Shopping as a teen v as an adultI’ve been shopping for a lot of years, although all that practice still doesn’t make me good at it.  Despite my best efforts, I’m not overly interested in shopping.

I suspect it’s because I like to hoard my money and then splurge on extravagent things like a day at the spa…or underwear without holes in them.

Despite my inability to properly shop, I’ve come to a few realizations when it comes to spending money.  There are definitely differences between how you shop as a teenager and how you shop as an adult.

I guess I never realized it until recently when a friend was telling me about her teen’s purchases at the mall, half of which she made her daughter return because collectively, with all those outfits, there was enough material to make only a stocking cap.  True story.

So I got to thinking about the differences between shopping as a teen and shopping as an adult, and I think you’ll agree that I’m right on this.  But then again, aren’t I always?

Teen:  You buy your clothes at prestigious boutiques

Adult: You buy your clothes at the same place you buy your milk

Teen: You purchase accessories for each outfit

Adult: You figure your wedding ring is accessory enough

Teen:  You take friends with you to shop

Adult: You browse while your kids are in the restroom

Teen:  You won’t buy something another woman already owns because you don’t want to copy her

Adult:  You don’t remember what clothes anyone owns and don’t care if you copy

Teen:  You hope your boyfriend notices your new outfit

Adult:  You hope your husband doesn’t notice your new outfit

Teen:  You buy your make-up at the fancy make-up counter

Adult:  You guy your make-up at the drugstore, which has a counter at the checkout

Overall, I’m glad to be shopping as an adult, mostly because the biggest difference between shopping as an adult and shopping as a teen is that when you’re an adult, you actually have money!

Happy shopping.  Feel free to buy me something nice.

toilet paperThe other day I ran to Target for a few essentials.  (By “ran” I mean I drove my car and by “essentials” I mean lip gloss and at least 5 things from the accessory area.)

I somehow wandered into the section with the toilet paper, most likely because it was next to the end cap of a display of wine that was on sale.  I do love a bargain!

After filling my cart with enough reds and whites that an employee actually asked if I was having a party (to which I said yes), I figured I might as well pick up a package of toilet paper while I was there.  After all, I’d just saved a ton on wine and wanted to celebrate my victory with bathroom products.

I scouted the shelves for my favorite bear wiping his a$$ near an oak tree and realized I was in the section entitled “bathroom tissue.”  The words “toilet paper” were nowhere to be found.

What?!

Is “toilet paper” no longer PC?  I realize I’m not often on the forefront of knowing what’s PC, but I think I would have gotten that memo by now.

Perhaps it was written on a roll of toilet paper and I missed it.

Why the change, Charmin? Or Cottonelle? I’m not sure who’s the king of bathroom tissue these days or who officially made this change. Was this something the empire of toilet tissue voted on or was it done via an executive power by the angels from Angel Soft?

AESTHETICSRegardless of who changed the name, I’d like to know the reasoning behind it.  Was it a movement by the toilet paper companies to make themselves sound less crass?

Or maybe it was a different kind of movement…a movement that interestingly enough, requires bath tissue.

Or perhaps it was a movement by the stores to make themselves look more classy.  Signs for toilet paper don’t look nearly as welcoming as signs for bathroom tissue.  Perhaps it’s just a marketing ploy.  After all, bathroom tissue sounds like something I want to wrap myself in and curl up with a good book (and some wine I got on sale).

Is it really so bad to refer to toilet paper as what it is?  Paper that goes in the toilet?  That’s not crass.  It’s what it is.

I’m not sure what any of this means for the future of a$$ wiping, but I don’t like the direction its going.  If you ask me, it seems likes all going down the drain…

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Other places you can find me on the web this week

Forget Winning A Fight, And 9 Other Truths About Dating A Lawyer

I Hate Hugs!  Less Affection Is MORE And Here’s Why

What Would Your Mom Resume Look Like?

Welcome to another week of Tinder Tuesdays: where I mercilessly mock a Tinder photo and remind myself that it isn’t so bad to be a thirty-something married woman.

This week’s photo comes from a man who seems to have a variety of hobbies, all of which are probably centered around stalking people. I suspect his face is hanging on a “Most Wanted” photo in a small-town post office.

Phallic symbol suggesting he's not wellSee?  Total. Creeper.

Check out his stalker equipment.  Not only does he have a gigantic telescope that can probably spot women undressing 3 blocks away, he also has a back-up set of binoculars to keep an eye on those future victims that live closer to home.  Or at least closer to the home he broke into in order to take this photo.

Week 11 of Tinder TuesdaysWhen I see that telescope I can’t help but think about Ronald Miller in “Can’t Buy Me Love” when he skipped the telescope purchase so he could be popular for a month. If I could give advice to this gentleman, I would tell him to skip the telescope purchase and find a cute girl returning a $1,000 suede outfit.  Maybe then he could get a date.

