A Short List Of All The Things I Didn't Buy At Mall Of America

Those cute boots at Old Navy that were marked down to $12.00. I remembered just in time that I have four pairs of fashion boots. No, six pairs. Right.

The adorable flats just to the left of the boots. Also shockingly affordable. But then I remembered that I like wearing boots and flats make me feel like I'm sliding underground.

That long, baby blue shirt/tunic/dress kind of thingie at Forever 21. I don't know what's happening to me, but I could just walk away from it, no problem.

Those stretchy tube tops that some girls in the mall thought were dresses. They strutted around the mall in these get-ups just barely covering their butts. Barely. And that's being generous. PLUS they wore ridiculous heels. I started saying "thank you" whenever a woman in a burka went by. Plus I wanted to apologize to them for all the tube top dressed women. But I went and ate frozen yogurt instead.

A truly amazing bag at Urban Outfitters. So freaking creative and out of the box. But being a tightwad bag lady I was simply incapable of dropping the forty bucks. And then I'd be so afraid that people would love the bag and think I'd made it when I hadn't. My self-concept is way too fragile for that kind of challenge. So, I didn't buy the bag.

Stilettos at DSW shoes.

Floourge, vlaegr, schrvuge, mamrrgr, or elderberry jam at Ikea. That's Brian's department.

I saved so much money not buying things in Minneapolis, that I'm going to hijack the van today and hunt down every thrift store in Grand Forks.

I'll probably spend around $14,000.

Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives: part two

With Brian's fancy new GPS, it became possible to find obscure addresses in a foreign city by simply listening and obeying every single demand his new ride-along woman made.

Everyone couldn't have been more delighted.

They're such a friendly, social bunch in the morning.

I didn't need good company to keep me happy in any case.

I was busy with my own new love: pancakes with carmelized apples, walnuts, and Brie cheese.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

Life on holidays can be soooo demanding!

Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives: Part 1

Do you see it there? That teensey weensey itty bitty green striped awning between two seemingly monstrous shops?

We'd have never known of it in a million years of not for Brian's obsession with the Food Network.

Now, all those nights snuggled up to Brian and his food network devotions while dreaming of The National or George Strombolopolopolopolopolous seems almost worthwhile.

 

I didn't need a panoramic to capture the width of the restaurant in nearly its entirity.

The grill fits just there, slightly to the right.

The "please wait to be seated" area is the narrow alleyway behind the fifteen available diner stools.

As people enter Al's, the line-up simply shuffles to the rear of the miniscule diner.

I felt almost insanely happy to not be at Perkins.

 

And Brian could barely speak. So moved was he by the handmade hollandaise baptizing his eggs benedict.

My walnut and blueberry whole wheat pancakes rendered me speechless also.

Or it might have been the yellow arborite, the ancient red swivel stools, the endless nik naks and memorabilia, or Al- flipping the eggs, just to our right.

Spring Break!

 

This week, I will not engage in this.

(laying on the floor at 6 am in semi darkness folding laundry and anticipating a day of becoming Mary Poppins).

THIS is what my life will look like for the next four days.

Bon bons, birdies, books.

Shopping with my daughters, following the arrows in Ikea, swimming with my boys, (ok.... Sitting beside the pool with a good book and a tall beverage), eating out at Brian's list of "diners, drive-ins, and dives" (food network).

Reading.

I've taken care of all the little details.

And packed my fabulous bags.

Au Revoir! Aufvedersehen! So long!

I Don't Get

Stilettos. High heels. High heeled boots in animal print, rhinestones, or alligator. High heels with pointy toes. High heels at the mall. High heels to work. High heels. Ever.

Crushes on celebrities. Collecting images of "hot guys" from the movies or some other fantastical pseudo reality.

Most lawn ornaments. I don't want a wishing well, a donkey cart full of plastic geraniums, a weird little bridge that leads to nothing, or a ceramic lioness.

Talking about nothing. People can spend hours saying "and then.....blah blah, random blah.....and then...." and it might be about something as fascinating as a commercial they saw on television or a boring novel they read, or what their third cousin's grandson wore to his third birthday. Sometimes I think I could poke my own eye out.

On The Other Hand

 I like garbage day.

I like seeing all that trash and recycling go to the edge of the streets, then wait for the trucks to roar up and make it all go away.  

I know this is a politically incorrect stance, and I ought to be bemoaning our consumer driven culture.

But I love the magic of garbage day.

 Crust.

I'm the baba that the kids save their pizza crusts for.  "Mom- do you want this or should I throw it out?"  I'm your "one degree separation from garbage day" kind of gal.

The crusts of: bread, brownies, quiche, scalloped potatoes, cheese bread....  Ah!  Culinary bliss.

 Old packaging.  

I have been known to purchase numerous thrift store items primarily to oggle at its packaging.  Examples include:  a necktie holder, an Oster kitchen mixer, cocktail forks, pillowcases, cookie cutters, puzzles.

I have absolutely no logical plan for this collection.

 Hoarders.

Although I'm not a huge fan of television, and would happily cancel our cable, I have a secret compulsion.

Sneak up to my bedroom on sunday evening and indulge myself in TLC's : Hoarding, Buried Alive.  I find the psychology fascinating.  I always want to see a follow up show to see where these folks are at a year or five minutes later.  I think this would be a really major disorder to get under control.

 Nighties from another night.

