Unlike the restaurant experience, where you enjoy your decadence and then have to face the bottom line at the end, grocery shopping demands that you pay first and enjoy later. I appreciate the principle, though I can't say I'm fond of the bill.
As fuel prices have increased, so have our grocery bills, and while I do make an effort to look at prices in the grocery store, I couldn't remember the last time that I looked at the bill to see how much individual items cost and what their percentage of the total was. Tonight after another astronomical bill, I decided that it was time to figure out where our money is going. So here it is, grocery shopping 101.
Produce: 41%
This number didn't surprise me--we each eat about 6-8 servings of fruits and veggies each day, and we buy most of them fresh from the store. The surprise from this category was the $19.31 that I spent on cherries. Cherries! I did get two different kinds, but $20 on cherries is a tad over the top. Though they are heaven...I'm not sure if I have any regrets here.
Dairy: 25%
This number includes yogurt (our weekday breakfast) and milk--and that's it. I drink chocolate Lactaid milk with dinner every night. It's not cheap, but milk helps even my emotional keel. This is a small price to pay for maintaining equilibrium.
Meat: 8%
This category is just for deli meat--we buy our meat monthly from a local farm. We eat deli meat for our lunches, but this number seems unnecessarily high for such a small portion of our food intake. We might have to re-evaluate this one.
Grocery: 7%
This category is terribly undescriptive, but it includes juice (also an important part of my diet), fruit jars (in case we run out of fruit--it does happen, even when you spend $20 on cherries), and some soup packages that looked tasty (ok, their main appeal was their easiness factor, and I'm just hoping that they're slightly better than edible).
Natural foods: 6%
I couldn't resist the $6 all-natural, half-fruit cereal. If history is any indicator of the future, I will eat one bowl and leave the rest for B to mix into his daily plain yogurt. I also got delish-looking roasted red pepper salad dressing and organic tomato sauce (but only because they rearranged the grocery store and I couldn't find the pasta/sauce aisle).
Food bazaar: 6%
This section is near the deli. I got two kinds of cheeses--an enormous chunk of mozzarella (cheese tends to disappear when B is home alone, so I've learned to buy it in bulk) and an exotic-looking chive cheese from South America (I admit, an impulse purchase).
Frozen foods: 3%
This category is for ice cream and only ice cream. After last night's 500-calorie Chunky Monkey debacle, I had to replenish the stores. Good thing B doesn't travel all the time or I'd have to take up a real workout routine.
Deli: 2%
Sub rolls for our deli meats.
Prepared foods: 1%
I generally try to avoid prepared foods, but I'm still scared to make my own pizza dough, so I buy it pre-made (and I'm not convinced that mine would be any better or healthier, and it would certainly be more time consuming, so I'm a big fan of this convenience food).
Bakeshop: 1%
This is why I should not grocery shop alone. The carrot cake single serving was calling my name--I couldn't resist! The devil on my shoulder reminded me of the twelve-layer chocolate cake that B desserted on last night, and in the cake went to my cart. I intend to enjoy it thoroughly.
So that's the most recent grocery bill, and I suspect it's indicative of other bills (with the exception, I hope, of the $20 cherries). On the one hand, I'm not fond of the cost of those expensive fruits and veggies, but on the other hand, I'm proud that our highest expense is produce and not salty, preservative-laden boxed foods. I've come a long way from my Hamburger Helper days.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Do the hustle
A few months ago, B and I bought tickets to see last night's symphony performance. I feel terribly posh and a bit snooty just writing those words--lest you start thinking that I have developed an appreciation for fine arts, I wanted to go simply because they were going to play the new Indiana Jones score.
But then a few weeks ago, B had to schedule a 6 AM flight for this morning. Had we stayed for the entire show, we probably wouldn't have got home till after midnight, making for a difficult day for the traveler.
We decided that we would stay for an hour of the show, but after we meandered through town for a couple hours, we were tired and weren't sure that we even wanted to stay until the 8:30 start time, let alone another hour. And then it started to rain.
I proposed that we attempt to sell our covered seats to someone who didn't want to sit on the uncovered lawn, and B was game. And then he put on his hustlin' face and went to work outside the box office.
The event wasn't sold out--a factor that did not work in our favor--and we had no idea what we could get for the tickets. We decided to try selling them for what we payed.
B stood with the tickets, saying, "Two for the shed, two for the shed," to anyone who passed. He adopted a Boston accent that made for a more authentic experience. Standing in the crowd, trying to sell tickets, felt a little like those Apprentice episodes where people are forced to hawk hot dogs and theater tickets to indifferent New Yorkers. We almost had a sale within the first few minutes, but we weren't willing to go low enough, and they passed.
And then competition arrived, other hawkers. One man had a stack of tickets that he sold within 20 minutes--because he was selling them for half the price that people could get from the box office. By this time, the rain had stopped, so people were less scared of sitting outdoors.
B proposed that we split up and each make an effort to sell the tickets. My facial expression convinced him that I was not mentally prepared for the hustling scene, and the onus for selling the tickets was on his shoulders.
After 20 minutes of little to know interest, we decided that a price cut and a new marketing strategy was in order. We decided that we were willing to accept a loss as long as it wasn't a total loss, and we just wanted to get out of there and get home. "Shed for 20, shed for 20," he offered to those who walked by. I knew that this tactic was going to work--the lawn seats were selling for $19, and for $2 more, people could have indoor seats. It was just a matter of time before someone grabbed up the tickets.
Sure enough, a couple happened by and recognized the value in our proposition and purchased the seats immediately. They looked like us--yuppies, unwilling to risk getting wet outside and unused to buying from someone "on the streets," but willing to go along for a good deal. The deal was a net loss for us, and we didn't see any of the show, but we were willing to make both sacrifices so B wouldn't be exhausted during his travels today.
But then a few weeks ago, B had to schedule a 6 AM flight for this morning. Had we stayed for the entire show, we probably wouldn't have got home till after midnight, making for a difficult day for the traveler.
We decided that we would stay for an hour of the show, but after we meandered through town for a couple hours, we were tired and weren't sure that we even wanted to stay until the 8:30 start time, let alone another hour. And then it started to rain.
I proposed that we attempt to sell our covered seats to someone who didn't want to sit on the uncovered lawn, and B was game. And then he put on his hustlin' face and went to work outside the box office.
The event wasn't sold out--a factor that did not work in our favor--and we had no idea what we could get for the tickets. We decided to try selling them for what we payed.