Then again, this guy is no Ronald Miller.

He has a barometer on the wall which would suggest he’s into nautical things except I see no other reference to boats or ships. Instead, I think he likes to know the barometric pressure so he can determine if rain is in the forecast.  He likes rain because it gives him a chance to wear his sexy rain boots, which he’s modeling in the photo as well.

He loves those boots because they keep his feet nice and toasty…especially since he rarely wears pants.

Which brings us to his pants…or lack thereof.  He’s rocking only a yellow pair of boxer/briefs.  It looks like he’s not much of a decision maker and couldn’t fully commit to either a boxer or a brief. Either that, or he’s excellent at compromises and this is how he shows it.

Either way, I get why he has a large phallic statue in the corner of the room.  Homeboy is definitely not working with much of a package.  I also suspect that he, much like the girls in my third grade class, stuffs his undergarments to make things look a little bigger.

Hello disappointment.

One thing is definitely for sure: he loves ‘Merica.  Or at least I think he does.  He’s wearing a red, white and blue garter belt around his arm.  I suspect he’s wearing it to feign patriotism while also covering up his horrible prison tattoo of a mermaid that he got from a bearded man doing 2-5 for indecent exposure.

Pick of the week-Tinder TuesdaysEither way, the garter belt came from the wedding reception of one classy bride.

My favorite part of his ensemble is the pink puffy vest, which undoubtedly came from the childrens’ department at Sears.  I want to say he bought it there on clearance but I think it’s more likely he got this in a very sophisticated street trade with an 11 year-old.  She got a sh*t ton of Pokemon cards as payment.

This guy is also not an animal lover. His raccoon skin cap says rodents and small woodland creatures are not welcome near his home.  It also says that he probably smells like mothballs because….come on….have you ever seen one of those hats that doesn’t have a horrible smell?

Although he’s holding a large rifle, for some reason I don’t think he’s violent.  I think he uses that to shoot PBR cans in the backyard, but I don’t get the sense he would actually use the gun as a weapon.  I suspect I feel that way because it’s clear he’s a lover of art.

The lovely piece that’s displayed on top of the piano looks like it’s a piece he paid quite a bit for…potentially up to $5.00 at auction garage sale.

Although he may know artwork and have a flair for fashion, he definitely isn’t much of a homemaker.  The bottom of the piano bench is filthy and hasn’t seen a dust rag in years.  I suspect all of his rags may be in use at the moment soaking in chloroform.

I’m not sure this gent is going to find love on Tinder, but I hope the authorities find him there, as I’m sure he’s wanted by more than just the fashion police.

most annoying things about grocery shoppingUnfortunately, there are some unpleasant tasks that come with being a woman and grocery shopping is at the top of the list.  It’s accompanied by waxing and listening to your 4th grader practice his recorder for three consecutive hours.

I will never view hot cross buns the same ever again.

Shopping for groceries is one of the worst things on my to-do list, and I always avoid it if possible.  However, my husband is beginning to suspect I may not be allergic to the metal on the shopping carts, so I’ve had to step up my trips to the store.

photo credit: Hindrik S via photopin cc

photo credit: Hindrik S via photopin cc

I know I can’t be alone in my hatred of the grocery store (or “market” for those of you who shop at the fancy establishment that bags your groceries for you.)

Here are a few reasons I despise the grocery store.  Hopefully you can relate.  If not, please buy me a membership to a personal shopper program.  I hate bagging my own groceries.

1.  The picky shopper picking produce.

Who cares if it’s bruised?  Do you know what else is bruised?  My head from hitting it against the wall waiting for you to pick the right peach. You’re not picking a mate for life, you’re picking produce.  Choose some and go.

2.  Shin-bruises from the shopping cart.

photo credit: Robert S. Donovan via photopin cc

photo credit: Robert S. Donovan via photopin cc

I hurry through the store attempting to make the torture as short as possible, and in doing so I typically hit my shins on the bottom bar of the shopping cart.  I can only assume that bar is put there for the sole purpose of making my shopping experience even worse.

3.  I turn into the plant from Little Shop of Horrors.

I resist the urge to belt out “Feed me, Seymour” as I stockpile 100 calories packs.  You can eat five of those for a nice snack, right?

4.  They frown upon snacking mid-shopping.

photo credit: omgponies2 via photopin cc

photo credit: omgponies2 via photopin cc

If I’m going to shop I need sustenance to get through the trip.  If I’m surrounded by food, why wouldn’t I down a bag of chips and a Diet Coke?  I will (shamefully) place the empty containers on the conveyor belt so I don’t steal anything.  However, I take the judgmental stares for free.

