kept going on about how nervous she was to watch him and how dangerous it was, even if it wasn't as bad as running with scissors. It wasn't even a sharp stick. Does she even know any little boys? THEY RUN WITH STICKS. It's like their job. I can always think of tons of things to say afterwards, like, 'Better not watch, then', or the old standbys, 'Thanks for your concern', and 'I'll give that the consideration it deserves.' At the time, though, I just stood there, silently, until she went away. So that worked out well.
Lloyd has been working like crazy fixing things around here. He's fixed the floor and revamped the fish pond, and now he's working on the gutters and eying a few other projects. He's VERY handy and he can't sit still for for than a millisecond so I'm not sure how this retirement thing is going to work out for him. I'm thinking of hiring him out to the neighbors to keep myself in thrift store funds.
Weston and Shane have been having a great time playing outside now that they have a yard to run around in. They would be out there all day long if they didn't need to come in for snacks. They work in the garden with Grandma, look for bugs and worms, throw the ball for the dog, who may or may not run after it, and run around with sticks. Sometimes they even whack each other with them. Oh, the HORROR!!!! They jump in the mud and throw rocks. Take that, snoopy old cranks! And while I'm at it: ne ŝovu la nazon en fremdan vazon, plendaĉa sinjorino!
Aaaaaand, that's all the dirt for now. I do plan to be a little more blogular, but I have had a little trouble this week. I have been really wiped out, I think from the multiple boil medicines, and haven't had enough energy to get into the melee around the computer and jockey for my turn.
You may or may not be pleased to know that I am, in fact, not dead. Yet. It makes me giggle to gross you guys out but I try my hardest to model my nicest manners whenever I can muster them up, especially now that Weston can read, so I will spare you the play-by-play of the boil-bursting episode. Let me just say, though, that cheesecake with strawberry sauce is probably ruined for me forever. Also I may be blind in one eye. It's too soon to tell.
Potentially more deadly than the giant suppurating carbuncles of doom, however, was the six day 'vacation' with Weston, Shane, my mother, my sister, her daughter and her miniature Godzilla charming twenty month old son. Seriously, I thought I would expire from exhaustion just watching my sister. She was constantly lunging after him, her face was haggard, and there were always raisins stuck to her pants. Not an especially good look, if you were wondering.
'What is wrong with this kid?' I asked myself from my comfortable vantage point as the mother of an oh-so-mature almost three year old. Until I went back and read about the times I was handily humiliated at the post office, the office party, the barbecue, the boss' house, and the sidewalk. Then I was a little bit more understanding, but I'm still pretty sure Shane never attacked a pack of other kids with a kite, or kicked them until they ran away, or pig-piled them while evilly chortling. It could be because I kept him tied up in the closet for about eight months, but I prefer to chalk it up to his inherently better nature, or perhaps to my superior parenting skills. The other kids, including Shane, were surprisingly tolerant of the tiny tyrant, and didn't once smack him back, despite what must have been a major temptation. Lucky for Teddy, he's a cute little monster.
We hit all the hot spots of the Northern Oregon Coast: the Tillamook cheese factory, Fort Clatsop and the pizza place on the corner. Okay, we went to the pizza place twice. Whatever. We went to the beach seventy zillion times and ate forty bucks worth of candy from Bruce's. On the way home we stopped overnight to visit Aunt Ina in Portland and visited the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI).
And now we're back. The floor Lloyd did while we were gone is gorgeous; I have a vanload of wet filthy clothes; and Jennifer is probably crumpled up at home like a wrung-out rag, waiting for Monday when she gets a nanny day. And there are sure to be tons of new things at the thrift store! It's good to be home.
Today I am pleased to announce that I am finally starting to really believe that I'm really back home: Bossed around by sister? Check. Thrift store clothes and hand-me-ups piling up faster than I can wear them? Check. Dad nitpicking my writing attempts? Check. Mom giving me the stinkeye for crumbs on the counter and naked children? Check! If I had a Magic Eight Ball it would totally be saying 'All signs point to yes'. We all know that a toy that exists solely in my imagination would never lie so it must be true.