B stood with the tickets, saying, "Two for the shed, two for the shed," to anyone who passed. He adopted a Boston accent that made for a more authentic experience. Standing in the crowd, trying to sell tickets, felt a little like those Apprentice episodes where people are forced to hawk hot dogs and theater tickets to indifferent New Yorkers. We almost had a sale within the first few minutes, but we weren't willing to go low enough, and they passed.
And then competition arrived, other hawkers. One man had a stack of tickets that he sold within 20 minutes--because he was selling them for half the price that people could get from the box office. By this time, the rain had stopped, so people were less scared of sitting outdoors.
B proposed that we split up and each make an effort to sell the tickets. My facial expression convinced him that I was not mentally prepared for the hustling scene, and the onus for selling the tickets was on his shoulders.
After 20 minutes of little to know interest, we decided that a price cut and a new marketing strategy was in order. We decided that we were willing to accept a loss as long as it wasn't a total loss, and we just wanted to get out of there and get home. "Shed for 20, shed for 20," he offered to those who walked by. I knew that this tactic was going to work--the lawn seats were selling for $19, and for $2 more, people could have indoor seats. It was just a matter of time before someone grabbed up the tickets.
Sure enough, a couple happened by and recognized the value in our proposition and purchased the seats immediately. They looked like us--yuppies, unwilling to risk getting wet outside and unused to buying from someone "on the streets," but willing to go along for a good deal. The deal was a net loss for us, and we didn't see any of the show, but we were willing to make both sacrifices so B wouldn't be exhausted during his travels today.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
How cheap am I?
The fast few months, I've been cowering from knowledge about the energetic euro and its relationship to the debilitated dollar. The dollar, once the leader of the international pack, seems to sink to new and painful lows with every disastrous financial announcement coming from Wall Street and beyond.
Enough is enough. Self pity is not allowed for those of us who are planning 20-day vacations in Europe, especially when our cost-saving strategy is simply to eat more pizza (cheap, readily available, neverending list of topppings). Eating more pizza while in Italy--not such a hardship.
Pizza will help, but we are still looking for other ways to trim our budget. Today my mission was to research foreign exchange (fx) rates at nearby banks.
Unless you're buying 7 figures worth of foreign currency, you're going to pay a markup. Even ATM withdrawals in foreign countries come with a 1-3% surcharge, depending on your bank, not to mention a flat fee (at our bank, it's 3% + $5). I prefer to land with cash in hand so as to start the shopping immediately, so we have to buy some euros before we go.
Our bank's markup on foreign currency is 5%, which seems an astronomical fee to pay for the courtesy of acquiring legal tender. However, I discovered today that our bank's rates are better than most national banks. Except one.
One bank--which shall remain nameless because I'm not sure if what I'm going to do is kosher--charges only 4% if you purchase amounts over $1,000 (which we had planned to do anyway, considering that it would buy only about 600 euro--am doing my best not to break out a violin and play myself a sad little ditty).
And 4% is pretty close to 3% + $5 and is much better than 5%. For withdrawals of 300 euro or less, the 4% fee beats the ATM exchange rate (if I could insert tables into this entry, I would--I have an unnatural obsession with algebra and have been doing these calculations since I got home--I feel like I am cheating by using a calculator but the numbers have to be precise to make an educated decision).
There's a hitch, of course. You have to be a member of the bank to purchase foreign currency amounts in excess of $500 under some provision in the Patriot Act, which requires banks to have an established relationship with people who buy excessive amounts of foreign currency. Since when is spending $500 excessive? Clearly these people haven't seen our monthly grocery budget. But I digress.
I decided that there had to be a way around this issue (the schemer in me is always looking to pull off a harmless little caper), so I researched savings account and found an account that is free to open and has no fees. This weekend, we'll head down and make ourselves known to the bank (to satisfy the patriots among us), open our freebie account (I hope $5 deposits are allowed), and then start watching the market to figure out when we can get the best deal on euros.
Enough is enough. Self pity is not allowed for those of us who are planning 20-day vacations in Europe, especially when our cost-saving strategy is simply to eat more pizza (cheap, readily available, neverending list of topppings). Eating more pizza while in Italy--not such a hardship.
Pizza will help, but we are still looking for other ways to trim our budget. Today my mission was to research foreign exchange (fx) rates at nearby banks.
Unless you're buying 7 figures worth of foreign currency, you're going to pay a markup. Even ATM withdrawals in foreign countries come with a 1-3% surcharge, depending on your bank, not to mention a flat fee (at our bank, it's 3% + $5). I prefer to land with cash in hand so as to start the shopping immediately, so we have to buy some euros before we go.
Our bank's markup on foreign currency is 5%, which seems an astronomical fee to pay for the courtesy of acquiring legal tender. However, I discovered today that our bank's rates are better than most national banks. Except one.
One bank--which shall remain nameless because I'm not sure if what I'm going to do is kosher--charges only 4% if you purchase amounts over $1,000 (which we had planned to do anyway, considering that it would buy only about 600 euro--am doing my best not to break out a violin and play myself a sad little ditty).
And 4% is pretty close to 3% + $5 and is much better than 5%. For withdrawals of 300 euro or less, the 4% fee beats the ATM exchange rate (if I could insert tables into this entry, I would--I have an unnatural obsession with algebra and have been doing these calculations since I got home--I feel like I am cheating by using a calculator but the numbers have to be precise to make an educated decision).
There's a hitch, of course. You have to be a member of the bank to purchase foreign currency amounts in excess of $500 under some provision in the Patriot Act, which requires banks to have an established relationship with people who buy excessive amounts of foreign currency. Since when is spending $500 excessive? Clearly these people haven't seen our monthly grocery budget. But I digress.
I decided that there had to be a way around this issue (the schemer in me is always looking to pull off a harmless little caper), so I researched savings account and found an account that is free to open and has no fees. This weekend, we'll head down and make ourselves known to the bank (to satisfy the patriots among us), open our freebie account (I hope $5 deposits are allowed), and then start watching the market to figure out when we can get the best deal on euros.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
I'm not hip enough for that phone
We currently do not own an iPod, but Rick Steves' museum podcasts, which are available (free!) for the Uffizi, were motivation to purchase one.
We had three options: the 4 GB Nano ($150), the 8 GB Nano ($200, but it comes in fun colors), and the Touch ($300), which has a better screen and games. The Shuffle wasn't ideal because it doesn't have a screen, so we wouldn't know which podcast to play next.