5.  Getting judging looks from the bakery department when I take free samples.

Although I don’t have kids, I don’t think I should be discriminated against by not getting an appropriate amount of free samples.  After all, my muffin top suggests I’ve given birth to at least 3 children.

Who knows?  Maybe they’re in the cart on the other side of the store (preferably with an adult watching them.)

So hand over the cookies.  Would it kill the bakery worker to hook me up with a macadamia nut cookie?

Apparently it would.

There you have it; some of the many reasons I dislike going to the grocery store.  I assume you agree, and we can commiserate together.  If not, please leave your email address and I will send you my grocery list.

photo (75)My husband I just went to Las Vegas for a “vacation.”  I use the term loosely because my idea of vacation is chilling by the pool, reading a book and silently judging the women who think they look good in a thong bikini.  (They don’t.)

Vegas is the opposite of that, with the exception of women in thong bikinis.  There’s lots of those.  There’s also lots of men in thong bikinis too.

Vegas doesn’t discriminate.

I’d never been to Vegas so I didn’t know what to expect.  When I arrived I was overwhelmed and wish someone would have prepared me for the shit show I was stepping into.

Because I’m good to you like that, I’ve made a list of a few things you should know if you are going to Vegas.  I’d like to prevent others from experiencing the horror that was my first time there.

Here it goes…

1.  There’s shopping.  Lots and lots of shopping

photo credit: Marshall Astor - Food Fetishist via photopin cc<

My favorite indulgence!
photo credit: Marshall Astor – Food Fetishist via photopin cc<

I’m a fan of capitalism and free market, but Vegas is ridiculous when it comes to shopping.  Not only are there shops and stores everywhere you go, there are people on the street corners hawking everything from water bottles to free cds of their music.

Right, like the guy in the street with the stinky pits and the nasty teeth is going to be the next big music star.

Wait. Is that how Kid Rock was discovered?

Vegas doesn’t just slap you in the face with commerce, it punches you in the nose and then the stomach, and while you’re keeled over in pain, it gives you an atomic wedgie….and then it charges you for the experience.

Make sure you bring cash; not only for the shopping, but also for the alcohol you will need to numb the pain of the sucker punch to the wallet.

2.  Penny slots aren’t actually penny slots

My winnings!

My winnings!

Don’t be fooled!  Remember #1 above where I talked about how commerce bitch slaps you?  (I hope so, as it was only a few lines ago.  If you’ve forgotten, you should probably see a doctor about that.)

Although the penny slots say they’re a penny, they’re big fat liars with their pants on fire.  While it’s true they take pennies, it takes 40 of them for one spin of the slot, or in this high tech world, a push of a button.

There is no other option other than to bet $0.40 a spin.  Maybe if you’re a high roller you can afford such ridiculousness.  I, however, cannot, partly because of item #3.

3.  Everything costs a million dollars

These nachos, a margarita and a mojito at the pool cost $70.00...BEFORE TIP!

These nachos, a margarita and a mojito at the pool cost $70.00…BEFORE TIP!

Want a small Diet Coke fountain soda?  That will be $5.00 plus tip.

What about a small bottle of water?  That will also be $5.00 plus tip.

Neither comes with a happy ending.  Believe me, I asked.  For that price, I’d expect at least a butt grab, but the waiter was NOT on board with my advances.

Before you come out to Vegas, might I recommend taking out a second mortgage on your house just to pay for dinner and drinks?  And don’t eat too much, as that will force you to go to the restroom.

Although Vegas charges you for every single indulgence, they can’t seem to put anything other than 2-ply toilet paper in the restrooms.

You probably have to pay extra for additional ply.

4.  Bling is everywhere

bling at pool

This is an actual photo of someone at one of the pools in Vegas. BLING!

Make sure you pack your sunglasses because it gets extra bright when the sun reflects off the sequined bikinis at the pool.

I’m not sure if it’s a requirement in Vegas that all women be adorned with glitter, sequins or rhinestones, but I suspect it is.  From teenagers to grandmas, nearly every woman sparkles with the finest rhinestones Hobby Lobby has to offer.

Here’s a tip:  Pack a glue gun with extra glue sticks.

You can make a killing offering to glue fallen sequins back on outfits.  You should probably offer to glue the legs shut of some of these sparkling women, although I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere near their jackpot.

You will NOT come out a winner, I can assure you.

5.  There aren’t free drinks on the casino floor

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablito_garza/8360706964/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablito_garza/8360706964/

Contrary to popular belief, you aren’t served free alcohol while you’re gambling.  They make you pay for that too.  (See #3 above.)

