Weekend Wrap-Up

Friends of ours held their first bonfire of the spring season and JG and I attended rather reluctantly because we were kind of tuckered out (I think that’s what they call being old) and we thought there would be a whole gang of people. As it turned out, it was just us and the hosts, so we had a relaxing night of toasting marshmallows, eating s’mores, and playing with the border collie that decided to hang out with us. The night smelled like summer camp and freshly-cut grass. It was great.

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I went to a purported “spectacular” yard sale on Saturday morning and the event was rather falsely advertised, in my opinion. Among the scattered random junk, I found a solid wood end table that did not boast a price tag, so I hunted down the owner, who I found to be a rather gruff older lady.

RA: How much are you asking for this end table?
Owner: Oh, no price tag? $5?
RA: I’ll take it!
Owner: Oh, I should have asked for more than that. $10!
RA: I’ll give you $5.
Owner: There’s another one for sale in the house, you know.
RA: Really! I’ll take the two for $10, then.
Owner: The two will be $15 together.
RA: But two for $10 is the same as your original price.
Owner: Fine, $5 for the first and $10 for the second!

At that point, I had a feeling we were entering the twilight zone and I gave up on it. Who the heck raises a price at a yard sale?

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Our house seems to be under the 2^nd Annual Ant Siege and, judging from other folks, we’re not the only ones who have had to deal with it, as if that’s any consolation. Ugh. Having grown up in the middle of the woods, I used to think that I could handle any level of ant infestation, but now that the little soldiers have marched their way into our dishwasher, the creep factor has risen considerably. JG has officially declared war on the ants, but I wish they’d get the message and die already.

- - -

JG and I got to hang out with two of our best friends (here, on either side of me) at our house for Saturday and Sunday and the four of us had so much fun. It’s not that we went out and did a lot of stuff or had a crazy time, but because we only get to see them a few times a year, we take advantage of the time to just catch up on life and rehash all of the old inside jokes. Good times.

Super Saturday

This weekend rocked.

It’s a strange thing for me to say. Usually, the two days fly by without so much of a “how do you do” and then the workweek smacks me in the face. JG and I were really busy on Saturday, but it was full of things we wanted to do instead of things we had to do. Instead of doing chores, mowing the lawn, or catching up on bills, we actually did fun things! For once, I’m ready for Monday.

Climbing
A few weeks at the climbing gym has made JG and me lean, mean climbing machines. We’re not sore to the point of paralysis anymore! However, our friends, who came with us and had never gone before, were a different story…

Dinner out
After climbing, a group of us went out for dinner at a local restaurant that has a giant menu and correspondingly large portions. We rolled out of there after collectively consuming onion rings, French fries, a table-sized stromboli, and sundry other entrees. It was fabulous.

Book club
I ran to my book club meeting as soon as we got home for dinner. We were discussing Life of Pi, so everyone brought pie! Not one to miss a nerdy opportunity, I made an encore presentation of pi-shaped cookies and an accompanying pi-shaped cheese dip! The pictures came out all scary and pasty-looking (how attractive can a cheese dip be?), so you’ll have to take my word for it.

Late-night showing of Spider-Man 3
After I raced home from book club, JG and I met friends at a 10:15 showing of the new Spider-Man movie. There were two guys in the row in front of us who talked constantly. How can you possibly have endless commentary on everything that is going on? Apparently, they were riveted during the previews, but the movie was either completely confusing or boring. I tapped on one of the guy’s seats and said firmly, “Excuse me, could you please be quiet?” and then interrupted his response of, “Excuse me, but mind your own business,” with a sharp, “Thank you.” Ugh. People. And I wasn’t even impressed with the movie. Boo.

When JG and I got home, we both observed that we haven’t seen the 1am hour in a very long time and just about fell into bed. Forgive me if that makes us seem lame, but … well, what can I say? Party on, I guess.

Purge

I did it again. I left lip balm in my jeans pocket, which normally wouldn’t be a problem, but I washed my jeans and then melted the lip balm to oblivion in the dryer. The annoyance of replacing the lip balm aside, I knew that as soon as I found the empty tube, I would have dark spots of melted balminess on my clothing. And because I make this mistake so often, I also knew with dread certainty that those spots would never come out.

Argh.