My first impulse was, naturally, to go for the bare minimum--if we survived this long without an iPod, surely we could make do with the 4 GB vanilla Nano. But my internal upselling instinct kicked in, and I realized that B might enjoy the games capability during his long train rides, and wouldn't it be convenient to download movies or TV shows to watch on the plane and on our long train trips in Italy?
I asked B if he would prefer the boring Nano or the blingy Touch, and he admitted that he was leaning toward the Touch. But then he pointed out that we could get the full capabilities of the Touch for cheaper by buying the new iPhone.
I was skeptical about using a single device for so many capabilities--cell phone, email checker, music and movie player, and games central? Would life be too easy if we could do so much in one small, sleek device?
B explained that the all-in-one concept was exactly what Apple was going for when they designed the iPhone, and that a Touch would be redundant (not to mention pricier).
Conveniently enough, I'm planning to switch from my parents' cell phone plan in just a couple weeks, so I'm going to have to buy a new phone anyway. But the idea of having an iPhone--a device with capabilities that go far beyond what I want and need--was daunting. My cell phone is more of a security blanket than a device because I use it so rarely--the occasional phone call (usually incoming) and text message to B when he's on the road.
B was a much more obvious candidate for the iPhone. He's hip and technology-oriented and uses his phone for internet surfing, amateur photography, games, email, text messages, and even a phone call here and there.
We visited our local AT&T store to inquire about my taking B's phone (a Blackberry Pearl--rest assured, I am not important enough to require 24/7 access to my email, so I will not be using the data capabilities) and B's using the new iPhone. No problem, said the guy, all you have to do is switch the sim cards.
Great, we said, and handed over our debit card. The iPhone was sold out and had to be ordered but should arrive in the next week or so, and then B's status as a Hip Person will be official, and I can continue my techno-averse lifestyle for a little while longer.
We had three options: the 4 GB Nano ($150), the 8 GB Nano ($200, but it comes in fun colors), and the Touch ($300), which has a better screen and games. The Shuffle wasn't ideal because it doesn't have a screen, so we wouldn't know which podcast to play next.
My first impulse was, naturally, to go for the bare minimum--if we survived this long without an iPod, surely we could make do with the 4 GB vanilla Nano. But my internal upselling instinct kicked in, and I realized that B might enjoy the games capability during his long train rides, and wouldn't it be convenient to download movies or TV shows to watch on the plane and on our long train trips in Italy?
I asked B if he would prefer the boring Nano or the blingy Touch, and he admitted that he was leaning toward the Touch. But then he pointed out that we could get the full capabilities of the Touch for cheaper by buying the new iPhone.
I was skeptical about using a single device for so many capabilities--cell phone, email checker, music and movie player, and games central? Would life be too easy if we could do so much in one small, sleek device?
B explained that the all-in-one concept was exactly what Apple was going for when they designed the iPhone, and that a Touch would be redundant (not to mention pricier).
Conveniently enough, I'm planning to switch from my parents' cell phone plan in just a couple weeks, so I'm going to have to buy a new phone anyway. But the idea of having an iPhone--a device with capabilities that go far beyond what I want and need--was daunting. My cell phone is more of a security blanket than a device because I use it so rarely--the occasional phone call (usually incoming) and text message to B when he's on the road.
B was a much more obvious candidate for the iPhone. He's hip and technology-oriented and uses his phone for internet surfing, amateur photography, games, email, text messages, and even a phone call here and there.
We visited our local AT&T store to inquire about my taking B's phone (a Blackberry Pearl--rest assured, I am not important enough to require 24/7 access to my email, so I will not be using the data capabilities) and B's using the new iPhone. No problem, said the guy, all you have to do is switch the sim cards.
Great, we said, and handed over our debit card. The iPhone was sold out and had to be ordered but should arrive in the next week or so, and then B's status as a Hip Person will be official, and I can continue my techno-averse lifestyle for a little while longer.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Don't break the milk!
This weekend I made red velvet cupcakes to take to a wine and dessert party.
Red velvet, according to the cookbook for the Buttercup Bake Shop (an offshoot of the famous Magnolia Bakery in Greenwich Village), is "a yellow cake with a hint of cocoa, dyed a deep beautiful red." If you've seen Steel Magnolias, the armadillo cake is red velvet. We freely adopt Southern traditions, such as B's growing seersucker collection, so it was just a matter of time before we tried red velvet cake. We considered serving red velvet cupcakes at our wedding but were worried that people would be scared of them.
Being scared would be understandable. The cake batter was the color of a male cardinal (the bird, not a church official). Eating a red cake is a little strange, but come on, it's cake--how bad can it be? Plus red is significantly less weird than, say, a blue velvet or green velvet cake might be.
Making the cake batter was easy (as is any recipe that lets me use my KitchenAid mixer), but the frosting presented a challenge. Here are the instructions:
"In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, whisk to combine the milk and flour. Stir constantly over medium-high head until smoother and thick (anywhere from 12 to 18 minutes)."
I had a few issues with this command.
Anyone who has ever cooked milk on medium-high heat has probably also burned milk because it's nearly impossible to heat milk to that temperature without scalding it. And when your milk gets to that temperature, you run the risk of "breaking" it--we learned about this phenomenon in a French cooking class when we were trying to make a souffle with light whipping cream. Apparently, unless you're working with heavy whipping cream, you run the risk of breaking your light whipping cream or milk when you boil it, and it turns into a clumpy, oatmeal-like mess. I don't know what the chemistry explanation is, but maybe curds and whey are involved? Anyway, the lesson I learned was that boiling milk is a dangerous idea, and stirring does not always prevent burning.
I was determined to follow the recipe but with a minor modification. Stirring was not going to save my pan from burned milk, so whisking was the only option. And whisk, I did--for 12 minutes straight--ouch. My right arm looked like Popeye's when I finished (ok, it totally didn't, though it felt like it might fall off--does that count for something?), but I didn't burn the milk, and the frosting and cupcakes turned out great.
Red velvet, according to the cookbook for the Buttercup Bake Shop (an offshoot of the famous Magnolia Bakery in Greenwich Village), is "a yellow cake with a hint of cocoa, dyed a deep beautiful red." If you've seen Steel Magnolias, the armadillo cake is red velvet. We freely adopt Southern traditions, such as B's growing seersucker collection, so it was just a matter of time before we tried red velvet cake. We considered serving red velvet cupcakes at our wedding but were worried that people would be scared of them.
Being scared would be understandable. The cake batter was the color of a male cardinal (the bird, not a church official). Eating a red cake is a little strange, but come on, it's cake--how bad can it be? Plus red is significantly less weird than, say, a blue velvet or green velvet cake might be.