Come to think of it, perhaps they give out free drinks, but only to people betting more than $0.40 a spin on the Airplane! slot machine. (The slot machine is just as much fun as the movie, although it doesn’t say “Surely you can’t be serious,” when you bet the minimum. Wouldn’t it be cool if it did?)

That’s all the tips I have for Vegas virgins.  The irony of that sentence is that no one in Vegas is a virgin.  No one.

If you’d like one final overriding tip, might I suggest you go somewhere else for your trip and avoid Vegas all together?

Yes, I might.

Things you should kow before going to Vegas

LASTINGFor my job, I’m supposed to appear somewhat put together.  I do my best to comply, but for those of you who know me, you realize this is nothing but a facade.  If you look at the man behind the curtain, you will find me in Pajama Jeans without a bra eating Chipotle and ordering random items from QVC

Even though I try to keep up appearances at work, I’m basically just a bunch of smoke and mirrors in an attempt to keep people from knowing the real me.  (P.S.  I think they know…)  Come to think of it, if I glanced in the mirror every so often, I probably would do a better job of keeping the lies going.

We recently hired a new employee in another city and last week I met with him and a few other employees from out of town.  We had a client dinner that night and wanted to meet before dinner to have a few beers.  The beers were partly to recover from a long day at work, and partly to numb my feet from the pain my shoes would cause from a night attempting to look professional.  (It didn’t work…the numbing of the feet or my looking professional.)

We met at the executive suite at a ritzy hotel where my coworkers were staying.  (We’re a pretty big deal….and they found a great bargain on Orbitz.)  I felt fancy because I had to be buzzed into the special suite even though I had a mysterious stain on the right boob of my dress.

This remains an unsolved mystery but I will continue to wear the dress and pretend like it just happened and I didn’t know about it.

When I say I had to be buzzed in, I don’t mean I had to be buzzed to get in, although my regular readers wouldn’t be wrong to make that assumption.  Rather, I had to prove I was important enough to be in the executive suite (the hotel staff clearly didn’t read my blog and didn’t know what a big deal I am).

I met my coworkers and we immediately began chatting and drinking our beers.  I tried to come off to the new employee as put together and professional.  He didn’t need to find out about me…at least not yet.  As we talked, I felt something poking me in the back of my neck.  Since I was sitting on a couch that probably cost a year of my mortgage payments, I knew it wasn’t the sofa.  I felt my neck and realized there was something large poking me.  What kind of irritant was it?

I grabbed the object and pulled it around to further investigate.  Because I can’t do anything quietly, my coworkers (and a couple other lucky suite-goers) watched in anticipation as I pulled the phantom item out from behind my neck.  And there it was…the large price tag to my necklace…the necklace I’d been wearing all day.

Seriously?!  I wore the necklace all day with the price tag on it?  And it wasn’t just a small tag with only the price and bar code.  Of course not.  It was one of those large tags that has a hangy thing to hang the necklace from a rack.  (That’s the technical term…”hangy thing.”)

I would like to say I was mortified, but I wasn’t.  I was actually pretty impressed that I went an entire work day without noticing my Minnie Pearl fashion statement, or the fact that something was digging into my neck all day.  I ripped off the tag and put it on the table for all the executive suiters to see.

I couldn’t have been prouder…because I bought the necklace at Kohl’s and the price tag suggested the necklace was expensive.  (They didn’t need to know I bought it with coupons and Kohl’s cash.)

As I stared at the price tag that had become part of my outfit for the day, I thought about what my new coworker must think of me.  Did he think I was an idiot?  Did he think I was crazy?  And then I realized something: of course he didn’t.  He thought I was a high roller because I bought a sassy necklace at Kohl’s.  Win!

Shame On you. What did you think this title meant?!  Puh-lease!  After all, I’m a happily married woman. Geez! How about this? I will make you a deal, kind of like The Price Is Right only I don’t have a plastic face and a creepy skinny microphone (although I do suggest you control the pet population and spay/neuter).

Get your mind out of the gutter and I will get my hands out of the bag of chips and we will both continue.

My husband and I need a new mattress.  No, that’s not right.  We needed a new mattress about a year ago.  We are past that stage now.  Our spines are begging us for relief and the nightly poking of springs in our back is no longer something we can deal with.

So we decided to bite the bullet (and the pillow, as our backs were killing us).  We then started the hated task of shopping for a new bed.  We did this on a Saturday night because we are total losers and didn’t have anything else planned.

We headed to the first store and began trying out mattresses (by laying on them jackasses.)  You should know that I planned ahead and wore comfy clothes. How do you know how the bed will feel unless you try it out in the clothes you would normally be wearing?

Of course, I wanted to ask if I could remove my bra and underwear, bring in a couple hundred pounds of dogs and get to business. I decided against asking and settled for the dog hair I inadvertently transferred from my t-shirt (that black dog hair really pops atop a white mattress).

