You may remember that about this time last year, I was in search of new toilets. At the time, I was shocked and awed by the selection...tall, short, oval round, water saving, rocket powered--many, many options. That was one of life's micro-crises.
Recently, my dishwasher has decided to stop doing dishes. Which would be fine if it had other household responsibilities. I mean, I'd be happy to pick up the slack if the dishwasher still planned to vacuum and cook dinner. But, alas, dish washing is this meager appliance's only responsibility, and it is failing.
Not that I'm sad, mind you.
This is not a loyal appliance that has served me well for an entire appliance-lifetime. Nooooo. This is one that came with the house, and already had a rusted out tine in the upper basket before we even got here. Also, this particular model has the silverware basket in the door, which is annoying a) because you have to slide in both top baskets to get at it and b) the latch doesn't stay caught and all the silverware slides into the bottom. Also, after years of heating and cooling the plastic covers on the buttons in the front are peeling away. Also, it's all stained and rusted inside. Also, did I mention: IT DOESN'T CLEAN THE DISHES!!!
So, onto the computer I go: ratings, features, brands, cost, installation, size....sigh. It's all so much.
I was able to determine 2 things straight off: quietness is of premium importance and quietness costs. A noisy dishwasher, though I'm sure it cleans well enough, was like half the cost of a quiet one.
Behind noise level, efficacy. Behind that, ease of use. Behind that, energy efficiency. Behind that, appearance. The problem is, there's no quantifiable measure of efficacy (until you use it, of course). So, all I can say is product A has x number of jets and y number of cycles. But, honestly, who has ever used multiple cycles on their dishwasher? 98% of the time, we run "normal." So, cycles isn't really a measure of anything except the number of buttons on the front.
Energy efficiency is quantifiable, except for one thing: Bosch, which is a premium brand boasts stupendous, if not unbelievable, energy efficiency. Then I find out that it has no heating element. It doesn't heat-dry the dishes. Well, that explains how it uses crazy less energy. Also, water consumption isn't clearly quantified, either. And, for my dollar that matters more than how much energy I'm using.
Then there's appearance. Currently, my appliances are all white and matched. BUT. The fridge's handles are yellowing with age. I don't think the white is ageing well. BUT, I don't want to clean fingerprints off a stainless steel appliance for the rest of my life, either. I can't commit to a black dishwasher, because it will stick out like a sore thumb. I know, the problems of the bourgeoisie. So, I'm standing in the middle of Sears completely baffled about the possibility of an interracial appliance family.
M weighs in: "I refuse to pay more to have the buttons hidden away to look pretty." BUT you HAVE to tell me what color you want."
Me, fast, breathless, confused: "I don't like the white one, and if I get the white one, then I'll have to get white other appliances as they fail, too. And if I get a black dishwasher, then it's going to not match until something else breaks, and that's going to make me nuts. Plus, I'll be committed to black appliances in the future and maybe I won't want black. BUT if I get stainless, I'm going to spend the rest of this dishwasher's life cleaning up fingerprints and I REALLY don't want to do that. If I get the stainless dishwasher, then I could go ahead and get a black or non-marking stainless fridge down the line, I guess. But I hate to spend $100 on stainless just to make things match. OH MY GOD, I don't know what to do."
M: "Whatever you decide, I'm happy to buy the stainless now, but the words, 'But they don't MATCH' better not cross your lips for the entire lifetime of your remaining appliances."
Me: "But a new fridge is so SHINY."
M: "DISHWASHER. WE ARE HERE FOR DISHWASHER."
Me: "But they're not going to MA--. Stainless."
So, we were able to narrow down to 3 options. In the end, I sat in the furniture section, peering at my iPhone, poring over reviews and comparisons until M had enough. With conviction, he rose, strode over to the counter and bought one.
Leaving me a lifetime to second guess.
Showing posts with label finance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label finance. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
An Open Letter
Dear Jerk,
Lemme tell you a few things that are on my mind right now:
1. If you are going to insist on stealing a credit card number, go ahead and don't take mine.
2. Once you have stolen a credit card number, don't be a total douche and spend $700 at FOOTLOCKER in MILAN. Really? In all of Milan, you couldn't find a better place to buy shoes? Milan, buddy. Headquarters of shoes coveted by everyone everywhere and you went to Footlocker. Christ, some half-wit in Jersey could steal a credit card and go to Footlocker. I really expected better fashion sense from an Italian.