Making the cake batter was easy (as is any recipe that lets me use my KitchenAid mixer), but the frosting presented a challenge. Here are the instructions:
"In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, whisk to combine the milk and flour. Stir constantly over medium-high head until smoother and thick (anywhere from 12 to 18 minutes)."
I had a few issues with this command.
Anyone who has ever cooked milk on medium-high heat has probably also burned milk because it's nearly impossible to heat milk to that temperature without scalding it. And when your milk gets to that temperature, you run the risk of "breaking" it--we learned about this phenomenon in a French cooking class when we were trying to make a souffle with light whipping cream. Apparently, unless you're working with heavy whipping cream, you run the risk of breaking your light whipping cream or milk when you boil it, and it turns into a clumpy, oatmeal-like mess. I don't know what the chemistry explanation is, but maybe curds and whey are involved? Anyway, the lesson I learned was that boiling milk is a dangerous idea, and stirring does not always prevent burning.
I was determined to follow the recipe but with a minor modification. Stirring was not going to save my pan from burned milk, so whisking was the only option. And whisk, I did--for 12 minutes straight--ouch. My right arm looked like Popeye's when I finished (ok, it totally didn't, though it felt like it might fall off--does that count for something?), but I didn't burn the milk, and the frosting and cupcakes turned out great.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Finding the right flatware
You know you're an adult when you throw a dinner party, and all of your flatware matches (and is nice). B and I have thrown a few dinner parties, but adulthood continues to elude us, as our flatware is a Frankenstein collection of his, mine, and ours, and we don't have more than 6 sets of any kind.
I lost some flatware (and all of the lids to my pots) because I moved so much after college, and living with a roommate who hoarded my dishes, glasses, and flatware in her room contributed to the attrition rate. Throughout my nearly two-year stint with her, our flatware tray was frequently out of forks, spoons, and knives. The situation got so bad that we had to buy forks to keep in my room so we'd be able to eat our dinner. We'll never run out of forks again, that's for sure, because now we have about 20.
If you're wondering why I continued to live with the roommate for two years--well, heat was included, the rent was cheap, I had a parking space, and if you could look past the arrests that took place next door, the location was excellent. But I digress--back to flatware.
We've been looking to replace our Frankenstein flatware with a set with the right chromium and nickel percentages (18/10, s'il vous plait) but haven't had any success. There was the Laguiole set that we liked, but it couldn't go in the dishwasher (unacceptable). The search continued for fun and unique but not too flourishy flatware--and I think I found it.
The set is by Vera Wang and is called Equestrian. It is unique and fun (I love the little belt buckles on each piece) and is a little edgy (see the angles at the bottom of the pieces). And the stitching would complement the edging on our china nicely.
I haven't purchased any--we should probably find the set in a store and make sure that we like the weight and the way that each piece feels in our hands--but I'm thrilled that I've finally found a set that we both like (B gave his approval) and that fits all of our requirements.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Vacation election 2009: South Carolina and Ohio?
For those of you who identified Ohio as the dark horse in the 2009 vacation election, you were correct. B has been planning a road trip that involves stopping at Cedar Point and the neighboring coaster parks (I think there are 2-3 in the area) with a possible stop at a coaster park in PA (Pittsburgh maybe?). If a week of screaming our heads off isn't enough fun, we can stop at the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame for a sock hoppin' good time and maybe schedule a detour to Toronto or Niagara Falls.
B's trip sounded coasterific, and I thought that it could be balanced well with something a little more sedate, white gloves optional (no, we're not joining the Junior League). One of my coworkers recently came back from a visit to the new Hard Rock coaster park in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and he raved about it. I knew that B wanted to visit a coaster park, so I planned a trip around the Hard Rock park.
We could begin in Myrtle Beach and visit the park and other MB attractions (a new shopping area is getting rave reviews) and maybe take a beach or pool day. Next we'd drive to Charleston and take in some history--plantation tours, Fort Sumter, the old town, and all of the fabulous Southern cooking these two Yanks can eat. Our final stop would be Hilton Head for some golf (for B), spa fun (me), and relaxation.
We're not going to make any decisions until we get back from Italy, so we have several months to think about these itineraries and any others that pop into our heads. We don't know where we'll end up next year, but with the euro crossing $1.60 today, I think it's safe to say that we won't find ourselves back in Europe any time soon...
B's trip sounded coasterific, and I thought that it could be balanced well with something a little more sedate, white gloves optional (no, we're not joining the Junior League). One of my coworkers recently came back from a visit to the new Hard Rock coaster park in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and he raved about it. I knew that B wanted to visit a coaster park, so I planned a trip around the Hard Rock park.
We could begin in Myrtle Beach and visit the park and other MB attractions (a new shopping area is getting rave reviews) and maybe take a beach or pool day. Next we'd drive to Charleston and take in some history--plantation tours, Fort Sumter, the old town, and all of the fabulous Southern cooking these two Yanks can eat. Our final stop would be Hilton Head for some golf (for B), spa fun (me), and relaxation.
We're not going to make any decisions until we get back from Italy, so we have several months to think about these itineraries and any others that pop into our heads. We don't know where we'll end up next year, but with the euro crossing $1.60 today, I think it's safe to say that we won't find ourselves back in Europe any time soon...
Monday, July 14, 2008
If it falls off, you can keep going...
During our mid-teen years, CDL and I had a few automobile adventures. We liked to think of ourselves as co-drivers--one person controlled the steering and speed, and the other person assisted with lane changes, merges, road position, and obstacles. In hindsight, we probably should have lit up some kind of bat signal to alert other drivers to our presence on the road.
One of my fondest memories is the advice that we used to receive from C's mother, especially car and driving advice. The prized gem that we quote to this day came when C's car was experiencing some technical difficulties, and the mechanic warned that one particular piece of the car (we never found out which one) was in danger of coming loose but was apparently not critical to the operation of the vehicle, as long as it became fully unattached. The advice was this: "If something falls off the car, you can keep going, but if it starts dragging on the ground, you have to turn around and come back home."
Luckily for everyone, our adventure that day and subsequent days never involved lost car parts (unless perhaps the co-driver was not doing her job and didn't notice or hear the fallen part), but I frequently see such disasters occurring on my commute.
Take this afternoon, for instance. I saw a large piece of metal about a thousand feet ahead and immediately hit my brakes to alert drivers behind me to slow down. The piece of metal turned out to be the largest silver bumper I have ever seen--if it didn't fall off a tractor trailer, it must have fallen off one of those giant pickup trucks that could swallow my Corolla whole. And it was sitting in the middle of the highway, with no pulled-over vehicle in sight.
