New Year's Resolutions: Let's see if I can do better this year.

 

I'm fully aware that it's almost the middle of February, FAR past the time when I give out the grades from my New Year's Resolution from the previous year. In this case, the previous year being 2022.   Oh yes, 2023 was that kind of year.

So here are the resolutions I made in 2022:

5) Stop using my Visa after February 1, 2023.

 Yeah, that's an F.

4) Time at the computer means working or writing. Not shopping.

Please refer to #5.  Also F.

3) Get back on the program!

Okay, I was actually sort of okay with this. I didn't lose any weight, but I didn't gain anything from my start of 2023 numbers.  Give me a C+.

2) Take a class.

I actually looked around for a class to take.  And then I got bogged down in getting hired by two companies at the same time, quitting my job with Stuff Recovered, and starting at "Stuff Sorted."  So, figuring out 2023's version of applying for and interviewing for jobs and then starting a new job, that's kind of like taking a class, right?  At least I'll give myself a solid D.

1) Replace guilt with self-care.

And we're back to failing.  F

So, in review, 2023 wound up being Three F's, a D and a C+.  Not great. 

I made one simple resolution in 2024.  Ready?

DO NOT USE THE KOHL'S CARD OR THE TORRID CARD OR PAYPAL.

2023 Was kind of rough on the credit cards. I was easing my general sense of depression with online shopping. A LOT of online shopping. A LOT.  So, this year, I've put away my two store cards and promised myself not to online shop with PayPal this year.  

Six weeks in, how am I doing?

Well, I used PayPal one time. In my defense, it was the first time I'd been on eBay in two years and it was muscle memory.

okay, clearly I have no defense. LOL

As for Kohl's, so far, so good.

Torrid, well, I found a wee loophole.  They let me use my Torrid awards and all that even if I pay with my Visa. So...I shopped AT Torrid, but not WITH Torrid.

So, now Lent is upon us, and as you may know, I like to give up something for Lent.  So, here we go:

Yeah, I'm not giving up coffee. That would be silly.

No, here we go:

NO ONLINE SHOPPING FOR LENT.  That's right.  40 days of no online shopping. 

I have to be organized enough to get my book order in for the big event I'm doing in April.  I'm the keynote speaker for the Sisters in Christ Retreat in Michigan April 19-21. So, yeah, I have to get my book order IN before Fat Tuesday.  (That'll be a huge hit on my poor, over-used credit card.)  And then....NO ONLINE SHOPPING for 40 days.

Which will be fine, since I'm trying like the dickens to get my newest MAX MARCHINO novel out by April 1.  I'm way far away from that. So, yes, what I need is 40 days of NO SHOPPING.

Oh, BTW, here's the new cover for the newest book:

Pretty great, right?

So there you have it. I'm doubling down on giving up retailing.  Let's see how we do!

That's One Way to Get my Steps in!

 

Good day to all of you out there!

To those of you who celebrate Christmas:  Merry Christmas and get shopping! LOL

To those of you who celebrate Hanukkah: Happy Hanukkah!

To those of you who celebrate something else: Happy Holidays and the Best Season's Greetings!

Okay, so this year for my birthday I got a gift card to Kohls from my dear mother-in-law. She's been very supportive through my weight loss journey (down 27 pounds since May, thank you #Noom!  And now, I'm not on Dr. Now's diet because, well, I like food! LOL)

Anyway, she got me the gift card because she wanted me to get some new clothes for my new size, which I did. I found a really nifty pair of smaller sized jeans.  But, since it's Kohl's, they were on clearance plus I had a coupon plus there was another discount which meant I had money on the GC for something else.

I'm really not in need of anything that much, but I figured a new purse would be nice. I've been using the same two purses for years. One I got at St. Vincent de Paul and it's big and bulky and heavy. The other one is a touch too small for everything I need to carry around, plus it's getting old too.

So, I bought a purse. A nice, stylish, moderately large purse.  And then I put my stuff in it.

And now it weighs about fifty pounds.

Don't believe me, ask my friend, Buttercup!  She hefted it recently while we were waiting in line to get our CDs signed by everyone at the Bob and Brian Show.  (It's something we do every year. Not sure what it is, or who Bob and Brian are?  Click on the link or read past posts on this blog!  LOL)   

Anyway, so, what I'm saying is, my purse is heavy.

 I've emptied that thing half a dozen times, trimmed down what's in it, and it still weighs a ton.  And I've only had it a few weeks.