3. Also, next time, could you steal my card on a Monday or Tuesday? That would give the company a few business days to send me a new card. Stealing a card on a Thursday afternoon really louses up my whole weekend.
4. Seriously. Footlocker?
5. Really, your timing sucked. I got my iphone last week. And I got the crappy data plan with it. So, I went and got a router so that I could have wi-fi in the house. M was crazy busy last week, so he didn't hook it up until Saturday morning. Which meant that by the time I FINALLY had my router, I had no credit card to buy new apps. Which annoys me beyond reason.
6. I think that as punishment for stealing the credit card number, YOU should have to go to all of our autopay sites and update them with the new credit card information when we get it. Seriously. It's annoying. And I just know that we'll think we've got them all done, and then a PAST DUE notice will come and we'll realize we totally forgot to update something important, like the water bill, and then I'll have soapy hair and be stuck in a dry shower, and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT.
7. Maybe, if you need sneakers or trainersor whatever they call them in Italy, so badly, you could get a job at Footlocker. For real, right? They hire just about anybody. And you clearly have some computer knowledge as you managed to intercept my credit card number. Go ahead and get a job, ok?
8. Finally, and I say this sincerely: if I were to find out who you are, I would send the angry hoard of Capital One vikings out to avenge me. And then you had better hope that the sneakers you STOLE help you run fast, because those guys will show no mercy.
Sincerely,
Julie P.
Lemme tell you a few things that are on my mind right now:
1. If you are going to insist on stealing a credit card number, go ahead and don't take mine.
2. Once you have stolen a credit card number, don't be a total douche and spend $700 at FOOTLOCKER in MILAN. Really? In all of Milan, you couldn't find a better place to buy shoes? Milan, buddy. Headquarters of shoes coveted by everyone everywhere and you went to Footlocker. Christ, some half-wit in Jersey could steal a credit card and go to Footlocker. I really expected better fashion sense from an Italian.
3. Also, next time, could you steal my card on a Monday or Tuesday? That would give the company a few business days to send me a new card. Stealing a card on a Thursday afternoon really louses up my whole weekend.
4. Seriously. Footlocker?
5. Really, your timing sucked. I got my iphone last week. And I got the crappy data plan with it. So, I went and got a router so that I could have wi-fi in the house. M was crazy busy last week, so he didn't hook it up until Saturday morning. Which meant that by the time I FINALLY had my router, I had no credit card to buy new apps. Which annoys me beyond reason.
6. I think that as punishment for stealing the credit card number, YOU should have to go to all of our autopay sites and update them with the new credit card information when we get it. Seriously. It's annoying. And I just know that we'll think we've got them all done, and then a PAST DUE notice will come and we'll realize we totally forgot to update something important, like the water bill, and then I'll have soapy hair and be stuck in a dry shower, and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT.
7. Maybe, if you need sneakers or trainersor whatever they call them in Italy, so badly, you could get a job at Footlocker. For real, right? They hire just about anybody. And you clearly have some computer knowledge as you managed to intercept my credit card number. Go ahead and get a job, ok?
8. Finally, and I say this sincerely: if I were to find out who you are, I would send the angry hoard of Capital One vikings out to avenge me. And then you had better hope that the sneakers you STOLE help you run fast, because those guys will show no mercy.
Sincerely,
Julie P.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Anti Karma
Some things are just hexed from the get-go. Northwestern Football, for example. Much like the billy goat from Wrigley, there is a wildcat roaming this country, cursed. The Rose Bowl incident from a few years ago? Best forgotten. (Although Mr. Johnson, I have not in fact, forgotten. And USC is receiving some serious karma right now, as we speak.) But I digress..
Yes, so this year, at the announcement of the Outback Bowl invite for NU, I impulsively demanded that we go. "It will be fun," I said. "It will be nostalgic," I said. "It will be without kids," I said.
So, M begins to work on tickets. He buys tickets through Northwestern so that the school receives 'credit' for selling out its allotment of tickets. M begins to work on the hotel issue. Hotels appear costly, and he begins negotiations on Priceline. He bids on a price, having a specific hotel in mind. However, unbeknown to him, there is ANOTHER hotel within his radius that fits the parameters of his bid. And he wins that hotel with his bid. We look up the hotel, which appears to be very nice. However, his bid was $10 more than the hotel's listed price. At least we will get a good room...