Now that I have had a chance to catch my breath a little, I fear I might have left out some salient points in my previous post where I was comparing the relative merits of Korean Air and United Airlines. I know this because I have been laying awake at night thinking about it. It drives me crazy when I think I have left something out or used a badly constructed sentence or a less than optimal word. It's actually possibly slightly obsessive (see all those '-ly' words all in a row? Sure to elicit a comment- CHECK!) In fact, I know it is, because one time in about 1990 I used 'prescription' when I meant 'subscription', and I STILL THINK ABOUT IT.
Anyway, she typed, dragging her attention back to the matter at hand, now that I'm in a one computer/three addict house, the situation around the singularity can get a bit dicey and I might have been rushed off the computer at icepick point before my thoughts were fully unveiled. But after I've had a few nights to ruminate over the issue, I've come to the logical conclusion: A new reality show! You take any random KAL trans-pacific flight and a similar United flight (or any other airline if you're really feeling saucy) and give them some zany in-flight challenges to overcome while still fulfilling all the standard responsibilities. For the opener, the teams would have to design and then make a gown for an extravagant wedding and simultaneously deliver twin lambs. KAL would kick United ass, because I swear, those flight attendants keep springing fully formed out of the overhead compartments or something, each one more charming and accomplished than the last. They would have that mother sheep parked on a business class seat with their arms up inside before the beleaguered United crew could even adjust their trusses.
Sadly, the reality show idea is perhaps not an entirely practical one for security reasons. Most of my challenges involve sharp implements and/or fire, but wouldn't it make an outstanding series of commercials? I can picture it now: the smiling KAL crew is turning backflips down the aisle and building a go-kart in the galley while their rivals lumber around, banging into each other with stupid looks on their faces. If anyone from the KAL marketing department is reading this, my ad concepts are available at a low, low price and an advantageous exchange rate. Rest assured, there's plenty more where this one came from. Call me!
I am giddy, my friends. Giddy with delight and sleep deprivation after the long, strange trip home. It was not without incident, of course, and I am just itching to tell you all about it. But alas, not tonight. I should have done it earlier, but I couldn't resist the siren song of the Goodwill and I blew all my writing time buying shirts without dryer holes and completely unnecessary toys.
So, that's all for tonight- I'll try to post the rest tomorrow, and if you don't like it, you can just shut it. You know who you are. Helen and Lauren, that's so everyone else knows who you are too.
You might remember a satirical little essay I wrote a while ago, called 'Tensions', about the ongoing battle between me and my jeans. At the time I found it quite clever and entertaining. Today, however, I am no longer amused. Today, I had to go to the BX and pay FULL CLEARANCE RACK PRICES for three pairs of new, next-size-up pants, mere weeks before I return to my Mecca, the land of plentiful Goodwills. I think this is the worst day of my life. I care not at all about needing bigger pants. In fact, I am surprisingly pleased with them. They're quite sassy. It's just that I had hoped to hold out until we got out of here, but the pants apparently did not get the memo.
I was down to four pairs: the ones that ripped at the library, a pair of baggy bleach-stained black sweatpants, and two pairs of five-year old Old Navy cords, of which one had paint stains. And, of course, the three pairs of jeans I can barely squeeze into and no longer want to wear because of the pinching. But those ones don't count. Well, okay, if I'm going to tell the WHOLE truth, the ratty cords were getting a little snug, too. Oh sure, I could take the pinching as a warning sign that something is seriously wrong and go on a crash diet sensible eating plan until the pants fit properly again. But I'm a practical girl, and that's really not gonna happen.