Well, I like it, so I'll live with it. 

Or that's what I thought...until yesterday.  

See, I have this really organized wallet. It's pink, it's cute, it holds all my cards and whatever stray cash I might actually have and then it's in the purse all nice and ready to go.

The problem, as it usually is, is with me. When I use a card at a store, I rarely, if ever, put it back in the wallet.  Half the time I put the card in a little open side pocket that's really there to hold a phone or gum or maybe a packet of tissues.  NOT a tiny little credit/debit card.  Half the time I just drop it in the purse, which, as we've established, is large and full of mystery stuff.

So yesterday I was returning from a trip to the grocery store, and it doesn't really matter which one, where I used my debit card.  I also used the self-check which is kind of a high stress situation for me.  I don't respond well to machines, I tend to yell at them. If my phone rings, I yell at it.  If my alarm clock on my phone goes off, I mentally yell at it.  I talk to my car all the time.  Most of the time, if Hubby or one of the kids isn't sure whom I'm yelling at, I'll say I'm talking to the cats. In reality, I'm probably yelling at a machine.

So it is with self-check.  That creepy automated voice makes me angry.  And that's what happened yesterday. I bought three things, all of which were tiny and light weight. I scanned them and put them in the bagging area.

And Creepy Automated Voice (CAV) said, "Put item in bagging area."

"I did put the item in the bagging area."

CAV:  Put item in the bagging area.

Sarah: I DID PUT THE ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA.

CAV: Put item in the bagging area.

Sarah (picking up the item and slamming it on the bagging area: THERE NOW IT'S IN THE BAGGING AREA YOU #%#%&.  

This conversation continued for all three items.

By the time I was done, I was sweating, angry, and quite possibly banned from the grocery store.  (On a side note, I should mention that with the influx of self-check machines in stores there's also been an influx of "out of order" signs for self-check machines. something to think about.)

What this means is that my debit card was simply dumped into the pit of despair...I mean, my purse.

When I got home, I opened the car door and grabbed my purse, which was on the passenger seat next to me.  (I know, I know.  I'm not supposed to put it there because robbers and whatnot.)  In grabbing the strap, the purse itself, which was unzipped and open, caught on the parking brake bar and upended, dumping untold items of varying sizes and weights in the tiny space between the seats and the parking brake.

Sigh.

I gathered up what I could and stuffed it back into my purse and then went about the rest of my day.

That's not the end of the story.

Of course it isn't.

Later in the day I had to go to my first physical therapy session. Yes, this is for treatment on the knee I injured back in SEPTEMBER when I fell at Sam's Club. And yes, I know it's December.  I thought it would get better by itself. Then it didn't. Then it was NANOWRIMO. Then we had Covid in the House. Then it was Thanksgiving. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Anyway...

Before heading out to the therapy place (and believe me, there will be blogs about that) I figured I should make sure I had everything I needed. Bottle of water. Mask.  Debit card just in case there was some weird charge I didn't know about.

Debit card.   Hmmmmmm....where is that?  Not in my wallet. Not in the purse.  Not in my pants pocket.  I head outside to double check the car. I look under the seats. Nope. I look around the floor mats. Nope.  I look under the seats again.

I go back in the house. I check all the usual place where I drop stuff: my desk. The kitchen counter.  The end table on my end of the couch. The bathroom magazine basket.  (Shut up. It's where I find my phone half the time.)

Oh yeah, I'm racking up the steps!  

I then check the car again.  I check the kitchen again. I look in all the pockets of my new purse AGAIN.  Nothing.

I'm about to call my back when I decide to check the wallet one more time. And there...tucked nicely in its normal spot, right behind the Kwik Trip card...my debit card.

                                                                                                            

The Drinking Choir Cleans up its Act.

Hello and happy holidays to everyone!

Yes, I say "Happy Holidays."  I celebrate Christmas, but I'm fully aware not everyone on this planet is exactly like me.  (Wow, what a horrible, weird world that would be if everyone was exactly like me...just one long line of angry people at a pharmacy...)  Anyway, so Happy Holidays, and Merry Christmas!

For those of you who celebrate old school, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" Christmas, you know that the weeks leading up to December 25 are Advent, a time of preparation.  While most churches these days don't really do a lot in the way of special services for Advent, mine does, holding Wednesday services the three weeks prior to Christmas. These are lovely services, the trees are up, and the lights are twinkling, and there's extra pretty music and choir singing.