Tickets arrive in the mail. While they are in the student section, they are the worst seats in the stadium. They are a few rows up from the field, but in the end zone, which means that any play run from the near ten yard-line to the end zone will be invisible to us; as will any play from the fifty yard line to the far end zone. Oh, well. We'll be with our comrades.
The drive to Tampa was uneventful, if long. But, we pulled in to our hotel without any damage. Our room is adjacent to the exercise room and the phht phht phht of the exercise equipment. It is also directly under the housing for the elevator Bzzt. Stop. Bzzt. Stop. Bzzt.
Beautiful day, that day of driving. Football weather? 50s and pouring rain. Brr.
At the stadium, M found himself in a foul mood because the hotel had failed to deliver on its promised stadium shuttle. Instead, the hotel drove people to the stadium in Town cars (four or 5 at a time) for $20 per person/round trip. As we entered the stadium, the "guard" confiscated M's Reese's Pieces. Which was not too galling, until we went inside and the concessionaire was selling Reese's Pieces for $8.
I know when not to bug M for a souvenir, but game wear was one souvenir I had to have. Overpriced shirt? Stupidly expensive hat? Wisely, and like a dad, he says, "you don't want to have to hold on to it for the whole game, we'll pick one up on the way out."
Sit through rain. More rain. More rain. One of our friends, who we were planning to see after the game, is forced to cancel because of his status as designated driver.
AMAZING COMEBACK...thwarted. Glum, heartbroken, we exit the stadium. I stop at the souvenir stand to buy my shirt. Wisely, and like a dad, M says,"I flagged down this dude in a golf cart who will drive us to the shuttle drop off point. Then we don't have to walk over a mile in the rain. You can buy your shirt online."
This is true. And walking in the rain is not appealing when the adrenaline of pregame is gone. We hitch a ride with the golf cart dude, and he does, in fact save us a hell of a walk. We are the first ones to the shuttle, and since it only holds four, we are stoked to be shoo-ins. The plus two are Auburn fans. Silence on the ride back to the hotel. Dinner? Two and a half hour wait...take out it is. The drive home? Uneventful except for our single gas stop at DeSomething Springs, Florida. This hamlet has only one functioning gas station. And a Burger King. Which we eschew for the slightly less revolting WhatABurger. I race into WhatABurger's potty. And slam, with great force, a door on my fingers. Crying, I wolf down my burger and drive the rest of the way home. WhatAnOwie.
I order my shirt and hat online on January 2. I receive confirmation and shipping date for January 5. I wait and wait. Yesterday, after still not receiving my souvenirs, I check the tracking information which confirms the shirt was delivered on the 7th. I go outside, look under bushes, NO FREAKING SHIRT.
Look, karma. We overpaid for our room, watched a losing game on the Jumbotron, sat in world's most overpriced shuttle, compromised on take out, filled our car with watery gas, broke two fingers, didn't get to see friends, and gave up our Reese's Pieces. I want MY FREAKING SHIRT NOW.
Please?
Yes, so this year, at the announcement of the Outback Bowl invite for NU, I impulsively demanded that we go. "It will be fun," I said. "It will be nostalgic," I said. "It will be without kids," I said.
So, M begins to work on tickets. He buys tickets through Northwestern so that the school receives 'credit' for selling out its allotment of tickets. M begins to work on the hotel issue. Hotels appear costly, and he begins negotiations on Priceline. He bids on a price, having a specific hotel in mind. However, unbeknown to him, there is ANOTHER hotel within his radius that fits the parameters of his bid. And he wins that hotel with his bid. We look up the hotel, which appears to be very nice. However, his bid was $10 more than the hotel's listed price. At least we will get a good room...
Tickets arrive in the mail. While they are in the student section, they are the worst seats in the stadium. They are a few rows up from the field, but in the end zone, which means that any play run from the near ten yard-line to the end zone will be invisible to us; as will any play from the fifty yard line to the far end zone. Oh, well. We'll be with our comrades.
The drive to Tampa was uneventful, if long. But, we pulled in to our hotel without any damage. Our room is adjacent to the exercise room and the phht phht phht of the exercise equipment. It is also directly under the housing for the elevator Bzzt. Stop. Bzzt. Stop. Bzzt.
Beautiful day, that day of driving. Football weather? 50s and pouring rain. Brr.
At the stadium, M found himself in a foul mood because the hotel had failed to deliver on its promised stadium shuttle. Instead, the hotel drove people to the stadium in Town cars (four or 5 at a time) for $20 per person/round trip. As we entered the stadium, the "guard" confiscated M's Reese's Pieces. Which was not too galling, until we went inside and the concessionaire was selling Reese's Pieces for $8.