One thing we noticed throughout our excursion was there was a common denominator in mattress shopping, and it wasn’t the constant urge to grab a blanket and take a nap (although that urge became quite strong).  Rather, it was the creepy disheveled salesmen.  Was that a requirement for mattress salesmen?

Come to think of it, it probably is a requirement as it’s probably a good thing. Doesn’t that suggest that they have comfy beds at home that they don’t want to leave? I pictured these guys with one hand in their pants and another in a bag of chips, lounging in bed watching Nick at Nite and infomercials  (there I go talking about chips again).

The more I think about it, I couldn’t buy a mattress from a skinny guy. It wouldn’t make sense. It would be like getting a gym membership from a fat person, or advice on love from Jessica Simpson.

The first guy we met was Clark. Yes. That was actually his name. Clark had the body of a guy who never stepped foot into a gym, yet something told me he knew how to please a woman…by giving a great foot massage.

What did you think I meant?  Pervert. What did I tell you about our deal?  Okay. I totally slacked on my end of the bargain too. I’m still eating Sun Chips.  Who wouldn’t be?

Clark was awkward and seemed to physically be in pain when he talked to us. Based upon the smells emanating from him, I suspect he had a mean case of diarrhea.   Poor Clark.   We tried a few beds and decided to leave poor Clark to the sweet sanctity of the restroom, where he would probably read the Play Station manual and wonder what boobs feel like. (I’m referring to female boobs. It was clear Clark knew what men’s boobs feel like, as he appeared to be rocking an A-cup.)

unmade bedAt the next store we met was Sal. Seriously. That was his name. I wish I was making this up. When we arrived, Sal had his shirt untucked, his tie loosened and the smell of cheap whiskey on his breath.  Seriously.  This happened.

Sal clearly had a rough night and was still feeling the side effects of it at 6:00 p.m. the next evening.  The funniest part was that once he saw us, he tucked in his shirt and attempted to button his top button.  I encouraged him not to, as there was no point.  He shattered our illusions of what a mattress salesman could be.  After all, Clark set the bar high.

He took us from bed to bed, talking in cliches and telling us he was letting us in on industry secrets and he was willing to give us a special deal.  He told us he would give us his friends and family discount as long as we didn’t tell anyone.

Yeah, like I believe this guy is willing to risk his job and the five child support liens he’s behind on just so he can give us a deal.  Right….

We went from mattress to mattress trying to decide which one was just right.  Some were too soft, some were too hard, and one had a bear in the bed, which was just awkward for everyone.

Ultimately, I think we settled on a mattress that was in the price range of what we wanted to spend (after Sal’s sweet discount).

Of course, we didn’t stop there.  Nope.  We felt like throwing a little more money Sal’s way.  After all, those garnished wages for his illegitimate kids weren’t going to pay themselves.

So we decided to do something amazingly awesome.  We decided to buy an adjustable base to the bed.  Yes, that’s right.  We decided to jump to the end of our lifetime and purchase a bed that allows us to move it to a sitting position without doing anything more than pushing a button.  We’ve come to a whole new stage of lazy.  A bed that allows you to sit up without effort.  It’s amazing.

What was that Sal?  It’s ridiculously expensive and if we knew anything about hydraulics or mechanical engineering, we could make this base ourselves for $19.99?  Well that’s okay.  We’d prefer to pay the equivalent of a mortgage payment instead…after all…you’ve got kids to feed (or at least the state does).

nightBecause we didn’t want to appear too eager, we said we would sleep on it (pun intended).  We left the store and went home and did some Internet research on the mattress and the adjustable base. (I admit it…I was looking for a coupon.)  Sal actually wasn’t feeding us a line…he really was giving us a deal.

Considering we made him throw in free Memory foam pillows and a free bed frame for our guest bedroom, Sal might not have been sober enough to do the math and realize the deal he was offering.  We didn’t want to lose it.

So first thing this morning, we returned to Sal’s place of business and bought the mattress and base, dropping far more money than I care to disclose.  But it’s totally worth it, right?  It will be delivered tomorrow and we can’t wait.  So just know that from here on out, I will be writing blog posts from the comfort of my new mattress and adjustable base.

I predict I will also be sipping Ovaltine and my orthopedic shoes will be right by the night stand, in case I have to walk anywhere.  Sweet dreams!

chocloate bar

I’m an addict.  A full blown addict.  My drug of choice?  Well, okay, that’s a loaded question.  My drug(s) of choice include vodka, Chipotle, and anything covered in ranch dressing.  But for my non-food/drink addiction, I’ve become completely obsessed with coupons and online shopping.