Which is what brings me to my blog topic this week.

Our church has two adult choirs. The eating choir and the drinking choir. Now, Hubby and I have belonged to both choirs for many years, but recently we scaled back our commitments outside the house a little, and dropped out of the eating choir.  (No pie social for us twice a year!)  Instead, we stuck with the drinking choir, the more contemporary group of singers who, on occasion, gather at each others' homes after choir practice for a little wine drinking. And yes, this group has been known to go to wine tastings and yes, many of the members belong to the "Case Club" at the local winery.

So yes, the drinking choir.

Now, the drinking choir began largely as a summer group, sort  of a fill in choir to be active while the eating choir went on hiatus for the late spring and summer months.  The eating choir did the big holidays, Christmas, Easter, Confirmation, and the Advent song service.  Meanwhile, the drinking choir typically handled the summer outdoor concert.  Hence, when the drinking choir decided they
wanted to get a sort of uniform look, they went with polo shirts.  You know, casual, for those more casual, possibly outdoor, church services.

Over the years the drinking choir has become a year round group, and some members have branched out to long sleeved shirts, and some have even invested in sweaters bearing our choir logo.  (Not me, I am not in a place where I'm wearing a sweater for much of anything.)  Most of us, however, stick with the uniform polo shirts.  Whenever we sing

, the director, a man who takes way more grief from certain members of the choir (Yep, I include myself in that) than he probably should, will tell us if we are wearing our shirts or not.  (To which someone will always say, "Uh, do we have to wear something on the bottom?" or if we aren't wearing our shirts, someone will say, "So it's naked time?"  Because we're eleven.

Now, I'm telling you all this so you can understand my giggle fit at the end of the Advent service this past week.

Our director wanted us to class it up a bit since we were doing three numbers in the Advent service.  We were going to be in the public eye for quite a bit of the service, standing in front there, next to the twinkling trees, and our director, a man I'll call "Ned" wanted us to look less like a bunch of campers from a local group home out for a day at the park and more like grown ups preparing for the birth of our Savior.  Or something like that. I was too busy trying to come up with a snarky comment about dressing up for church to really focus on what he was saying.

Anyway, after practice Tuesday night, Ned announced that we would not be wearing our polo shirts.  And,  before anyone could make the "naked" joke, he added, "I'd like the men in suits and ties and the women in dresses."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the Alto section lose their collective mind.

Well, okay, to be fair, really only three of us in the alto section lost our minds.  Four altos have dresses (that fit) and they are capable of wearing shoes that work with dresses.  The other three of us, however, announced loudly that we were not going to wear dresses.  (I believe, in my frenzy over the very suggestion that I wear something that wasn't pants, I informed the group that this wasn't my mother's funeral and I wasn't wearing a skirt. It's something I generally say to my mother to get her goat.)  Fortunately for the altos, the tenor and bass sections were a bit louder in their protestations about wearing suits and ties.

Had we really become this casual?

So on Wednesday I dug to the very back of my closet and found a skirt that would probably fit and a pair of dress shoes, high heels, that I remember buying several years ago because 1) they were a screaming deal and 2) I figured I'd need high heels at least one more time in my life.  I was ready to GO!

Two things happened, almost at the exact same time.  1) I got an email from the choir director basically backing off of his suit/tie/dress requirement, in fact he intended to wear a zip up sweater with a tie (whereupon I asked if he meant to dress like Mr. Rogers) 2) I put on the high heels.

I remember wearing pumps almost every day as a teen. I mean, it was the 80's. You wore pumps.  Pumps with skirts, pumps with dresses, pumps with knickers, pumps with jeans, pumps with leg warmers.  You just did.  And I wore pumps frequently in college, where I was learning to be a teacher, and then as a teacher I wore pumps...until I realized that first graders are really, really short and pumps made me taller and taking the shoes off was easier than bending.

That's probably about the time I started giving up dress shoes.

At this point, I have a pair of loafers, a pair of boots with no heel, and a couple pairs of sandals when it comes to non sport shoes.  None of those work with a skirt.  so I put on those pumps and hobbled around the house, first to make sure I could still walk in them and also to see if I could wear them without pain.

The answer to both those questions?  NO. No, no, no, no.

I hobbled out of the bedroom, and showed the shoes to Hubby.  "Wow, those are cute!" says he.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow" says I.