Is it possible, I thought, that the driver of this vehicle knew about our childhood rule--and actually followed it? I wondered if maybe the bumper had been dragging on the ground for a while--it looked damaged--and the person was trying to make their way home when it fell off, and then they decided that it was safe to carry on their merry way, bumper- and care-free. I can see how the reasoning would work: "Well, I attempted to turn around and make my way home, but it fell off, so I can keep going and pick up those trouser socks I need from TJ Maxx."
A police officer was right behind me as I passed the bumper, so I suspect that he removed the hazard. What do you do with a giant bumper? Planter? Wall art? Coffee table? Perhaps there is something to be said for collecting your automo-debris.
One of my fondest memories is the advice that we used to receive from C's mother, especially car and driving advice. The prized gem that we quote to this day came when C's car was experiencing some technical difficulties, and the mechanic warned that one particular piece of the car (we never found out which one) was in danger of coming loose but was apparently not critical to the operation of the vehicle, as long as it became fully unattached. The advice was this: "If something falls off the car, you can keep going, but if it starts dragging on the ground, you have to turn around and come back home."
Luckily for everyone, our adventure that day and subsequent days never involved lost car parts (unless perhaps the co-driver was not doing her job and didn't notice or hear the fallen part), but I frequently see such disasters occurring on my commute.
Take this afternoon, for instance. I saw a large piece of metal about a thousand feet ahead and immediately hit my brakes to alert drivers behind me to slow down. The piece of metal turned out to be the largest silver bumper I have ever seen--if it didn't fall off a tractor trailer, it must have fallen off one of those giant pickup trucks that could swallow my Corolla whole. And it was sitting in the middle of the highway, with no pulled-over vehicle in sight.
Is it possible, I thought, that the driver of this vehicle knew about our childhood rule--and actually followed it? I wondered if maybe the bumper had been dragging on the ground for a while--it looked damaged--and the person was trying to make their way home when it fell off, and then they decided that it was safe to carry on their merry way, bumper- and care-free. I can see how the reasoning would work: "Well, I attempted to turn around and make my way home, but it fell off, so I can keep going and pick up those trouser socks I need from TJ Maxx."
A police officer was right behind me as I passed the bumper, so I suspect that he removed the hazard. What do you do with a giant bumper? Planter? Wall art? Coffee table? Perhaps there is something to be said for collecting your automo-debris.
Friday, July 11, 2008
You can get here from there
Here are the most entertaining search words that led people to the fabulousness of AOBTD, with links to the pages that they found. I apologize to all of the searchers because the results were, for the most part, either not related or not useful, but their searches are pretty funny.
short films about gang violence
And now we know that there is a market for such things.
upscale hangers for closets
Yes! Upgrade your hangers! I bought another box and am hooked. My entire house is going to be hanging from wooden hangers before long.
Farewell to Pleasure Island
Clearly, I am not the only one who is sad about the closing.
chi-poos sniff a lot
Say what? This is why we can't get a dog--who could handle excessive sniffing in a pet?
cookies for dinner
Rock on! This fabulous search showed up twice. I applaud people who think outside the meat-starch-veggie paradigm.
putting credit card number in e-mail
Don't do it, girl! Just pick up the darned phone.
how to kill any tree like plant
Just bring it to my house. It will be dead within days.
life alot can happen in 6 months
You can say that again, sister. But what a ride it is.
is 8x10 bedroom big enough
If you go on a cruise or happen to find yourself in prison, your accommodations will feel spacious.
post wedding irritability
It happens. Embrace it. Show him what he has to look forward to for the next 50 years.
Teutonic clothing
Dirndls and lederhosen?
girls with glases
The most embarassing part about this search is that the same typo appeared in the original post. I fixed it. I hope there aren't complaints about authenticity.
short films about gang violence
And now we know that there is a market for such things.
upscale hangers for closets
Yes! Upgrade your hangers! I bought another box and am hooked. My entire house is going to be hanging from wooden hangers before long.
Farewell to Pleasure Island
Clearly, I am not the only one who is sad about the closing.
chi-poos sniff a lot
Say what? This is why we can't get a dog--who could handle excessive sniffing in a pet?
cookies for dinner
Rock on! This fabulous search showed up twice. I applaud people who think outside the meat-starch-veggie paradigm.
putting credit card number in e-mail
Don't do it, girl! Just pick up the darned phone.
how to kill any tree like plant
Just bring it to my house. It will be dead within days.
life alot can happen in 6 months
You can say that again, sister. But what a ride it is.
is 8x10 bedroom big enough
If you go on a cruise or happen to find yourself in prison, your accommodations will feel spacious.
post wedding irritability
It happens. Embrace it. Show him what he has to look forward to for the next 50 years.
Teutonic clothing
Dirndls and lederhosen?
girls with glases
The most embarassing part about this search is that the same typo appeared in the original post. I fixed it. I hope there aren't complaints about authenticity.
Too much awesomeness at Anthropologie
This IM convo proves how serious my shopping addiction is. I can't help it--have you seen Anthropologie's clothing? The epitome of awesome.
M: there is so much awesomeness on sale at anthropologie
M: I am exercising such restraint right now
B: hahah
B: you and the anthro
M: I know
B: so so bad
M: I have a serious problem
M: but their clothes are so pretty
M: I just want to own them all
M: sometimes I wonder, what if I had more money than I knew what to do with...would I still wait for clothes to go on sale, or would I buy them at full price?
M: b/c sometimes clothes sell out before they go on sale
M: but then sometimes they do make it to the sale rack, and they're usually half price
M: such a good mental dilemma
B: uhoh ... gotta have it!
B: have two clothes for the price of one
B: at the risk of not getting one
B: or get one now and not get the other
M: or spend $2,000/month on non-sale items
B: bad bad
M: it's scary, but I could easily spend $24,000+ plus on clothing each year
M: maybe not every year
M: maybe eventually I would build a wardrobe that was so awesome that I didn't need anything else
B: hah.. would it ever be enough
M: I don't know!
M: eventually I would run out of space though
M: our closet isn't that big
M: although if I had $24,000 to spend each year on clothing, we'd probably live in a bigger house
B: hah!
M: there is so much awesomeness on sale at anthropologie
M: I am exercising such restraint right now
B: hahah
B: you and the anthro
M: I know
B: so so bad
M: I have a serious problem
M: but their clothes are so pretty
M: I just want to own them all
M: sometimes I wonder, what if I had more money than I knew what to do with...would I still wait for clothes to go on sale, or would I buy them at full price?
