I can't believe it, but sometimes shopping is NOT fun

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.

The Physics of Parenting

As far as I understand physics, which is not very far, current theories abound on alternate dimensions, alternate realities, wormholes through mulitidimensional spaces, the possibility that our reality is merely a hologram, and a space/time continuum that can be disrupted with a flux capacitor.

Very intelligent people with very advanced degrees and brains much bigger than mine are probing the universe both vast and miniscule for proof of these ambitious theories. I, however, have found proof.

Yes, it's true. I know that you're thinking, "J, I've seen you try to calculate a tip at lunch. There is no way you have solved the enormous mysteries of the universe."

But, I have seen and heard with my own senses the reality of an alternate universe. For real. And people, that universe is beautiful.

First, let me explain the players in our universal dilemma:

Reality A: That is the reality I know. It's the reality in which my friends here exist, the planar dimension in which children, laundry, discipline, homework, and all other trappings of mortal life exist.

Reality B: This reality has accidentally intruded upon my reality. This is the reality for people without children who live in real cities, have disposable income and free time.

Wormhole: The cell phone, equipped with the flux capacitor, with which I am able to communicate with Reality B.

Holographic Me: HM. The person on the other end of the flux capacitor cell phone. Sounds a lot like my younger, married, blissfully childless sister.

Now, the first blip, if you will, of the space/time continuum between Realities A and B occurred last week. HM contacted me through the Wormhole and asked what I wanted for Christmas. Christmas? That's like 2 Reality A months away! Nobody in Reality A is thinking that far ahead. Reality A people have dug their claws in and are just trying to survive effing Halloween. Clearly, Reality B time accelerates much faster than ours.

The next blip occurred three days after the conversation with HM. A box arrived on my doorstep. Was this UPS man MY UPS man? Was he a Reality A UPS man? Or was he the John Connor of UPS men? Was he a messenger not of material goods, but of space and time itself?!?

Upon opening the box, I found a gorgeous Williams-Sonoma salt-keeper made of hand polished Italian olive wood. This very item was what I told the HM I wanted for Christmas. Holy shit!! HM is sending me my wishes from an alternate dimension.

Yesterday, another box arrived from HM. It was a very appropriate, hip and well-fitting sweater for M. HM had processed my request for clothing for my husband and sent it through the wormhole device through the personage of the intergalactic UPS man? Things were indeed getting seriously cool.

THEN. This conversation. Between me and HM through the Wormhole. all the evidence in the Reality A that another reality clearly exists.

HM: You said your kids needed pj's for Christmaskah. (wow. HM even knows my hybrid holidays)

Reality A Me: Yes. PJ's are things that children on our planet sleep in.

HM: Yes. I am in Target. In the boys' section. I see pj's. I need to know what size your boys are.

RA Me: S is XS. E is M. Thank you!?!

HM: E likes this Bakugan (buh-KU-gun) thing, no?

RA Me: Yes. It is called BAK-u-gan. I don't really understand it, but it appears to be something Earthlings his age are playing with.

HM: Target has these bak-u-GAN pjs here. They seem to be navy with some kind of bomb thingys all over the pants.

RA Me: Oh, yah. He has those. Weird. Those exist in your universe, too? Perhaps they have Phineas and Ferb pjs in his size. His brother already has the Phineas and Ferb ones, but E would probably like them, too.

HM: What are you saying? Fin YAY us and Fur?

RA Me: Sorry, the Wormhole connection must not be clear. Phineas and Ferb. It's a cartoon series.

HM: How would I recognize this Finny and Fur pj?

RA Me: Phineas and Ferb. There's a ninja fighting platypus on the front.

HM: Now you're just messing with me. You can't just put random words in order and make a sentence. You must use proper, sensical words in my universe.

RA Me: No, for real. His name is Agent P. The pants have his nemesis on them. Jewish looking dude in a lab coat? His name is Dufenshmirtz. Wanna hear his theme song?