How can the same pair of shoes both pinch and be too loose?

From which ring of hell, which fire of Mordor, which demon possessed clearance aisle at Kohl's did these shoes come?

Well, since Ned mentioned he wasn't going to be wearing a suit, I felt okay slipping into a very dressy pair of flowing...what...pants?  Trousers?  Fancy looking lounge wear?  Hey, they were black, they looked fancy, and they fit.  Footwear was a fun little pair of suede winter booties that I love to pieces and wear all winter long.

Topped the off with some sparkly jewelry and a festive, fabulous red top and I looked AWESOME!

So we got to church, and we all congratulated ourselves on how great we looked. Several of the women opted for the ubiquitous black pant, but the guys, I'm impressed to say, all pulled out suits and ties. 

Now all that of that is only moderately amusing and I'm guessing more than a few of you are sitting there wondering why you're reading about the wardrobe issues of a contemporary church choir.  But here's why I had to write this blog:

At the end of the service, which really went well even though I think a number of us still question the song choices Ned made for the evening, (He's gutsy, that Ned is, he never goes for the safe stuff.) the pastor came down from the altar to make a few announcements.  His first one...and I'm not making this up...was the following:

"So the saints in the choir clean up nicely, don't they?"

WHAT?

Just how out of the norm was it to see us, as a choir, in front of  church wearing, you know, church clothes?  Apparently we've become not only the drinking choir, but the SLOPPY choir.  I mean, if the pastor feels he's gotta make a comment after the service about how good we looked, one of two things is going on:

1)  the congregation really doesn't like the polo shirts and they've complained or

2) we sounded horrible and the pastor just wanted to find something, anything, nice to say about us.

So there's a mystery for everyone to solve.  As for me, I'm fine with the polo shirts.  I'm fine with fancy pants.  Just don't ever again think you're going to get me into a skirt and heels.

Could "Change of Life" mean standing in line is now entertaining?

It is a well known fact that I hate waiting in line.  It is also a well known fact that I always seem to wait in line behind someone who is making a gigantic deal out of nothing and holding up the line with complete nonsense, which then triggers my rage button.

I'm pretty sure this menopause thing...which I'll call chang-o from now on (for Change of Life) has changed my attitude about standing in line behind dumb dumbs. Listen to two stories from the last few days and see what you think:

Story #1.

I got in line at my local Meijer grocery store  (I tend to go there because it's way less crowded than Woodman's and generally has enough live cashiers to deal with the people in the store.)  There was no one ahead of me, but the cashier was scanning items.  I though maybe she was training or checking prices or something. She finished scanning the items ahead of mine. Mine were loaded on the belt.  I was, in terms of grocery check out, at the point of no return.

That's when she looked at me and said, "It's going to be a while."

Oh crap.

While I appreciated her honesty, no one likes to hear that, especially when they have frozen zucchini noodles on the belt.  (That's another blog.)

But still, I was curious.  What situation had I walked into?

"He's getting cash and she's getting a cake," the cashier said as if reading my thoughts.

Now I was really curious. Who would plan their lives so poorly that they have to get cash and one more item after they've put their stuff on the belt?  And who would possibly expect the world to stop long enough for them to get those things?

I got my answer a moment later when the oldest man in the world walked up to the cashier.

He had a wad of cash in his hand. The cashier told him the total.  "That's without the cake," she added.

"Is that with the cake?"  He asked.

"No. She hasn't brought the cake yet."

"So where's the cake?"

The cashier blinks, her brain realizing she has to adjust to now speak to an older man who is very deaf.  "SHE HASN'T BROUGHT IT HERE YET!"

But the man isn't listening. he's got his back turned to her.  He's getting his coin purse out of his back pocket. Now, the cashier and I believe he's getting exact change, since he had to go get cash.

Nope.

He pulled out a credit card and handed it to her. He stuffed his cash back into the coin purse.

the cashier ran the card and handed it back to him. At this moment the wife rolls up. And by "Rolls up" I mean she's in one of those scooter things stores provide.  In her front basket she's got a "cake."  It's actually a fluff dessert, the type that's layered whip topping/pie filling/whip topping. There might be cake in there...but I doubt it. Very pretty, very tempting.  Believe me, I've wanted to eat one for years.

Now, The Oldest Man is four steps away from the bagging area.  Roller Girl hands the cake to the cashier, who scans it and says, "That's six dollars even."

Oldest Man shuffles back, and takes the cake.