M: b/c sometimes clothes sell out before they go on sale
M: but then sometimes they do make it to the sale rack, and they're usually half price
M: such a good mental dilemma
B: uhoh ... gotta have it!
B: have two clothes for the price of one
B: at the risk of not getting one
B: or get one now and not get the other
M: or spend $2,000/month on non-sale items
B: bad bad
M: it's scary, but I could easily spend $24,000+ plus on clothing each year
M: maybe not every year
M: maybe eventually I would build a wardrobe that was so awesome that I didn't need anything else
B: hah.. would it ever be enough
M: I don't know!
M: eventually I would run out of space though
M: our closet isn't that big
M: although if I had $24,000 to spend each year on clothing, we'd probably live in a bigger house
B: hah!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Farewell, Pleasure Island
I was saddened to learn that Pleasure Island, Walt Disney World's hip and happenin' island of nightclubs, shopping, and food, is closing in September of this year.
Pleasure Island, or simply PI to its nighttime visitors, was the hot spot for students participating in the Walt Disney World College Program, which recruits college kids from around the world to work and keep the mouse world running. I participated the first semester of my junior year and liked it so much that I stayed for another semester doing an advanced internship.
Moving to Florida was a surprisingly easy decision. My first two years of college, while informative and sometimes fun, were a darker period in my life. I learned to analyze literature and literary criticism and complex characters but never learned how to apply my critical thinking skills to my own life. You're supposed to learn about who you are in college, but I spent my first two years losing myself. I knew and understood the characters in my books better than I understood myself. Escaping the life that I had been living was a dream come true.
I moved to Orlando without knowing anyone. At my job, I learned to overcome shyness by forcing myself to make eye contact and greet people that I passed en route to the break room (writing this now, it's hard to believe that I was ever that shy, but I was--and anyone who has fought an ever-present need to hide can understand). As weeks turned into months, I made friends with roommates and coworkers and developed a great social circle.
It was my second semester in the mouse house that I discovered the bacchanalian Pleasure Island. Most Thursdays and some Mondays (cast members got in free those nights), my roommate and I and our friends would giggle our way over in our tank tops and mascara, finding our place in the middle of the dancefloor under a cloud of humidity that the neon lights almost broke through. The most fun nights featured a dancefloor so crowded you couldn't move without bumping into everyone around you while still trying to maintain the groove that you and your girlfriends had going on.
Back then, 3 AM was a much more reasonable hour for being awake than it is now. Then again, staying up until 3 and then waking up for work at 8:30 AM was a lot easier than it would be now. Me at 21 was more resilient than me now.
I have a lot of happy memories of PI--sneaking into the valet lot every night after midnight to get rockstar parking, collecting the admission bracelets on my bathroom vanity, and being able to go sleeveless in the wintertime--but the real success came not from my memories but from learning to stretch my comfort boundaries and figuring out who I really was. The dancefloor of the Wildhorse is not solely responsible for the spirit, confidence, and independence that I learned during my ten-month tenure at Disney, but it was where I learned to dance like no one was watching, and that knowledge transferred to my life philosophy: Live your life the way you want.
So farewell, PI. I am sad for the countless college programmers who won't have the opportunity to experience the exuberance, debauchery, and magic of a Thursday night at PI, but as for me, I moved on after getting my groove back.
Pleasure Island, or simply PI to its nighttime visitors, was the hot spot for students participating in the Walt Disney World College Program, which recruits college kids from around the world to work and keep the mouse world running. I participated the first semester of my junior year and liked it so much that I stayed for another semester doing an advanced internship.
Moving to Florida was a surprisingly easy decision. My first two years of college, while informative and sometimes fun, were a darker period in my life. I learned to analyze literature and literary criticism and complex characters but never learned how to apply my critical thinking skills to my own life. You're supposed to learn about who you are in college, but I spent my first two years losing myself. I knew and understood the characters in my books better than I understood myself. Escaping the life that I had been living was a dream come true.
I moved to Orlando without knowing anyone. At my job, I learned to overcome shyness by forcing myself to make eye contact and greet people that I passed en route to the break room (writing this now, it's hard to believe that I was ever that shy, but I was--and anyone who has fought an ever-present need to hide can understand). As weeks turned into months, I made friends with roommates and coworkers and developed a great social circle.
It was my second semester in the mouse house that I discovered the bacchanalian Pleasure Island. Most Thursdays and some Mondays (cast members got in free those nights), my roommate and I and our friends would giggle our way over in our tank tops and mascara, finding our place in the middle of the dancefloor under a cloud of humidity that the neon lights almost broke through. The most fun nights featured a dancefloor so crowded you couldn't move without bumping into everyone around you while still trying to maintain the groove that you and your girlfriends had going on.
Back then, 3 AM was a much more reasonable hour for being awake than it is now. Then again, staying up until 3 and then waking up for work at 8:30 AM was a lot easier than it would be now. Me at 21 was more resilient than me now.
I have a lot of happy memories of PI--sneaking into the valet lot every night after midnight to get rockstar parking, collecting the admission bracelets on my bathroom vanity, and being able to go sleeveless in the wintertime--but the real success came not from my memories but from learning to stretch my comfort boundaries and figuring out who I really was. The dancefloor of the Wildhorse is not solely responsible for the spirit, confidence, and independence that I learned during my ten-month tenure at Disney, but it was where I learned to dance like no one was watching, and that knowledge transferred to my life philosophy: Live your life the way you want.
So farewell, PI. I am sad for the countless college programmers who won't have the opportunity to experience the exuberance, debauchery, and magic of a Thursday night at PI, but as for me, I moved on after getting my groove back.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Vacation training
Yesterday we started training for our vacation.
Training for a vacation sounds silly to some. Some people vacation to relax and do nothing. I understand that philosophy, but two days of doing nothing drives me batty, and doing nothing for 2-3 weeks sounds like torture. I prefer getting out and seeing as much as I can (while still taking time to enjoy the sights), especially in Europe, which is pricey and difficult to visit.
European transportation, for tourists anyway, focuses primarily on trains and feet. You take trains between major cities, and you foot it the rest of the time. For our honeymoon, we walked between 6 and 8 miles per day, even though we were taking the Metro in Paris. And maybe some people are able to bounce into 2 straight weeks of intense walking (did I mention the stairs?), but I wasn't, so in the month and a half before our wedding, we walked. A lot. Maybe not 6-8 miles per day, but we regularly did 2-3 mile walks.