What really chaps my hide, besides pinchy pants, is that three new pairs of pants cost SIXTY DOLLARS! Outrageous! For sixty bucks I could get between eight and twenty pairs of pants at Goodwill, and some of them would still have the tags on. Then I wouldn't even care if I spilled paint or bleach on them, or if I busted out of them. In fact, I would welcome it, because then I COULD GO SHOPPING AGAIN. I know that an average of twenty dollars per pair of jeans/pants is cheap for a non-thrift store venue, and I have had good luck in general with finding clothes I like at reasonable-compared-to-other-new-stores-but-not-compared-to-thrift-store prices at the BX, so really I should just shut up and happily wear my sassy-larger-than-usual new pants. BUT I CAN'T.
I don't LIKE the BX, of course. Don't get me wrong here. I have plenty of complaints about AAFES: They run out of the most ordinary things like fluoride-free toddler toothpaste, number 10 envelopes or the crappy but only variety of water processed decaffeinated coffee available anywhere. Then it's weeks or months, or NEVER when they get restocked. AAFES is very weird and annoying, if you're not familiar with it. It's the retail service for the military (except for groceries, which is another freakish patron-screwing agency called DeCA) and it's part of the government with a General in charge and everything. They claim to return all their profits into base programs, but they'd just as soon hose you over as look at you. The local manager has little or no discretion about what to stock; they get a 'set' of goods that depends on how big the base population is and some little formula they use. So even though 95%+ of the Osan population lives in apartments, they have tons of space devoted to garden sheds, giant patio furniture, hoses and lawn mowers. And wait, I'm not done! There's WAY more!
Wow, I don't know how that happened. I started talking about my pants and all of a sudden I veered off onto a completely irrelevant rant about the BX. Hey, do you think maybe it's time for me to get out of here? Also, I DEFINITELY need some ice cream right now. So, anyway, I came home and put on one of my new pairs of jeans to go to the commissary. I used to wonder why people would go out and buy bigger clothes instead of just going on a diet so they could fit the ones they have, but now I know. Having new, slightly bigger clothes makes you feel nice and skinny, so you deserve that extra cookie and the third beer. Maybe even at the same time. AWESOME.
So! I hope you are all having a fabulous new year. I am not a fan of resolutions, but I HAVE been trying to eat a little better and exercise more for several weeks now. The 'Osan 15' is a common phenomena here, so I am right in the thick of things. Well, let me rephrase that: I have heard rumors that perhaps I am not the only one carrying around a few extra margaritas, but I have seen no such evidence on any of my slim and statuesque friends, acquaintances or assorted Osan beauties. In any case, soon I will be in the land of Target and Goodwill and I will be ever so sad if I can't fit into the ratty cargo pants of my choice fifty-three times a week when I need to go shopping.
Tonight, Lloyd and I went to the BX and Chili's, which is the standard big night out on the town here at Osan. I sucked down my fair share of wings and a couple of margaritas, varying the position of the straw so as to cleverly avoid the tequila abrasion. When we got home, I virtuously pounded out some sit-ups, dips, push-ups, leg lifts and stretches. Don't I sound ATHLETIC? Hahahahaha, I totally have you fooled. You should see me, for real. Oh, how you would laugh. After that strenuosity, I didn't want to 'run' the stairs, so I jumped on the mini-trampoline for a while. And by 'a while', I mean about 2.5 minutes. But at least I wasn't smoking deep-fried twinkies, right? Hmmm, I wonder if anyone has tried that?
While I was jumping, Weston weighed in:
Weston: Mama, are you sure that trampoline is strong enough for you?
Me: Yes, I'm sure (pant, gasp)
Weston: Well, those springs have to work awfully hard. You're so HEAVY.
Me: It's fine.
Weston: But look how much they're moving! They go almost to the ground!
Me: Grrrrrrrrrr (pant, gasp)
Bring on the twinkies! I might as well load up; I'm going to die soon anyway. I didn't used to be so fatalistic but I recently had a VERY interesting conversation with Shane. He likes to rub my scars, scabs and rough skin with his grubby little paws. Yesterday he was trying to pick at a spot on my chin, and when I told him to stop, he replied, 'I'll pick your owies WHEN YOU'RE DEAD'. I'm not sure what he has planned but I might as well give up the jumping for the good of trampolinekind everywhere, since my days are numbered. I can see the headlines now: 'Police Baffled by Mysterious Scab Free Corpse; Trampolines Rejoice in Streets'. I just hope they don't try to pin it on the poor twinkies.