I know when not to bug M for a souvenir, but game wear was one souvenir I had to have. Overpriced shirt? Stupidly expensive hat? Wisely, and like a dad, he says, "you don't want to have to hold on to it for the whole game, we'll pick one up on the way out."
Sit through rain. More rain. More rain. One of our friends, who we were planning to see after the game, is forced to cancel because of his status as designated driver.
AMAZING COMEBACK...thwarted. Glum, heartbroken, we exit the stadium. I stop at the souvenir stand to buy my shirt. Wisely, and like a dad, M says,"I flagged down this dude in a golf cart who will drive us to the shuttle drop off point. Then we don't have to walk over a mile in the rain. You can buy your shirt online."
This is true. And walking in the rain is not appealing when the adrenaline of pregame is gone. We hitch a ride with the golf cart dude, and he does, in fact save us a hell of a walk. We are the first ones to the shuttle, and since it only holds four, we are stoked to be shoo-ins. The plus two are Auburn fans. Silence on the ride back to the hotel. Dinner? Two and a half hour wait...take out it is. The drive home? Uneventful except for our single gas stop at DeSomething Springs, Florida. This hamlet has only one functioning gas station. And a Burger King. Which we eschew for the slightly less revolting WhatABurger. I race into WhatABurger's potty. And slam, with great force, a door on my fingers. Crying, I wolf down my burger and drive the rest of the way home. WhatAnOwie.
I order my shirt and hat online on January 2. I receive confirmation and shipping date for January 5. I wait and wait. Yesterday, after still not receiving my souvenirs, I check the tracking information which confirms the shirt was delivered on the 7th. I go outside, look under bushes, NO FREAKING SHIRT.
Look, karma. We overpaid for our room, watched a losing game on the Jumbotron, sat in world's most overpriced shuttle, compromised on take out, filled our car with watery gas, broke two fingers, didn't get to see friends, and gave up our Reese's Pieces. I want MY FREAKING SHIRT NOW.
Please?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Karma
I often have very bad luck when it comes to the service industry. My sister and her husband, for example, manage to find coupons, odd stock, mispriced merchandise, and other serendipitous cash windfalls. I, on the other hand, have SUCKER tattooed on my forehead, and the clerks (I swear) see me coming, and re-label their stock: "now, only twice the regular price!!"
**Sigh**
Today, after postponing the inevitable pain, I decided to start gathering estimates for tires. Because I had the ill fortune of leasing a car with 1) unusually sized tires and 2)tires that failed to last their promised 30,000 miles. Because the tires should last roughly as long as the lease, thereby not requiring me to put money into a vehicle that is ultimately not mine, this was not a purchase I had planned. The tires, by general consensus of Mobile tire stores cost $846.00
Gasp. That is the kind of price that momentarily takes your breath away. Especially when you realize that this car will only be in my driveway for another year and a half. Interestingly, however, the very friendly people at the tire stores suggested that the wear on my tire suggests improper alignment.
The thing is, I take my vehicle to the dealer for all scheduled maintenance and repairs for a few reasons. One, since the car is leased, I want the maintenance record to be beyond reproach. Two, since the car is new, any repairs should really be under warranty. (Which, in the case of my pathetic squeaky horn, is the case. New, full-sounding horn is ready to be installed). So, the dealer SHOULD have been rotating and aligning the tires with every oil change.
When I got my second $800-plus estimate, I decided to go to the dealer and ask why alignment should have caused this wear.
I'm dressed nicely today, because we all know that a middle aged woman gets nothing she wants when she's wearing sweat pants (unless what she wants is to be left alone). And, also, I feel more confident when wearing clothing that doesn't look like I slept in it. I've had my coffee. I'm ready to ask politely for what's mine and slink away when I don't get it.
I go in, armed for argument. The assistant manager of the service department at the dealer is great. She's a woman, which of course helps with the empathy factor, and she's really friendly. I explain my problem, and she immediately says that it's a problem for her manager.
Non-karmic me knows this phrase. Non-karmic me knows that this is where the manager says, "if you had come in yesterday or tomorrow or next week or the eleventh of October, I could have helped you. But not today. Give me my $800 and wait two hours, please." Non-karmic me knows this drill very well. This is where my slightly expired coupon, my holey sweater, my shrunken dry cleaning, is now all MY problem and the clerk has never heard of my situation, doesn't know what to do with my situation, refuses to acknowledge my situation, or refers me to a manager who will greet my situation with disdain, lack of interest, lack of empathy, and most importantly, lack of solution. Non-karmic me is prepared for this eventuality and braces for offense.