HM: Seriously. I am looking for pajamas. I do not know what the hell you are talking....oh, shit. Look at that! I found the Ninja platypus. Part mammal, part reptile, entirely effed up.

RA Me: Yes, and my son tells me that the male platypus has a poisonous spur on his hind food. Seriously strange. But I digress.

HM: OK. I have the Finny Furry pjs. Now, what about the other son? They have something here with animated cars that talk and have eyeballs instead of headlights?

RA Me: No. Those aren't cool anymore.

HM: Does S want the Backy gan pjs?

RA Me: No. S hates Bakugan. (Why can HM not learn this word?!?) What else do they have?

HM: It appears as though there are Star Wars characters made out of....Lego pieces?

RA Me: Yes! PERFECT. He loves Lego Star Wars.

HM: There were no Legos in Star Wars. Also, what is this creature that looks like a lizard? What is a Clone Wars?

RA: Yes. We call it cross marketing. Lego has recreated the entire Star Wars Universe in Lego pieces. They sell the kits for bazillions of our monetary units. Also, George Lucas created another episode of the Star Wars saga with animated aliens to expand the time between the young Jedi Anakin's training and his rebirth as Darth Vader. I think the lizard thing you see might be Ahsoka. Is it female?

HM: What the @#(*() are you talking about?

RA Me: Actually, that was way nerdier than I anticipated. Yes, get the Lego-ized animated alien pajamas. That will make son #2 happy.

HM: Great. These are only like $12. Their Christmas shopping is done, too. I'll go over to the Lego store and pick up a couple of those kits.

RA Me: YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE LEGO STORE!?!? S would explode with happiness.

HM: Yes, it's right next door to Banana Republic.

RA Me: YOU HAVE BANANA REPUBLIC?!?! I would explode with happiness.
I love your universe.

HM: I've been shopping for like 3 hours. I'm almost done with my Christmaskah list.

RA Me: But how did you shop with the kids whining and bitching and touching and begging to go home?

HM: Don't have 'em. Don't want 'em. I'm done. I'll drop these things in the mail tomorrow. Bye.

RA Me: (left staring at the Wormhole) Woah. No kids. Banana Republic. Amazing. Christmas shopping all done in peace and quiet? Woah. *Shiver*

It's humbling, people. It's a big universe. And CLEARLY, there is intelligent life out there.

It's SO FLUFFY!

Yes. Shallow. Yes. Consumerist. Yes. Expensive. Probably. Unnecessary.





I know. But I've spent a bunch of moolah this past month on kids' rooms, kids' school supplies, kids' uniforms. And now that they'll be headed back to school next week (could the whole summer have already passed?), I've been thinking about totally extraneous and expensive crap I think I'd like to have.





1. iphone. It's not my birthday, and I'm not eligible for a phone discount until January. But it's shiny. And cool.





2. ipad. It's even less necessary than an iphone. I have fantasies of my kids being able to use it to watch movies & play games on the road...and it's big and SHINY.





3. To get rid of my guest bedroom clutter. OK. True, not actually a thing, but if I could get rid of that crap, I would be able to get new carpet, and a new dresser, which is really what I'd like to put in there.





4. All-matching kitchen utensils. Lame. I want my kitchen to look like a TV studio kitchen with all the organized stuff and beautifully labeled whatevers, and the nice crock filled with whats its.





5. Really chic sunglasses. Like what's standing between me and chic is eyewear.





6. Size 8 pants that actually fit. Shut up.





7. Free, painless plastic surgery. I want it tucked, hiked up, sucked out, and plumped. Now.





8. A piece of mirrored furniture. I love that stuff. I don't want a roomful or anything. Just one piece. So beautiful. Could actually statisfy wish #3, too.



9. All the super cute clothes I looked at at Nordstrom's BEFORE I fell.

10. Some one to come to my house and help me ruthlessly declutter. I am sick of stacks of papers, despite inboxes/outboxes/bins/baskets and all other means of attempted organization.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Internet shopping to do.