It's Tuesday, so naturally I was at the Thrift Store bright and early this morning. I scored some nice goodies: a Michael Kors skirt for $3, a few books, some crafting stuff for Weston, and a pair of cap guns. As I was about to check out, a particularly entertaining customer was talking to the staff, so I pretended I was looking in the glass case by the register so I could keep eavesdropping. You would not believe the characters that hang out at the Thrift Store here. Oh. Well, maybe you would. Never mind. Anyway, as I casually looked over the jewelry, watches and little trinkets, I saw it. The most beautiful three-strand shell pink necklace the world has ever known. I waited ever so patiently for the clerk to come get it out of the case for me, and then quickly checked the price tag. How much would it be? Five bucks? Ten?! Would it fit in my holiday budget?? My quivering fingers turned over the tag. $1.50, my friends; can you believe it? I snapped it up so fast the crazy Thrift Store people thought I needed medication.
I tried it on as soon as I got it home. Perfection in pink, it was. But something was missing. Just the littlest thing. Something, something, what was it? And then my eye fell on some of my Christmas ornaments. The little flesh-toned orbs I bought last year for the nursing-themed Christmas tree that the Breastfeeding Support Group entered in the decorating contest at the Officer's Club. They are all different skin colors: bronze, tan, chocolate, peach and pink. The perfect matching shade of pink. Could it be? It's so crazy it just might work, I thought. Trembling, I affixed the ornament to the center of the bottom strand of the necklace. It was just right. I felt BRILLIANT. If you have ever met me, you know that I have no talent whatsoever and that this stunning success is something on the order of Scooby Doo proving Fermat's Last Theorem.
Of course, not everyone can pull off a Christmas ornament around her neck, but I'm just the girl to do it. And, there's not a lot of places you can wear something so fabulous, but I'm working up a list: The BX, the Commissary, the library, the playground.....
Well, sorry, I don't have much to say today, but I always feel guilty for not posting in a timely manner. Why, I have no idea. It's not as if it's an assignment that I have to complete or else my GPA will go down or something equally horrifying. It's not even as if anyone cares. BUT, there you have it. So today I am posting a somewhat goofy picture of me in my reading glasses; I'm sure you have all been dying to see them. Have you ever noticed how ridiculously hard it is to take a picture of yourself? This was definitely the best of the bunch. I like one other one quite a lot but some evil camera plot made it appear as if I had a double chin in that shot, and of course I most assuredly do not. As far as you know. Can't you tell from the picture that my chin is extremely svelte?!?!?!
And, just for funsies, here are a few strange Osan sightings over the last few days:
1. Man and woman (IN FRONT OF ME) at the thrift store, purchasing every single children's book there- a couple hundred books, plus some Christmas decorations. They told the cashier they were from the library (?!?!?), and then, after they were rung up (which took a LONG time, and did I mention they were IN FRONT OF ME?), they asked if they could come back and pay later. Ummm, okay? Off they went, leaving their bags of books at the checkout. In front of me.
2. Cabbie peeing in his taxi in front of the commissary. He was standing by the open driver's side door, facing into the car, and I can only assume he was holding a bottle or some other receptacle. This is a common sight on the streets or highways; Koreans don't mind peeing freely. And yay for them, right? Who cares? But there is a bathroom just inside the front door of the commissary, not 50 feet away from where he was parked. This is a strange, strange place, my friends.
Fourteen dollars. For fourteen dollars you can buy a tub of lower-end night cream. You could buy a new sports bra on sale, a diet book, two brow waxes plus tip at the BX, or an iron.