And we did great in France! We took breaks at cafes when we were tired, but not once did we wake up sore or achy. I did pull a muscle early in the trip (walking down the stairs of the Notre Dame tower--again, did I mention the stairs...), but I discovered that if you keep walking, such injuries go away in a few days.
Our strategy last year was so successful that we have decided to start another walking program. Last night we kicked it off with an hourlong trek through a nearby neighborhood. Oh, the hills--but great views.
In theory, you can train for a marathon in two months, so if we keep up with our evening walks, we can expect a painfree Italian vacation.
Training for a vacation sounds silly to some. Some people vacation to relax and do nothing. I understand that philosophy, but two days of doing nothing drives me batty, and doing nothing for 2-3 weeks sounds like torture. I prefer getting out and seeing as much as I can (while still taking time to enjoy the sights), especially in Europe, which is pricey and difficult to visit.
European transportation, for tourists anyway, focuses primarily on trains and feet. You take trains between major cities, and you foot it the rest of the time. For our honeymoon, we walked between 6 and 8 miles per day, even though we were taking the Metro in Paris. And maybe some people are able to bounce into 2 straight weeks of intense walking (did I mention the stairs?), but I wasn't, so in the month and a half before our wedding, we walked. A lot. Maybe not 6-8 miles per day, but we regularly did 2-3 mile walks.
And we did great in France! We took breaks at cafes when we were tired, but not once did we wake up sore or achy. I did pull a muscle early in the trip (walking down the stairs of the Notre Dame tower--again, did I mention the stairs...), but I discovered that if you keep walking, such injuries go away in a few days.
Our strategy last year was so successful that we have decided to start another walking program. Last night we kicked it off with an hourlong trek through a nearby neighborhood. Oh, the hills--but great views.
In theory, you can train for a marathon in two months, so if we keep up with our evening walks, we can expect a painfree Italian vacation.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
No dress regrets here
Have you ever tried on an article of clothing and wondered, "How have I lived so long without this?"
I had one of those moments this weekend at a little boutique store near my parents' house. I didn't go in to buy a new dress--I don't have any upcoming weddings this summer, and I already have a few outfits that are appropriate for summer events. But I saw a few spiffy-looking dresses and couldn't resist taking a closer look.
There were three dresses--one purple and two blue. The purple and one of the blues were a few sizes too large, so I figured there was no chance that the final dress would work. But it was my size! I had to try it on. And as soon as I tried it on, I knew I had to get it. Everyone lives with memories of the clothes or household items (Hemingway desks...) or whatever that they decided not to buy and have regretted it ever since, and I couldn't live with regret over my blue dress.
Here's the closest pic I could find--this is the same style, but my dress is a lighter blue, almost turquoise. And watch out, Italy, because this dress is coming with me.
I had one of those moments this weekend at a little boutique store near my parents' house. I didn't go in to buy a new dress--I don't have any upcoming weddings this summer, and I already have a few outfits that are appropriate for summer events. But I saw a few spiffy-looking dresses and couldn't resist taking a closer look.
There were three dresses--one purple and two blue. The purple and one of the blues were a few sizes too large, so I figured there was no chance that the final dress would work. But it was my size! I had to try it on. And as soon as I tried it on, I knew I had to get it. Everyone lives with memories of the clothes or household items (Hemingway desks...) or whatever that they decided not to buy and have regretted it ever since, and I couldn't live with regret over my blue dress.
Here's the closest pic I could find--this is the same style, but my dress is a lighter blue, almost turquoise. And watch out, Italy, because this dress is coming with me.
Books, books, books
Our book collection is good sized in comparison to our peers, though perhaps a little small considering our degrees. We have a mix of fiction (mostly mine) and non-fiction (mostly B's), a healthy collection of travel guidebooks, and now even a dictionary, which B liberated from his childhood bedroom a few weeks ago.
But you can never have too many books, at least not if you're planning to stay in one spot for a few years, and as long as all of your books are worthy of a reread. I don't see any point in owning a book so it takes up space on your shelf--if I won't reread it, I pass it along.
We stayed at my parents' house this weekend and I discovered an entire shelf of my college books. Oh, Fuentes, you are a great reminder of how badly my Spanish skills have deteriorated. And Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid--will you make any more sense ten years after my freshman writing class? Moby Dick--I had to give a report to the class on pages 100-200 or so, which meant that I never finished reading you. (Will I ever try again? Unlikely, but you never know.)
How have I been out of college for 6 years, and none of these books are in my possession? I don't even remember how they ended up in my parents' house. I moved directly from my senior-year apartment to my studio in the city, so in theory, they should have moved with me.
But they didn't--until now, that is. I kidnapped them and brought them home, so now all of my tech writing books can be together (what a happy little reunion that will be), and my literature can share space with my chick lit, and I can finally reread that fabulous Ocean City teenage-trash series that I so enjoyed back in junior high.
Unfortunately, this influx of pages and covers has put shelf space at a wicked premium, and the giant armload of books that we picked up at a book sale this weekend is only adding to the problem. I guess it's time to start cutting. I'm sorry, Mr. Melville, it's not personal, but I'm not sure if there's room on my shelves for your whale.
But you can never have too many books, at least not if you're planning to stay in one spot for a few years, and as long as all of your books are worthy of a reread. I don't see any point in owning a book so it takes up space on your shelf--if I won't reread it, I pass it along.
We stayed at my parents' house this weekend and I discovered an entire shelf of my college books. Oh, Fuentes, you are a great reminder of how badly my Spanish skills have deteriorated. And Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid--will you make any more sense ten years after my freshman writing class? Moby Dick--I had to give a report to the class on pages 100-200 or so, which meant that I never finished reading you. (Will I ever try again? Unlikely, but you never know.)
How have I been out of college for 6 years, and none of these books are in my possession? I don't even remember how they ended up in my parents' house. I moved directly from my senior-year apartment to my studio in the city, so in theory, they should have moved with me.
But they didn't--until now, that is. I kidnapped them and brought them home, so now all of my tech writing books can be together (what a happy little reunion that will be), and my literature can share space with my chick lit, and I can finally reread that fabulous Ocean City teenage-trash series that I so enjoyed back in junior high.