"My manager is in a meeting. Hold on, our regional manager is here. I'll be right back."
Regional manager? Non-karmic me seldom gets to the upper echelon of management. Non-karmic me usually gives up after shift manager, resigned to pay the full amount of whatever I owe plus the arbitrary fee often assigned to me as penalty for being non-karmic.
I wait.
Assistant Manager comes in the door, wearing an unexpected smile.
"Merry Christmas!"
I am confused momentarily. Is she going to greet me with a tardy salutation right before she socks me with the full price plus SUCKER fee?
"He said he's seen this problem before. He said to give you a set of tires."
Stunned, I repeat, "give?" As in, free? As in I don't have to pay nearly a thousand dollars for tires I didn't think would wear out but did and cost more than they should because of their unusual size that I didn't really need in the first place? FREE?"
"When do you want them?"
Feeling sheepish, as though I have approached this woman right before her final psychiatric break, I say, "now. Before y'all change your mind."
"Can't do now. But I have the signed paper saying free tires."
"ASAP."
My karma could run out at any time. I could be in a wreck on my way to the dealership. But for now, FREE TIRES. Karmic me is wondering if today's The DAY. Do I need plumbing? Electrical? Yard work? I should seize the moment before I use up all my good luck.
**Sigh**
Today, after postponing the inevitable pain, I decided to start gathering estimates for tires. Because I had the ill fortune of leasing a car with 1) unusually sized tires and 2)tires that failed to last their promised 30,000 miles. Because the tires should last roughly as long as the lease, thereby not requiring me to put money into a vehicle that is ultimately not mine, this was not a purchase I had planned. The tires, by general consensus of Mobile tire stores cost $846.00
Gasp. That is the kind of price that momentarily takes your breath away. Especially when you realize that this car will only be in my driveway for another year and a half. Interestingly, however, the very friendly people at the tire stores suggested that the wear on my tire suggests improper alignment.
The thing is, I take my vehicle to the dealer for all scheduled maintenance and repairs for a few reasons. One, since the car is leased, I want the maintenance record to be beyond reproach. Two, since the car is new, any repairs should really be under warranty. (Which, in the case of my pathetic squeaky horn, is the case. New, full-sounding horn is ready to be installed). So, the dealer SHOULD have been rotating and aligning the tires with every oil change.
When I got my second $800-plus estimate, I decided to go to the dealer and ask why alignment should have caused this wear.
I'm dressed nicely today, because we all know that a middle aged woman gets nothing she wants when she's wearing sweat pants (unless what she wants is to be left alone). And, also, I feel more confident when wearing clothing that doesn't look like I slept in it. I've had my coffee. I'm ready to ask politely for what's mine and slink away when I don't get it.
I go in, armed for argument. The assistant manager of the service department at the dealer is great. She's a woman, which of course helps with the empathy factor, and she's really friendly. I explain my problem, and she immediately says that it's a problem for her manager.
Non-karmic me knows this phrase. Non-karmic me knows that this is where the manager says, "if you had come in yesterday or tomorrow or next week or the eleventh of October, I could have helped you. But not today. Give me my $800 and wait two hours, please." Non-karmic me knows this drill very well. This is where my slightly expired coupon, my holey sweater, my shrunken dry cleaning, is now all MY problem and the clerk has never heard of my situation, doesn't know what to do with my situation, refuses to acknowledge my situation, or refers me to a manager who will greet my situation with disdain, lack of interest, lack of empathy, and most importantly, lack of solution. Non-karmic me is prepared for this eventuality and braces for offense.
"My manager is in a meeting. Hold on, our regional manager is here. I'll be right back."
Regional manager? Non-karmic me seldom gets to the upper echelon of management. Non-karmic me usually gives up after shift manager, resigned to pay the full amount of whatever I owe plus the arbitrary fee often assigned to me as penalty for being non-karmic.
I wait.
Assistant Manager comes in the door, wearing an unexpected smile.
"Merry Christmas!"
I am confused momentarily. Is she going to greet me with a tardy salutation right before she socks me with the full price plus SUCKER fee?
"He said he's seen this problem before. He said to give you a set of tires."