Roller Girl has not been paying attention to this transaction.  She's been adjusting her blouse or something.  When she finally looked up, she asked, "Did he get the cake?"

"Yes," Says cashier, "He has the cake."

Whereupon Roller Girl starts to wheel away from the cashier.  It takes a moment for the cashier to realize that Roller Girl thinks Oldest Man paid for the cake and she's about to leave without paying.

"No, no!"  yells cashier.  "He HAS the cake. You still have to PAY for the cake."

Roller Girl stops her ride, sighs heavily, and then backs up....beep....beep...beep.  SHE pulls out six dollars in cash.  Cashier takes it and then Roller Girl rolls away.

Cashier just shook her head and thanked me for waiting. I thanked her for the great theater.

That's when I realized standing in line was not automatically pushing my rage button.

Which brings me to story #2.

After church on Sunday we stopped at Kohls.  The good one, in Muskego. The two stores in Waukesha are terrible.  Besides, we've been going to church in Muskego...so it really works out.  (For me.)

On this trip, all I had to do was return an Amazon item that Peaches bought and didn't like.  Hubby dropped me at the door because we didn't intend to shop and he didn't care to stand in line with me.

 There was one person in line ahead of me.  SCORE!  I figured this transaction should take me three minutes, tops.

The person ahead of me went to Kathy, one of two women working the returns counter.  Meanwhile, I got Ashely.  As I set my item on the counter the phone rang. Ashley stared at it as if it were a foreign sound to her. (She was younger...it might have been.)  After it ran four or five times (something that does push my rage buttons immediately...answer the phone!)  she picked it up.  She mumbled a bit for a moment then put the phone to her chest and said, "Kathy....Kathy....Kathy...."

Kathy finally looked up and Ashely asked, "Is there a bigger store than this around here?"

The woman behind me said, "There's nothing in Muskego other than this store."

Kathy said, "No there aren't any big box stores in Muskego other than us."

All three of us looked at each other, sharing the one thought, "What a weird question to call about."

Ashley returned to the phone and mumbled some more.  Then she put the phone to her chest again.  "Kathy....Kathy....Kathy...."

Kathy finally looked up again.  Ashley said, "This woman wants to know if there's a bigger Kohls around here.  I'm not from around here, I don't know.  Maybe like Wau keh sha?"

Yeah, Ashley not's from around here.  She didn't pronounce Wau KEE sha correctly.  So why is she answering the phone?

That's when the growing line of women behind me started shouting out locations of other kohls. The first thing we all did was say, "Don't go to Waukesha, those stores are terrible!"

Ashley listened to the cacophony of store locations and then stared at me like a deer in the headlights.

"124th and North Ave in Brookfield," I said with great authority.  That's the biggest store I know.  Also, that's a store that's already got their holiday decorations up even as we speak.  They're like the anchor store for the area.

Ashely, however, not being from around here, mumbles, "Ummmm, so 124th and north Brookfield ave?"

Because that's what I said.

Apparently the woman ( oh yeah, it's a woman, no doubt) on the phone wasn't happy with that answer because she kept Ashley on the phone for another two minutes before Ashely put the phone to her chest and said, "Kathy....Kathy....Kathy.....which Kohls has a bigger shoe selection than we do?"

It was hubby who pointed out, when I related the store to him later, that the caller was probably standing in this store's shoe department at that moment.

Further proof that this was a woman.

"You have the best shoe selection of any of the kohls' I've been in," I tell Ashley because, let's face it, the customer Kathy is trying to help is getting pretty annoyed.

Ashley relays this message and after another two minutes, she hangs up. She thanks me for waiting and then reaches for the Amazon returns scanner. Which apparently is not working....

"Kathy....Kathy...Kathy...."

It took a solid fifteen minutes to return the item. Normally this would have sent me into a hot flash inducing  rant.  But nope, I related the story to Hubby with mirth.

So I ask you...does this mean that the Chang-O has not only changed my feminine punctuation, but also my rage issues?  Will waiting in line be fun now?  I mean....I used to want to punch people and howl.

Now, I don't.

At leas not the last two times.  Let's see what happens the next time I'm at the pharmacy....

"House Hunters" or Bra Shopping? Same Thing!

WARNING:  

This blog contains a frank discussion about bras and what we put in them.  You have been warned.

Wow, this month has just flown by!  I can't even blame writing this time around because it's marketing season and I'm out and about doing events instead of writing.