A strange Spartan attitude took over my usual packrat mode and I tossed half a dozen shirts into the trash can after finding telltale lip balm spots. I wasn’t going to wear them because of the dark spots, so there was no use in keeping them. Then my thoughts wandered to my dresser, which was busting at the seams with clothing I know I pass by every morning. I only have so many outfits that I swap out for work, so there was no reason for me to be unable to shut the drawers on a regular basis. The latest episode of melted lip balm was the straw that broke the camel’s back: I was weeding out my wardrobe.

I splayed the contents of my bottom dresser drawers on the bed and dropped items into the Goodwill bag without a second thought. That tank top is too low, I don’t wear things with bows anymore, I shrunk that in the wash, etc. I added every button-down shirt I own because, by some strange phenomenon, my arms look like sausages in the sleeves, but I am pretty certain that my arms are not my biggest fat problem. Whatever – I didn’t wear them at all last season. I was emboldened by the growing stack of items in the bag. Look at me! I’m not being all sentimental about my clothing! I’m not like those loonies on What Not to Wear!

And then I saw that my real problem was not tank tops or bows or shrinkage. My real problem was Free T-shirts. Cue ominous music.

If such a thing existed, I would qualify for Free Stuff Anonymous. A radio commercial back in the day featured a commentator saying, “Free is my favorite price. It’s my favorite flavor. It’s my favorite color. It’s always my size.” Oh, how I related. My penchant for not paying for things resulted in an overwhelming collection of t-shirts in varying degrees of bagginess and requisite obnoxious logos. I separated the lot into four major categories:

• College: bright blue or gold, usually with a picture of a chicken
• Summer Camp: various campfire or mountainous silk-screened designs
• Rock Climbing: logo-covered prizes from competitions = human billboard
• Sentimental: gifts, inside jokes, or otherwise unexplainable to outside parties

I was aghast at the sight of the leaning tower of t-shirts. How many shirts does one person need, anyway?

Though it pained me, I slowly sorted through the stack with my newly-minted Spartan mindset. I only wear college shirts to football games, so three will suffice. I only wear camp shirts in the summer, so I only need two. Only one climbing shirt is small enough to wear in public, but I couldn’t give up any of the sentimental ones. Stacy and Clinton would be shaking their disapproving heads at me.

There is a bright side to all of this separation anxiety. After gazing at my beloved shirts forlornly, I hopped up to e-mail my mother-in-law, which I know is sort of a weird reflex. See, she made quilts for all three of her children out of childhood shirts and they had them for freshman year at college. JG’s quilt is in our living room and I use it all the time, so I asked if she would mind rescuing my shirts. She wrote back right away to say that she was “thrilled to do it,” as long as I didn’t impose a time constraint. JG snorted and said, “Yeah, I hope you don’t mind waiting for five years.”

It’s fine with me! I know I’ll get them back in quilt-form eventually, and in the meantime, I have more drawer space for new clothes…

Sweet Sale Success

A few weeks ago, I had a euphoric shopping experience thanks to a stack of birthday gift cards. Jeans, jewelry, and shoes all found their way back home, but I thought wistfully about how I was unable to snag the elusive pinstriped suit. Why can’t wardrobe classics always be in stock, in my size, and reasonably priced? It would only be practical.

The need for the suit arose because I have to go to a conference for work next week; I usually wear jeans and heels to work, so my selection of real business attire is very limited. As a sort of knee-jerk reaction, I ordered a suit online in the hopes that it would arrive in time and everything would fit perfectly.

Well, it arrived in time. I opened the box, brimming with anticipation, but my face fell when I saw what was inside. The suit was black with thin pinstripes, but the stripes were at least half an inch apart and a sort of brown-gold color, which did not add up to the classic white, thinly spaced pattern I had envisioned. One of my female co-workers remarked, “You should try it on, but the wider stripes make it kind of matronly.” Whoa. Matronly? Then I realized that I would not have even considered the suit if I had seen it in a store. I had to return it and I was not happy about it.

Yesterday, a friend and I took a spontaneous trip to the mall that was spurred by a tip that a shirt I love was on sale for a mere $10. Must go and grab every color in my size! On the way there, I mentioned that I was also on the lookout for a suit. This friend is usually game for my suggestions and we set off energetically.