That hits the spot

I love Target. Everyone I know loves Target. I also love Lowe's. Not everyone I know loves Lowe's, but that is their personal shortfall.

Target's appeal isn't just to suburbanites like myself. My husband's sister-in-law (does this make her my sister-in-law?) is a city type who treks out to the suburbs for a Target trip. Its appeal, unlike Lowe's, is definitely skewed to women. Mostly, it seems, Type A women. Hipsters, grandmas, college kids, everyone can find something at Target. I think it's so universal that the nickname Tar-jay is unnecessary: no one feels compelled to make Target more upscale than it is anymore. Target is consumer heaven.

True, I have resolved to be less consumerist. To need, want, crave, have fewer accessories and crap cluttering the house. But the thing about Target is I can buy OTHER stuff there, too!

At Target, I can stroll through aisles of bins, baskets, and sorters, visualizing my hyper-organized alter ego. I can imagine cupboards and drawers lined with fashionista-patterned shelf paper. I can see office supplies stored away in tiny paper-clip sized totes. In Aisle 34 I can compartmentalize, label, and stow the disorder, both metaphorical and literal, of my life.

In Aisle 26 in the pharmaceutical section, I can picture myself thin. Healthy protein bars, diet supplements, vitamins, shakes, sketchy products containing 'magical herbs' all beckon and promise me a bikini ready body by summer.

Conversely, in the freezer section, I can satisfy all hormonal and emotional related food cravings. Everything from greasy potstickers and southwestern egg rolls to a rainbow of ice cream flavors and Chipwiches are ready to repair a damaged psyche or PMS.

Over in the clothing section, I can peruse the Target-ized versions of the latest trends. In fact, that white denim skirt I picked up is sure to fall apart after 10 washings, but then again, it will probably be out of style after 8. Tshirts are plentiful, and actually they wash pretty well. And I can always wear more shirts. The ever-useful yoga pants are right there, too. Comfy Saturdays. Solved.

And the shoes? The pleather wonder of the shoes? I actually never buy the shoes. For one thing, there is an inverse relationship between quality of shoe and weight of shoe, such that the wedge heels Target sells can only be worn by people with magnificently strong quads. I mean Mr. Munster had sleeker footwear. But, the kids' shoes are perfect..cheap and crappy sandals for summer? Check. Galoshes to splash in puddles (once)? Check.

Kidswear is perfect at Target. Especially for boys, who really don't care about clothes anyway. Graphic tees for summer? Yup. Swim trunks. Done. A dress shirt for that one night a year when the kids need one? $10 and done. Of course, the ever popular Spiderman underwear and Spongebob pj's are an excellent bribe if you're stuck with kids through the store. "We can get those if you behave through the grocery section."

For whatever reason, Target also has an 'intimates' section. And since I'm married now, and have only bad underwear and worse underwear instead of date underwear and monthly underwear, I can pick up a 12 pack for like $8. Perfect. The occasional night shirt can be found, too, if you're willing to pick through a bunch of Disney-fied grown up sizes (sleep shirts that have a dwarf on them that say "SLEEPY." Not even the most sex-deprived husband is going to want to caress a body clad in dwarfs. OHHHH. Maybe that's why they sell those.)

There's the toy section, but I'm skipping that, because I just can't take the chorus of "I want that" right now.

Finally, I suppose, are the groceries. Every packaged, high-fructose syrup infested, refined-flour having, artificially colored, flavored, preservative-laden food you can imagine awaits at Target. Individually wrapped baked goods, salty snacks that appear to have more salt than actual salt, and every sweet smelling NEW and IMPROVED cleaning agent you can imagine. I do love the new and improved.

I could spend mornings, days walking through Target's glistening aisles. The soothing fluorescent glow reflects off of the clam packaging to remind us that our homes could be decorated with the likes of Liberty of England, our bodies clad by fashion moguls of Izaac Mizrahi, and our kitchens accented with Graves designs. It's all possible. Everything from off-brand plasma TVs to Dora The Explorer umbrellas lies before you.

It's America. Made in China. And I love it.