The long, flowing, lace encrusted, slippery kind.  I don't like them to wear them.  I like them to hang up beside my bed and look at.

I wear one of Brian's t-shirts.

 Fridays.

I know this is not an original thought.  Everyone loves Friday.

Here are some of my reasons:  Friday means that I'm on the very last day of five ten hour days of being patient patient patient with other people's preschoolers.  Friday means that I won't make lunch again until Monday.  Friday means that all the sippy cups go into the dishwasher, the throw pillows go back onto the couch, the high chairs get hidden, there's no baby sleeping in my closet, food will cease being thrown on my floor, and I can leave the remote controls on the coffee table.  Friday means that Brian will come home with coke, chips, and white cheddar popcorn (ie crack cocaine).  The kids will eat pizza (if they're lucky and I think to feed them at all), play video games til their eyes bleed, while I sip on something tall and cold.  On Friday I'll wipe all my surfaces, vacuum like its going to last for more than five minutes, and maybe switch up my collections; just for fun.

Friday means we might have people over.  Comfortable, gracious people who come with food and wine, and sit at our table til the wee hours of the morn.  Or we'll have no one over and have a party for two over feta stuffed chili peppers and ice cold beer.

Friday means that the whole weekend stretches before us.  Saturday could be about sleeping in and thrift hunting for treasure.  It might contain catching up with sister/friends, organizing something that's been bugging me all week, or finding a creative surge for my sewing machine.  Sunday will be about visiting my parents and hearing my dad tell stories he's never told before.  (the upside of a stroke-affected brain).  It may also be about hearing the same stories he's told every Sunday since his stroke.  But lately, his brain has leaked some new ones, and they're awesome.

Today's friday is special already.  I'll have only four little girls, and a birthday girl amongst them.  My friend Marie has invited us all over for a tea party, so we'll get all gussied up in tutus and beads and traipse over there in the sunshine.  We'll eat birthday cake in ice cream cones and drink apple juice tea.  The temperature promises to rise to an incredible 18 degrees, so we won't be seeing much of the indoors on this fine friday.

So there you have it.  Just a few things that I totally get.

I imagine on Monday morning I'll be right back at posting things I just don't get.  But for now, get on your happy, get outside, and think of all the GOOD!

She Becomes Fixated On Things She Doesn't Get

 (and risks further alienating herself).

 

 The cupcake craze/obsession.  

I don't get it.  I don't think cupcakes taste good.  They're too sweet, too light, too frosted, no substance and leave you feeling light-headed and craving bacon.  And I really don't get the whole hubbub over decorating these little cakes with the precision of a neuro surgeon.  

 Fondant icing.  Apparently it's edible, but WHY?  May as well coat your arteries with toys from Dollarama if you want to eat over-colored non food.  (or take a bite out of your dog, Michele...)

 This craft.

You'll be ripping it apart in about five minutes anyway when you remember that you should have saved some for your fifth pot of morning coffee.

 The whole THING surrounding women's underwear.  There are entire stores dedicated to the same.

I like a simple approach: wear the cottons that I bought for my daughter a few years back that didn't strike her fanciful fancy.

Buy an overpriced, artillery style bra annually and wear it until the band is so trashed that it could possibly double as a wraparound skirt.

Never go into lingerie shops since you'd have to take off a whole lot to try something on.  And they'd likely have mirrors.

Yuck.

Yes, I may be on a destructive rant here.  And it just might not end soon.

True Confessions: Stuff I Don't Get Even Though Most Adults Seem To

•  The widely accepted and condoned sentiment that "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger".  Well, if you've had pneumonia for three weeks and you don't die, you're not actually stronger after that.  When you're depressed and find yourself going to bed at 7:00 pm just so you can drag yourself through the next day, that doesn't feel stronger by a long shot.  If you've had cancer and you endure months of chemotherapy and radiation but don't actually DIE, you're actually NOT stronger at the end of all that.  When someone you love dies, and it feels like you're probably going to die also, because you can't imagine going on in that kind of pain; you're not stronger at the end of all that either.  You're beat up and bruised and limping along and partially broken forever after that.  I don't see that as stronger.
• I don't get hot tubs.  I know I'm supposed to, as most adults love them.  I'm not the fussiest person around, and am pretty easy going about hygiene and germs, but really, people?  Let's all put our skanky boy and girl parts into a bubbling broth and then languish there together.  Yuck.  Better yet- let's do it with a bunch of random strangers who may or may not have warts in places they don't belong.  Who may or may not believe in daily showers or proper bum wiping techniques.  Let's hang out with folks with back hair and black heads and undiagnosed diseases-- no!  Let's BATH with them!  I don't think so.
• manicures and pedicures.  I know.  I'm probably really alienating some people right now.  I've probably lost some important contacts for life.  When my finger nails grow past a millimeter or so, I feel claustrophobic and dirty.  How much worse if all that were lacquered on, semi-permanently?  And if you want to mess with my feet, how about just taking off those callouses and maybe working on those plantar warts?  See?  I bet you feel kind of squeamish too, by now.  JUst think about all the nastiness those hand and feet people deal with next time you're reaching for a gem.
• Shirts and dresses with only one sleeve.  I'm already unbalanced on the inside where it counts.
• Rare meat.  Why don't you just go take a bite out of your dog?!

And that's just a sampler of what I just don't get.

How about you?

Finally Someone

 

Typing your own name into a google search is sooooo passé.

Now there's Pinterest.