Once inside the mall, my friend nudged me toward The Limited, asking, “Did you try there yet?” I declined, citing pushy salespeople and oversized pant lengths. But she pointed out the red sale signs and thought it might be worth a try. A quick sweep through the store yielded a black suit with thin blue stripes of varying widths and a cute blue top. Cumulative markdowns let me buy the jacket, pair of pants, top, and dangly earrings for the original cost of the jacket alone. Yes! I had the satisfaction of finding a suit I can use plus the added, thrilling bonus of a fantastic sale. I need to get the pants shortened by about four inches, but that’s an easy alteration that I am absolutely willing to sponsor.

At home, I bragged to JG that, in comparison to all of the items’ original costs, I saved 46%, which was more than $150. Of course, he has yet to understand how spending money saves me anything, but I’m not holding my breath on that one.

#88

Unplugged

During the day, like so many other working stiffs, I sit in front of a computer and type away at a keyboard. My morning routine of consists of work e-mail, personal e-mail, and Google Reader. After time away from my desk, I jiggle my mouse to deactivate my screen saver and check to see if any e-mails have come in during my absence. My music library has been uploaded to my hard drive and my PDA syncs with my mail server to keep track of calendar items and send me alerts. I’m not as technologically-adept as some, but I am pretty wired. Even if I don’t like coffee.

When I get home from work, I dive right into personal e-mail and blogs that may have updated throughout the day. I work on future posts, correspond with friends, upload photos, or shop online. I realized that, in total, I can spend up to twelve hours in a day staring at a glowing computer screen, positioning my fingers on the raised bits on the F and J keys, and hearing the tap-dance rhythm of the keyboard.

Twelve hours is a bit much, I decided.

On Saturday, I took a break from using my computer. I slept in. I baked carrot cake cupcakes for my book study meeting and a loaf of weekend bread for JG. I read two hundred pages of my current book and cooked dinner. That was it. No e-mails sent, no Submit Purchase buttons clicked, and no glazed eyes in the aura of the laptop. I felt like I accomplished things – real, tangible things, not just pointing and dragging and touch-padding. There’s something to be said for actual accomplishment, I think.

Now, I’m back to the workweek and the busy thrum of the Information Super Highway, but I won’t hesitate to take a scenic detour every so often.

Material Girl

A couple of months ago, I realized that I don’t buy clothes for myself unless the need is utterly dire (i.e. shrinking my go-to black pants – argh) or I have money from a gift lying around. So, for my birthday, I asked for gift cards to clothing stores so that I could treat myself to some new stuff. I don’t know if there was a conspiracy behind all of this, but in the end, I had a fistful of gift cards that were all for Ann Taylor. Maybe my family is trying to class me up or something.

Armed with my birthday money and some leftover Christmas funds that were never spent, I headed out to the mall this afternoon. (I had a slight delay while JG and I unearthed my car from a layer of snowcone shavings from yesterday’s ice storm. My car was covered in 4 inches of tiny ice marbles with not even one flake of snow. I had never seen anything like it.) I had plugged a list of things I was looking for into my Palm so that I would stay focused. Shopping is serious business for me.

Ann Taylor was my first stop because my spending there was completely guilt-free. I am very cost-conscious and I pride myself on being a savvy bargain shopper, so the experience of walking straight to the Petites section, choosing items based on size and style, and taking a pile of clothes to a dressing room was totally foreign to me. Usually, I go directly to the sale portion, survey my size section quickly, try on something if it’s marked down at least 50% and I could really use it, decide that it’s not worth the money, and cruise right out of the store. For once, the fit of the clothing was more important to me than the cost, which was strangely liberating. Is this what it’s like to be on What Not to Wear? For the first time ever, I put on a pair of jeans that fit me correctly and immediately made me feel great. Even better, I was able to pick up another pair on the way to the register! At the conclusion of my euphoric experience, I had a bag stuffed with two pairs of jeans, a pair of denim-like pants, a black-and-white dress, and two pieces of jewelry. Get this - I didn’t even spend all my gift card money and the only thing on sale was the pair of pants. It kind of freaks me out.