I can’t get enough.  I’m a junkie and nothing makes me feel more alive than a coupon for free shipping.

How did I get this way?  I blame this addiction on my friend, The Nanny (not her real name).  She’s a total pusher.  She’s definitely one of those “just try it and see how you like it” kind of people (which is exactly the suggestion that got me a year’s subscription of Cinemax, and a husband who is all of a sudden interested in TV).

She suggested I try this website, called www.ebates.com.  Have you heard of it?  Um, it’s amazing.  I might need an intervention if my love of this site continues (and it will).

Basically, you set up a free account and whenever you want to buy something on line, you go to Ebates first, they give you a tracking number, and then you get a percentage of the money you spent back through Ebates.  I had no idea buying toilet paper could be so fun!

And now that I’ve had a taste of the good stuff (which in my world is an extra 30% off everything at Kohl’s), I can’t go back to my life before…my life on the outside…I’m a changed woman.  This addiction definitely has a hold on me.  In my pre-addiction days, I would simply walk into Target, find what I wanted, make an excuse to swing by the Liz Lange maternity section to check out the dresses, and then check out with my items.

If only life were so simple…Now, in my post addiction days, I go to Ebates, go to a website and then spend the next 20 minutes looking for the best deal.  This entails opening at least 15 different windows checking on prices at different locations, and most certainly entails an anxiety attack for which I have to grab some Xanax (for which I’m sure I have a coupon…)

The saga continues and even after I locate the best deal, the adventure isn’t over.  Nope.  Then I have to google coupon codes to see if I can get anything else taken off my order.

mouseDo I really need 15 gallons of dish soap?  Of course not, but it’s cheaper to buy it by the gallon and mama needs free shipping.  And now our horizon sparkles with clean dishes that smell like a waterfall.

Aside from saving money (and collecting enough non-perishable items to feed a small village), Internet shopping has other perks as well.  Perhaps the biggest perk is shopping in my underwear.  Yes, when I shop in stores, I do wear underwear (most of the time).

However, when I do Internet shopping, that might be quite literally all I wear.  It’s amazing. There’s nothing more freeing than ordering a bathing suit while wearing nothing more than my birthday suit.  Seriously.  (It makes you wonder what I wear when I type these blogs, doesn’t it?)

And another perk?  I don’t have to take my new purchases to my car where I will then spend the next 10 minutes figuring out where to put my new treasures.  Most of the time when I shop, my packages get thrown somewhere and end up getting lost in the abyss otherwise known as my trunk…or my backseat..or the passenger seat…or under my seat.

(Don’t tell my librarian about that spot under my seat.  She still gives me the stink eye whenever I come into the library and I swear she knows I lost that book on CD under my seat.)

Yet another perk?  Not having to deal with the judging glances and stares of the store clerks who think it’s ridiculous to purchase liquor in bulk.  (On a totally unrelated note, the Post Office won’t deliver five gallons of Grey Goose to a personal residence.  Obviously they don’t know a good deal when they see one).

I always seem to have poor luck with store clerks, as they either think I’m crazy, or they feel as if I’m the one they are supposed to tell their darkest secrets to.  Maybe my face looks welcoming, or maybe they figure I look disheveled enough that no one would believe me if I told their secrets anyway.  Whatever the reason, I usually leave a store with a hand full of groceries and a head full of secrets (and a belly full of free samples.  Duh.)

My Internet shopping also helps local commerce.  I’m doing my part to keep Mailman Ricardo working delivering those packages, all the while nearly exposing his own package in those short shorts of his.  Isn’t it great that I’m helping keep the Post Office running?

If you are considering getting into Internet shopping and coupons, I would definitely tell you to give it a try.  If this post and all my amazing reasons hasn’t convinced you, I will send my friend The Nanny over to encourage you to try it…just once…just to see if you like it.

shopping bags and girl in jeansAs you know, my friend Pajama Jeans (not her real name) has the amazing item that inspired her namesake, and I’ve been forever jealous.

My jealousy stems not only of the fact that she owns the jeans, but that she looks great in them.  Why are we friends again?

I’m not sure why I’ve never bought a pair myself.  Maybe it’s because I was afraid they wouldn’t be as comfortable as I hoped they’d be, or maybe it’s because I wasn’t up until 2:00 in the morning watching infomercials.  (Wait a minute…yes I was).

Whatever the reason, I’ve been hesitant to buy them.  Then that fateful phone call occurred and everything changed.

Unfortunately, I missed the call.  Isn’t that the story of my life?  I looked at my phone in the middle of the day on Sunday and realized I missed a call from Downtown Christy Brown (not her real name).

She left me a message, so I knew it had to be urgent, as she typically can’t be bothered with modern technology such as voice mail.

I assumed she was calling to tell me about a buy one get one free offer at Baskin Robbins.