Fortunately, I don't need any of those stupid and useless things. Instead, I took my fourteen dollars to the thrift store on bag sale day and came home with a hot pink purse by Matt and Nat (or a Korean facsimile, natch), an elephant print scarf, two pairs of new looking shoes for Weston for next year (one pair are Keens), space pajamas for Shane, three books for the boys, four nice shirts for me and a pair of flannel lined pants that will fit Weston this (cold, Korean) winter.
I know I promised something new and exciting today; I do realize that most people do not consider my thrift store purchases very fascinating, and almost no one is interested in lengthy discussions about thrifting philosophy. I am a very poor dinner guest, as you have probably long suspected. I really do have something different, coming soon, but you probably still don't want to invite me to dinner.
I woke up this morning and said, Korea again? Still? Oh, the despair! Don't fret, they all said, Go for a shop! This is the land of fake purses aplenty; it will cheer you right up! Hmmmm, I thought, no fan of full price It's Tuesday again, I'll hit the thrift! And there it was, my muse, my delight Just the right size, yellow, black and white My heart sings with joy, my wallet brims! Shhhh, just don't tell Kate!
Thrift Store Kate Spade knockoff: $3 Composing appalling poetry and drinking wine on a balmy Korean night: Priceless
Tuesday is a beautiful day in the neighborhood; it's the day the Thrift Store is open. I haven't had a babysitter since we returned from our trip so I haven't been able to go until today. Today, I swapped childcare with one of my friends and toodled off to seek my destiny.
As luck would have it, it was a bag sale day: all the clothes that fit in a bag for $7. My bag of joy was filled with a pair of Columbia capri pants, the diamond checked coat, three shirts, and a skirt, plus the stunning orange satin gown in the picture.
For an additional $11, I got the giant stack of books, a pair of ugly but strangely comfortable garden clogs, the tin roaster, some silverware and a viewmaster/binocular toy. The books were an excellent score for $0.25 each, and can we talk about the dress for just a minute?
Isn't it gorgeous?!!? I mean, if you ignore the glazed look, the scabby shins and the crew socks. It's deliciously silky and very Cinderella-ish. And if anyone can channel Cinderella, I can: Cinderella, Cinderella, do the dishes; sweep the floor; feed the fishes; make the beds; cook the supper; find my toy; fold the laundry; all I ever hear is Mommy Cinderella. Whew, it makes me want to curl up in the fireplace ashes with the rats just thinking about it.
I have a question, though: does it make me look more like Cinderella, or more like the pumpkin? I can't decide which one is more appealing: Cinderella slaves away for years doing menial chores for a bunch of ingrates that hate her, only to have to marry some clown that only likes her for her shoe size; while the pumpkin gets chopped up and made into pie after its outlived its usefulness as a magic carriage. Where's the happy ending, dammit?
So, okay. I haven't REALLY been spending ALL my time at the thrift store, even though the thrift stores here are GLORIOUS. And, it is true that I am sore and aching all the damn time but it's probably not as a result of my strenuous shopping habit. Here's a fascinating more detailed rundown:
The raspberries here are ripe and we have been picking them to freeze. And eat: One for the freezer, one for my mouth. One for the freezer, two for my mouth. Weston and Shane have both quickly become accomplished raspberry pickers. The dog is also surprisingly adept at picking, though he is pretty stubborn about giving up his booty for the ziploc freezer bags.
We went to Remlinger Farms, which is a very nice little farm with a petting zoo, working train and kid-sized rides. The boys loved it. We have also been going to the park, the playground, the Target, the Starbucks and the wine store regularly. We have been traipsing around the countryside looking at real estate, and waiting for the Air Force to ream us yet again.
Today I took Weston to the movies with his cousin Paloma. We saw 'Madagascar 2', which was entirely ridiculous, even for a kids movie. While we were there, I saw the most shocking breach of parenting skills ever. A little tiny kid, maybe around two, stepped onto a down escalator, alone. He went down a couple of steps, turned around and started scrambling back up to the top, then tripped and fell on his face. About the time he got halfway down, still sprawled out on the ground, the rest of his family finally got on the escalator. There were two adults there, presumably his mother and father, and apparently neither of them was worried at all that he might be ground up in a giant metal conveyor belt of death. I try not to criticize other parents, because hello, I sometimes feed my kids butter on a fork and leave the same clothes on them for multiple days (no more than four, of course, I have substandards), but come on, people!