I emerged from Ann Taylor feeling optimistic about the rest of my day. The first item on my list was a pinstriped suit and I had a few guesses for where I might find it. In store after store, I avoided salespeople and crept around racks of jackets and pants, hoping to find the elusive combination of perfect pinstripe and separates in the right size. I could tell that there were a few of us looking for the same thing. We circled around each other, vying for the “good racks” but trying not to be pushy. We eyed the garments draped over the others’ arms, hoping to spy a pattern that looked desirable. I used my best skills in flicking through the racks to eliminate styles that didn’t come in my size and kept my ears open for cries of discovery. Alas, all of my efforts were to no avail. I could not find a suitable (ha) combination of pants and jacket in a pinstripe that I liked that happened to be for a short person. It’s so depressing to find a pair of pants that have potential and hold them up at the waist, only to find that there are eight inches of fabric pooling by your feet. Sigh.

I checked off a few items on my list (black ballet flats, camisoles), but not finding the one at the top irked me. I drove home with aching feet and an empty stomach, feeling somewhat blah. Excited to hear about my excursion, my sister called me as I parked in the driveway. I recounted my afternoon and found that I was gaining excitement over what I had found and not just what had eluded me. My sister commended me for not bargain shopping for once and said that she was looking forward to seeing all my stuff whenever we get together again. Talking to my sister was a nice way to end my session of retail therapy. It’s almost as good as actually going shopping with her.

The Mad Scrappers

Late-night games! Tables full of junk food! Door prizes! Overnight bags! Yep, my church’s women’s retreat is not a typical rustic, campfire, singing “Kumbaya” affair. I got to spend the weekend with really wonderful women who have helped grow me up and I’m not exaggerating when I claim that they are freaking hilarious. Full-contact, cross-country games of spoons and hard-core hikes in 45-mph winds are just some of the things that make these women are so much fun. As a younger one of the group, I’m more of a rare species, and stories about my wedding and being a newlywed jog their own memories. It’s a good time.

There was another group on the premises at the retreat center on the Chesapeake Bay. When I encountered participants in hallway, they wore slippers and oversized t-shirts with a giant logo emblazoned across the chest: the Mad Scrappers. A whole auditorium was devoted to what they called “cropping around the clock” and scrapbookers sat at tables covered with photos and craft supplies. In the background, elevator music hummed and an announcer held up crafty doodads that were available for purchase, of course.

Initially, the auditorium exerted a magnetic attraction for the avid scrapbookers in my retreat group. They nosed their way into the outskirts of the group, wondering what was going on. Upon discovering that the Mad Scrappers intended to have a marathon session of craftiness, the group became an object of fascination, rather than admiration. Did these people know each other? What compelled a person to sit at a table for a possible 48-hour stretch? Who could stand the background music? What if you didn’t want to buy anything? Wasn’t the announcer irritating? Were the slippers mandatory?

Unfortunately, the world may never know since none of us had the courage to ask one of the Mad Scrappers about their weekend. Speculation was part of the fun, really.

Three-Day Weekend Update

I took a mental health day on Friday, sort of randomly, but it made me realize how much I needed a break from my routine. I was amazed at how much I enjoyed running errands when my time was entirely my own. The extended weekend rocked, including but not limited to these highlights:

• On Friday, I woke up of my own accord, without the beeping alarm, groaning, and tense muscles that usually mark the workday.
• I checked off my grandmother on my Christmas shopping list: porcini olive oil and a vegetarian cookbook.
• We went to a game night with JG’s teacher friends and discovered the wonder that is Turbo Cranium. I still can’t believe that our team collectively managed to spell macadamia backward.
• It took a lot of cordless screwdriving, but JG successfully hung three different decorative (and functional) elements, while I, ah, supervised: picture ledges over the sofa, a fabulous big clock, and ten coat hooks in the entryway. The house now gives the impression that we could have company and some class!

I have to pack up to go to work tomorrow and I’m realizing – I am not psyched to go in tomorrow. But you know what is almost as fun as a three-day weekend? That would be a two-day week, followed by a five-day weekend with lots of turkey and shopping. Booyah.

Spirit and Soreness

This weekend, JG and I attended the UD football game against New Hampshire, the #1-ranked Division 1-AA team in the country. He grilled burgers for dinner while I sat in the back of the Subaru. We had great football weather – snappy breezes and some low clouds – and it was exciting to be at the stadium for a night game. We even busted out our blue-and-gold, tacky-but-spirited scarves for the evening.