I walked towards my closet to grab my sweat pants for my upcoming binge, and listened to the message.

girl with phoneShe sounded out of breath, which I assumed was just excitement about the prospect of double chocolate brownie sundaes smothered in whipped cream.

But she had something else to report:  K-mart had Pajama Jeans!  What?  K-mart?  As in Martha Stewart’s K-mart?

I was puzzled because the infomercials I had seen stated these items were only available through the TV offer and I was confident they wouldn’t lie to me about something so important as comfort.

I told her she must be mistaken, as they couldn’t be found in stores.  She assured me this was the real deal and asked if I wanted a pair.

Really?  Did I want a pair?  What kind of question was that?  That’s like asking if I wanted a second cupcake, or if I’d prefer not to see my personal trainer ever again.  Of course I did!

I was a bit disappointed in her questioning as I thought she knew me better than that.  Clearly the days of stuffing our faces with chocolate lava cake and wishing for expandable waistbands meant nothing to her.   I cherished that time and thought she did too.

I collected my thoughts, telling myself I could drown my misery in a milkshake, and told her I wanted a pair of Pajama Jeans asap!  She said she would buy me a pair and my heart skipped a beat.  Could it be that I would soon be the proud owner of a pair of the famed jeans?

credit card

I knew I needed to have a pair, as I couldn’t be the only one of my three closest friends that didn’t have them.  After all, I was a bit of a trendsetter.  People looked to me for the newest fashion and style updates.

I was like Vogue magazine for our friends, only I didn’t smell like perfume samples, nor did I find myself wearing a cocktail dress while perched on the top of a mountain holding a designer purse looking like I hadn’t eaten in months.

Wait a minute, perhaps I was more like the Mad magazine of our group.

Whatever.  I had to have the jeans.

DTCB called me after the purchase to advise she had them in her possession. I  told her to come to my house immediately or risk termination of our friendship.

I knew with such high stakes, she would make it to my house in record time, despite her bad driving and jerky automobile.

She arrived quickly, and my dogs alerted me to her presence by barking when she got about a half mile away.  I could barely contain my excitement.  This was better than Christmas! I got exactly what I wanted and didn’t have to sit through an hour of Christmas carols and Aunt Betty’s gallbladder stories.

blurry shot of jeansSomeone needs to tell that woman to lay off the fiber.  Seriously.

As DTCB opened the door to my house, I swear a ray of light shone down on her and I heard a chorus of angels singing.

It may have actually been my porch light and the sound may have been my dogs’ incessant barking, but whatever.  Don’t detract from my moment.

She came in holding the bag as if it was a delicacy, and in some ways it was.  Could it be possible that a pair of jeans could be cute yet comfortable?

I figured it was just a myth, like Bigfoot, or honest politicians.  But there they were, waiting for me to find out.

I opened the bag and saw them in all their glory, folded in the cardboard packaging.  At first I wondered why they were in cardboard, but then realized that some of my favorite things come in cardboard containers.

NOT: My favorite things aren’t raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, although I wish they were. If those things brought me joy I wouldn’t cringe every month when the credit card bill arrives.

guy in jeans with dogSome of my favorite things allow me to be lazy and entertained, which is the best way to be.  Items such as  TVs and blue ray players allow for this, and they come in cardboard boxes, as do refrigerators and boxes of cereal.

It only seemed appropriate that something so amazing as Pajama Jeans would come in the same packaging as frosted Lucky Charms (they’re magically delicious after all).

I couldn’t contain my excitement anymore, and the jeans I was wearing were digging into my stomach causing an indentation, so I ripped open the box and took out the jeans.

I looked them over and was excited to discover they looked like real jeans, just as the infomercial boasted.  I ran (okay, walked) to my bedroom to try them on.

I slipped them on and immediately felt more comfortable.  They were perfect.  And there was a drawstring!  A drawstring!  You know something is comfortable when it has a drawstring.

I emerged from the bedroom and modeled the jeans to DTCB and my husband (who couldn’t care less about the purchase).

They were comfortable and fashionable all at the same time.  It was at that moment I realized that anything is possible.

If I can find a pair of jeans that are more comfortable than lounge pants, then anything is attainable.  So maybe I could lose that 100 pounds in a few days time.  If not, I will still be comfortable in my Pajama Jeans.

And maybe this means I can stop shopping in the maternity section of Target.  Well, let’s not get crazy…


Today is Cyber Monday….a day where lazy couch-dwellers like myself are able to shop for deals on line without having to leave the comfort of our homes.  I’m far too important to be bothered with standing in line at a store for the newest Twilight t-shirt.

After all, now I’m an important columnist…and I already have my new shirt.  Team Jacob all the way.