Finally, for my favorite heckler, the fabulous burnt orange cords are from my sister's swap party stash. The party isn't til Sunday but I got a sneak preview and I could hear them singing my name from their hefty bag home: 'Annnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, we are deliciously snug yet compellingly baggggggggggggggggggggyyyyyyyyyyy. Put us on and have some beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr......... You cannot resist ussssssssssssssssssss....'
I know, I know: no new posts AGAIN. Sorry, AGAIN. Sincerely, I have been running myself ragged with all the thrifting. No lie, I am actually sore. My thrifting muscles must be in real disrepair. I'm not really sure what that says about me, but I'm thinking it could be a new sport. My sister has gotten interested in 'chi running' and I totally think I could invent 'chi thrifting'. It would be very cool, all zen and jedi master-ish, my basket would be full of effortless bargains and there would be no pain.
No? Well, then, just check out my latest scores! Is this not the most awesome coat you have ever seen? Five bucks, baby! I just can't wait for that Osan winter.
Am I the only one who thinks that adding friends on Facebook is kind of like online shopping? Say I'm looking for my cousin. Her name is Jill X. I type in what I'm shopping for, 'Jill X', and up comes a list of Jill X's. I look at each picture, choose the one I want, and click 'Add Friend' to put her in my basket. It's a little creepy, like a mail order bride catalog, don't you think?
Friend shopping makes me feel a little inadequate, too. Who's to say I'm getting the right friends? Before Facebook (BF), I had no idea there were so many options. I mean, my friends are great and I like them and all, but maybe the other Jill X's are cooler, funnier, more interesting. And they can be mine, as long as they accept my currency. Sure, they might be a little more expensive. I would have to expend my limited capital explaining to them how great I am and why they want to be MY friend. But I deserve the best, right?
BF it never occurred to me that my friends weren't totally top of the line. But now I might want to upgrade. Why, the Jill X right under my cousin is a model! My Jill is pretty cool, but she's just a regular teacher. More of an economy model, say, and maybe I want a luxury one. It's the American way and I have an image to uphold, you know.
Of course, I've always been an avid bargain hunter, so I might need to wait for a sale. Jill, you're safe. For now.
I have been volunteering at the thrift store here on base for a while now; maybe about a year, becauseit's for charity, blah blah blah and it gladdens my heart to help those less fortunate I like to find giant bags of neat stuff for myself, the more the better!
But I haven't been for more than two weeks. It wasn't very fun the last couple of times, so I'm on strike. So far, no one has seemed to notice but soon the unsold inventory will start oozing out of the windows and they'll be begging me to take them back! In the meantime, I have seen some interesting effects:
1. I have saved a ton of money. Babysitting costs + thrift store budget = surprisingly large amount of cash retained.
2. The BX is infinitely more appealing. Is it because I simply must feed my shopping habit somehow, or because the BX goods are new to me because I didn't shop there as much prior to the thrift store strike? I don't know and I don't care! Look at my goodies! Huh, my picture won't post. Here, read my long-winded description:
Super cute black, silver and red Timex sports watch (15.95, purchased with my Mother's Day Gift of a BX gift card) and extremely cute red plastic egg carriers with handles, like you would use to take eggs camping(2.29 each). I have no idea why someone would want to take eggs camping; all you REALLY need is beer and puffed wheat. Oh, and meat to put on a stick, but they didn't have carriers for that.
I suppose, possibly, you might be wondering why I NEED those egg carriers. No? Oh well, I'm going to tell you anyway. They're for our upcoming trip to Seattle. One for each boy, for treats and little toys! Oh, and eggs. My brilliance knows no bounds, my friends.
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