Unfortunately, this influx of pages and covers has put shelf space at a wicked premium, and the giant armload of books that we picked up at a book sale this weekend is only adding to the problem. I guess it's time to start cutting. I'm sorry, Mr. Melville, it's not personal, but I'm not sure if there's room on my shelves for your whale.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
How to avoid being served blackened squid while abroad
We had a couple of unpleasant culinary experiences on our honeymoon. For our first night in Nice, the restaurant served slightly blackened yet not-really-cooked squid to B and gnocchi with a gorgonzola cream sauce to me. B likened the squid to a Fear Factor gross-out challenge, and my gorgonzola sauce instilled a fear of French cheeses that will live forever.
We decided we could--and should--do better in Italy.
Asking the hotel concierge for help is a good start, but consulting a Michelin guide is better. If you only know Michelin as a tire company, then you're missing out. Their star ratings can make or break restaurants, and losing a Michelin star has undone many a French chef.
The only teeny weeny problem is that Michelin red guides (the red guides are for food and hotels) are published only in the language of the country that is rated. Between my Spanish and B's Latin, we could probably figure out some of the words, but who wants to work that hard? Not me, not on vacation, anyway.
But I discovered a Michelin red guide--in English!--for the main cities of Europe. Perfect, I thought. We'll be in Italy, Greece, Croatia, Germany, and Austria this year, and we can use the guide in all of those places. Two birds, one stone, and all of that.
Well, not so fast, Captain Awesome. Had I consulted the back cover before purchasing the book from Amazon, I would have learned that the guide doesn't cover all of the cities that we're going to. In fact, it doesn't cover either Venice or Florence, so there's almost no point in bringing it with us to Italy, unless we want to use it for our few hours in Athens (which is covered) or for our one-night layover in Frankfurt (also covered) at the end of the trip. Croatia doesn't even get a mention. For our December trip, Munich and Stuttgart are in it, but Salzburg is not.
So we're back to the original dilemma, only $20 poorer and no smarter. Ask concierge, wing it, or take our chances and buy the untranslated Italian red guide. Just no more cheese sauces, please...
We decided we could--and should--do better in Italy.
Asking the hotel concierge for help is a good start, but consulting a Michelin guide is better. If you only know Michelin as a tire company, then you're missing out. Their star ratings can make or break restaurants, and losing a Michelin star has undone many a French chef.
The only teeny weeny problem is that Michelin red guides (the red guides are for food and hotels) are published only in the language of the country that is rated. Between my Spanish and B's Latin, we could probably figure out some of the words, but who wants to work that hard? Not me, not on vacation, anyway.
But I discovered a Michelin red guide--in English!--for the main cities of Europe. Perfect, I thought. We'll be in Italy, Greece, Croatia, Germany, and Austria this year, and we can use the guide in all of those places. Two birds, one stone, and all of that.
Well, not so fast, Captain Awesome. Had I consulted the back cover before purchasing the book from Amazon, I would have learned that the guide doesn't cover all of the cities that we're going to. In fact, it doesn't cover either Venice or Florence, so there's almost no point in bringing it with us to Italy, unless we want to use it for our few hours in Athens (which is covered) or for our one-night layover in Frankfurt (also covered) at the end of the trip. Croatia doesn't even get a mention. For our December trip, Munich and Stuttgart are in it, but Salzburg is not.
So we're back to the original dilemma, only $20 poorer and no smarter. Ask concierge, wing it, or take our chances and buy the untranslated Italian red guide. Just no more cheese sauces, please...
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Upgrade your bathroom, upgrade your life
Upgrading our bathroom has had some unexpected consequences. Suddenly, our furnishings aren't quite nice enough.
We knew that our existing space saver had to go. Much of it is particle board, and the wood-ish sticker is peeling in some sections. Our new space saver is made of real wood (bamboo), so that upgrade is complete.
But when I was looking at the photos of the new bathroom, a few things stuck out. The first issue was the soap dispenser. A white plastic Dial soap dispenser (probably still has the price sticker on it) is fine on a laminate countertop, but it looks out of place in our posh new digs. And the hand towels--they don't match. They never matched, but now that the rest of the room goes so well together, they have to match, or they'll look out of place.
Last night we went to Home Goods to remedy these issues. We picked up a bronze soap dispenser that matches (mostly) the faucet and also got some beige and green hand towels. We were getting ready to check out when a raging thunderstorm broke out, so we decided to keep shopping.
We kept wandering and discovered some lantern-style lamps that were good candidates for our living room. The current lamps, from Target, are serviceable but have some construction flaws, and we've been on the lookout for replacements.
The storm stopped, and we decided we had done enough damage--B was able to tear me away from the beautiful but enormous patio table that I was swooning over--so we paid and made tracks for home with our new decorating items.
We had only one success--the soap dispenser. The green in the towels clashes terribly with the walls (note to self: bring paint chip the next time we try to decorate our bathroom), and the lamps are wrong, wrong, wrong--too tall, too glarey, and yet not enough light. The lamps and towels are going back.
Let us remember the last time we returned something--a fake plant--to Home Goods. We came home with a sink, and it's been chaos and change ever since! Maybe we should swap the lamps and towels for a fake plant and end this cycle of madness.
We knew that our existing space saver had to go. Much of it is particle board, and the wood-ish sticker is peeling in some sections. Our new space saver is made of real wood (bamboo), so that upgrade is complete.
But when I was looking at the photos of the new bathroom, a few things stuck out. The first issue was the soap dispenser. A white plastic Dial soap dispenser (probably still has the price sticker on it) is fine on a laminate countertop, but it looks out of place in our posh new digs. And the hand towels--they don't match. They never matched, but now that the rest of the room goes so well together, they have to match, or they'll look out of place.
Last night we went to Home Goods to remedy these issues. We picked up a bronze soap dispenser that matches (mostly) the faucet and also got some beige and green hand towels. We were getting ready to check out when a raging thunderstorm broke out, so we decided to keep shopping.
We kept wandering and discovered some lantern-style lamps that were good candidates for our living room. The current lamps, from Target, are serviceable but have some construction flaws, and we've been on the lookout for replacements.
The storm stopped, and we decided we had done enough damage--B was able to tear me away from the beautiful but enormous patio table that I was swooning over--so we paid and made tracks for home with our new decorating items.
We had only one success--the soap dispenser. The green in the towels clashes terribly with the walls (note to self: bring paint chip the next time we try to decorate our bathroom), and the lamps are wrong, wrong, wrong--too tall, too glarey, and yet not enough light. The lamps and towels are going back.
Let us remember the last time we returned something--a fake plant--to Home Goods. We came home with a sink, and it's been chaos and change ever since! Maybe we should swap the lamps and towels for a fake plant and end this cycle of madness.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)