Stunned, I repeat, "give?" As in, free? As in I don't have to pay nearly a thousand dollars for tires I didn't think would wear out but did and cost more than they should because of their unusual size that I didn't really need in the first place? FREE?"
"When do you want them?"
Feeling sheepish, as though I have approached this woman right before her final psychiatric break, I say, "now. Before y'all change your mind."
"Can't do now. But I have the signed paper saying free tires."
"ASAP."
My karma could run out at any time. I could be in a wreck on my way to the dealership. But for now, FREE TIRES. Karmic me is wondering if today's The DAY. Do I need plumbing? Electrical? Yard work? I should seize the moment before I use up all my good luck.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Ten days on the radar
I don't want to alarm you, but Friday, among the discounted Halloween bins, there was (brace yourself) a whole lotta Christmas crap.
My sister and her husband, Type A Extraordinaires, phoned me from an actual store (not their office, in front of the computer) to verify Hanukah gifts for my kids.
The grocery store had a sign urging me to order holiday hams now.
No.
I refuse.
I decline to be shuttled from holiday to holiday by the retail Powers That Be. I don't want to be immersed in the list-making, last minute shopping, teacher gift forgetting chaos that is the holidays. IN NOVEMBER.
I don't want anything ahead of me except Veteran's Day. That is 10 days from now. I will put on a poppy, tie a yellow ribbon, and pay respect to the honorable veterans of this and other countries. I can do that. I can feel in control for a ten day plan ahead schedule.
I might even go so far as to be able to look to November 19th, when my parents come to town. I can think of the things that need cleaning, and the organizing to do.
That's it. My limit. 2 weeks and 4 days.
Damn you, stock market expectations for retailers. Stupid shop-ahead-and-save sales. Ridiculous buy buy buy mentality. There are literally shelves full of Snuggies for Pets with signs plastered everywhere: makes a great gift!!!!!! (Exclamation marks not mine.)
Just to let you know, if you ARE going to the stupid shop-ahead-and-save sales, or ARE of the buy buy buy mentality: don't buy me a Snuggie for Clooney. He has fur, like all lovable pets (who wants a bald chihuahua?), and doesn't need a blanket, much less a blanket with sleeves, since he doesn't read, or do crosswords, or use the remote control, and therefore doesn't need his paws free.
Snuggies DO NOT make great gifts!!!!!! (Exclamation marks mine.)
SO. I am breaking out my inner Scrooge in concert with the ever-earlier Christmas Marketing Extravaganza. I will not be proceeding into the holiday melee until Hanukah or Christmas (whichever comes first) is 2 weeks and 4 days away.
Until then, have an emotionally appropriate Veteran's Day.
My sister and her husband, Type A Extraordinaires, phoned me from an actual store (not their office, in front of the computer) to verify Hanukah gifts for my kids.
The grocery store had a sign urging me to order holiday hams now.
No.
I refuse.
I decline to be shuttled from holiday to holiday by the retail Powers That Be. I don't want to be immersed in the list-making, last minute shopping, teacher gift forgetting chaos that is the holidays. IN NOVEMBER.
I don't want anything ahead of me except Veteran's Day. That is 10 days from now. I will put on a poppy, tie a yellow ribbon, and pay respect to the honorable veterans of this and other countries. I can do that. I can feel in control for a ten day plan ahead schedule.
I might even go so far as to be able to look to November 19th, when my parents come to town. I can think of the things that need cleaning, and the organizing to do.
That's it. My limit. 2 weeks and 4 days.
Damn you, stock market expectations for retailers. Stupid shop-ahead-and-save sales. Ridiculous buy buy buy mentality. There are literally shelves full of Snuggies for Pets with signs plastered everywhere: makes a great gift!!!!!! (Exclamation marks not mine.)
Just to let you know, if you ARE going to the stupid shop-ahead-and-save sales, or ARE of the buy buy buy mentality: don't buy me a Snuggie for Clooney. He has fur, like all lovable pets (who wants a bald chihuahua?), and doesn't need a blanket, much less a blanket with sleeves, since he doesn't read, or do crosswords, or use the remote control, and therefore doesn't need his paws free.
Snuggies DO NOT make great gifts!!!!!! (Exclamation marks mine.)
SO. I am breaking out my inner Scrooge in concert with the ever-earlier Christmas Marketing Extravaganza. I will not be proceeding into the holiday melee until Hanukah or Christmas (whichever comes first) is 2 weeks and 4 days away.
Until then, have an emotionally appropriate Veteran's Day.
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