New Hampshire won with a score of 52-49, which is much closer than we expected it to be, but our defense could have been so much cleaner. I think it’s safe to say that I have never screamed as much as I did at the game. In my four layers of UD clothing, I hopped all over as we scored 7 touchdowns (!) and messed up 2 blitzes. I was that tiny, high-pitched girl who knows more about football than you’d give her credit for, especially when I hollered bloody murder about those flubbed sacks that went on to become touchdowns. For the love…!

I’m paying for my enthusiasm today; my throat is not happy with me. Even with the soothing/burning sensation of hot chocolate on the way home, tea on Sunday, and a conscious effort not to talk too much, my voice is two octaves lower than it should be. My reward for my team spirit was a sore and scratchy throat, accompanied by sneezing and coughing. Ugh. I don't care, Saturday's volume was worth today's discomfort! After all, the team needed me!

Happy Fall Weekend

I used to love the first day of school. It was the signal to start over, stock up on new supplies, and buy one or two new outfits. Most importantly, it was the start of fall – the best season! In my New England childhood, that meant jumping in piles of rust-toned leaves (and watching out for the occasional slug), eating Crockpot meals like beef stew and pot roast, and the annual farewell to my pollen-induced allergies. Hooray!

Well, my mid-Atlantic leaves are still green, and my allergies haven't quite gone away yet, but this weekend, despite the 70-degree weather and the sound of lawnmowers in the background, is when fall starts for me, and here’s why:

Today: The first University of Delaware football game
Thanks to the generosity of JG’s parents, we have season tickets to go see the University of Delaware football team, and today is the season opener against West Chester University. The game will probably be a blowout because WCU isn’t even in the same division as we are, but it’s a traditional rivalry, and it’s nice to start out the season with a win. I didn’t enjoy football at all before I met JG; as far as I was concerned, the football field was primarily for marching band practice, as I’ve implied before. When I had to give up the band in college due to schedule conflicts, JG and I took advantage of the free student section of the football games – awful seats behind the goal post – and he taught me how to watch the game. At first, I just watched the scoreboard and listened to the announcer, and honestly, from that viewpoint, you can’t tell whether the guys go 5 yards or 50. Soon, though, I began to notice that the same guy usually ran or threw, and I kept hearing the same names over the loudspeaker for completed passes or blitzes. In the weeks before UD won the Division 1-AA National Championship in 2003, JG and I were at every playoff game, even when we had to chip snow and ice off our bleacher seats, and I was as good a football fan as any. Tonight, I’m looking forward to seats on the home side (such luxury!), and I’ll be able to see my friends in the band as well as tell how far plays run. Plus, we’re bringing a sort of tailgate dinner, and there’s always a chance that we’ll run into the mascot in the parking lot!

Tomorrow: The 21st Annual Mushroom Festival
The farms in our little town in Pennsylvania produce half of the world’s mushrooms (I should note here that I love the little fungi and JG has grown to tolerate them), and there is a festival each year to celebrate our major export. It’s always the weekend after Labor Day, and it is a quintessential small town activity, except that it’s infused with mushrooms. There’s an antique car parade, a rock climbing wall for kids, animals up for adoption from the SPCA, and stalls upon stalls of free giveaways and samples from local businesses. The town closes off its main street around the square, and signs in the periphery read, “Mushroom Festival 9/9-9/10. Suggest another route.” Last year at this time, the offer that JG and I made on our house had just been accepted, so we decided to go to the festival to get a taste of what our new town would be like. We paid five bucks for parking and ambled around, checking out the old cars, watching street performers, and buying a snack of the best fried mushrooms caps we’ve ever had. We stumbled upon a used bookstore that was having its grand opening that day, and we came away with handfuls of dollar novels and random other reading material. The Mushroom Festival is special to JG and me, and I can’t wait to walk up and catch the cooking demonstrations from area chefs tomorrow afternoon. This time, I’ll bring my camera and hopefully get shots of all of the random mushroom-shaped paraphernalia that showed up last year, everything from lawn sculptures to bird houses to candle holders. I’ll definitely be on the lookout for those fried mushrooms, too.