Instead of leaving my house, I’d rather lay in bed (sans bra) and shop for bargains wearing nothing more than my bathrobe and pizza stains from my earlier snack.

Staying home is so much more comfortable, and it saves gas, which helps the environment.   What can I say?  I’m a giver, and no one judges me at home when I have gas.

Well, my dogs probably do, but since I feed them, they ignore it.

baby and laptopI’ve  never participated in Cyber Monday before, which I realize is shocking considering I love to shop and would prefer to do it without pants, although Target employees tend to look down on that behavior.

I’m pretty sure the Wal-Mart employees wouldn’t even notice.  This year I decided to try my hand mouse at Cyber Monday.

I decided to stock up on some of my favorite things since there were such great deals on line.  I assumed that everything sold on line was on sale for Cyber Monday…kind of like a yard sale for on line purchases.

Except on line there would be no lemonade stand and the creepy kid selling a Dixie cup of lemonade for a dollar.

Inflation my ass  kid, you’re robbing me blind!

Imagine my surprise when I realized that Cyber Monday isn’t nearly as all inclusive as the media would have you believe.

Here’s a few things I discovered are NOT on sale for Cyber Monday.

P0rn

sexy lady in hatI know, right?  Can you believe it?  How is porn not included in the Cyber Monday deals?  Honestly, that’s why I thought the internet was invented…so that down-trodden husbands everywhere could enjoy some time alone without having to purchase yet another VHS tape of Girls Gone Wild.

The internet and porn seem to go hand in hand…er…hand in…..wait….never mind.

Don’t the Cyber Monday people think that p0rn purchasers are entitled to some discounted merchandise on this cyber day of shopping?  Don’t they deserve a break too?

After a double shift at 711, shouldn’t they be allowed to vent their frustrations by watching a one legged woman make sweet love to her cable repair man?  Isn’t that the dream?

I would think that those regular internet porn purchasers deserve a break in fees, even if it’s just one day a year.  But then again, maybe not.

If they’re too stupid to realize there’s free p0rn on other sites, maybe they deserve to get the shaft on the deals.  (Pun intended).

Alcohol

champagne corkNaturally, when I heard of Cyber Monday, my first thought was liquor.  Of course, I can tell you that my first thought was of purchasing toys for little kids, or coats for the homeless, but you know I would be lying.

I immediately considered how much liquor I could purchase on line for a discounted price.  I poured myself some Grey Goose and decided to investigate further.

Unfortunately, I discovered that the alcohol providers weren’t feeling the holiday spirit, and none of them were interested in offering deals for Cyber Monday.

I would think the holidays, above all other times of year, would be the perfect time to offer deals on alcohol, as people everywhere require it to deal with their families for the holidays.

No, not everyone? It must just be my family then.

How dare they not reduce the price of my precious Grey Goose?  I need it to ensure I get through the season without  insulting my cousin’s shoes.

Seriously, they were ugly.

But I suppose the alcohol distributors are smarter than we give them credit for, and probably drunker too.  They obviously took a simple economics class and they understand the law of supply and demand.

Well played liquor.  But in my world, I demand a large supply of liquor, so keep it coming.  And yes, I will pay full price.  I’m a sucker.

Food

dog with bowlAfter my disappointment at the lack of sales on alcohol and porn, I decided to ease my pain with food.  I was confident that some food services would have Cyber Monday deals.

After all, there are lots of places where you can order your food on line.  Surely one of them would have a Cyber Monday deal.

I decided to try my go-to on line ordering spot: Domino’s.  Where else can I get a pizza, Diet Coke and a chocolate cake delivered to my door?

It also comes with a side of indigestion and heartburn.

I got on line and began placing my order on the website, making sure not to knock over my drink in the process.  After all, I just discovered I couldn’t get more vodka at a reduced price.

Imagine my surprise when I went to check out and the order was not immediately reduced simply because it’s Cyber Monday.

delivery guyDid Domino’s really expect me to pay full price for my food on Cyber Monday?

Didn’t they know that pizza is a staple for fat lazy people who don’t want to leave their house, and that’s what Cyber Monday is all about?

How dare they not provide at least a small discount for the holiday?

As I paid with my credit card, and upgraded to an extra large, I realized that Domino’s was smart not to join in on Cyber Monday. Much like the alcohol providers, it knows that people like me will always overpay for the luxury of being lazy and overweight.  It’s the American Way.

That’s as far as I got on the investigation of Cyber Monday.  All that searching made me tired and thirsty, so I gave up for the night.

Hopefully you all had better luck with the Cyber Monday deals.  If not, there is still time to grab a last minute bargain and have it shipped directly to my home.

And if you find a deal on liquor, find out if they can ship it by the case…hypothetically of course.