Oh, wait, so I have been busy!

Anyway, I was sitting down, taking a moment for myself (okay, I was lying on the couch, four hours into what would turn out to be an eight hour TV marathon of nonsense) when an episode of "House Hunters" came on.

This is the show where a couple or a family decide to move from their home to another place in the US.  (Or, you can watch my favorite alternate in the series, "House Hunters International").  At the start of the show, the home buyers sit down with a real estate agent and tell them what they want. That conversation sounds something like this:

Home buyer one:  I'd like four bedrooms, a remodeled basement so I can work on my interpretive dance, an in ground pool, out in the country but close to neighbors.

Home buyer Two:  I want to live in the city, two bedrooms, old world charm, a fully remodeled kitchen, a four car garage so I can park all my toys in there. Also, and this is a deal breaker, I must have an extra deep soaking tub in the master en suite bathroom.

Home Buyer one:  We don't need a soaking tub. I don't even care if there's a bathroom at all, as long as we are way, way out away from everyone except neighbors who live close, but not too close.

Real estate agent:  And what is your maximum price point for this?

Both homes buyers together:  $300. We absolutely refuse to pay more than that to purchase a home.

Oh yeah! And in that sexiest of all colors...beige!

Yeah, so that's a bit like my recent attempt to buy a bra.  I looked into the depths of my lingerie drawer and was underwhelmed.  To call what I own "lingerie" is...optimistic.  Face it, I'm in my 50's, I'm fluffy, the clothes I wear that people see are all about coverage and comfort. Do you think the stuff you don't see is going to somehow be glamorous?

I've talked about bra shopping before.  It's just the worst.  And yes, I've gone and gotten measured.  (Here's a hint to minimize the humiliation of that:  Go to Lane Bryant on Black Friday at about 2 in the morning.  No one is in the store and you'll get all the help you need.)  The problem is, much like everything else in a woman's fashion world, one company's size is not the same as another. And sizes can, and will vary from style to and style color to color within a company. Sort of like jeans shopping, only more naked and therefore more awful.

But how is bra shopping like "House Hunters?" you ask.  I'll tell you.

I go into a store or go online thinking:  I want a bra. I want a bra in my size with a racer back. (Because apparently women who are my size also have shoulders that are six feet wide. I do not...therefore my straps fall down unless it's an X-wing back.) I want an under wire. (To keep the glands pointing in the same direction.) I want a front closure. (Because getting into a X-wing back without a front closure involves acrobatic moves of which I am no longer capable.)  I want it lightly padded or lined with a smooth front. (I don't like "poke through" and I don't like showing off a lacy pattern through my "Be Nice to the Author or She Will Kill You in Her Next Novel" shirt.  Sort of takes away the fierceness.)

Now, if you've been in a retail clothing store lately, you know that the bra section is like a wide forest of tightly packed bras of all sizes (except mine...general retail simply doesn't carry a bra beyond a size 42 in any cup. Now, if I were a 36 but needed a triple D, well I can find fifty of those in all colors.  But I'm round all the way around...not just up front.  I'm balanced, not top heavy.) and styles.  You'd think that somewhere in there I'd find one that would work.

And you'd be wrong.

Here's a basic (very basic) chart of different styles of bra:

Go ahead, study it. I'll wait.

Women understand this, but for my male readers, let me note that this is, as I mentioned, a BASIC chart.  This does not take into account the many variations of style and structure. This is the home brewed Taster's Choice coffee of bra selections.

I've given up on retail shopping.  Victoria's Secret laughed at me when I asked then for a 46C.  They don't make anything that big. I laughed at Lane Bryant when they asked for $70 for a bra.  "These are not magical boobs," I said, "They don't do tricks. They don't need anything quite that fancy."  (Yeah, I'm a huge hit at Lane Bryant.)

So I hit the online stores, and by that I mean Amazon.  I type in all my requirements:  Racer back, 43C lined, under wire, front closure.  Under $50.  

You'd be amazed at what comes up. Hundreds and hundreds of bras.

And none of it is what I want. 

So, much like the people on "House Hunters" I have to ponder what I really, really need in a bra.  Am I willing to take the racer back without a front closure?  Can I go without under wires?  (The older I get, the more often I answer that question NO NO NO!)

Ultimately, something has to give and it's generally my patience.  Unlike "House Hunters" I don't limit my search to three places and there's no real estate agent to call and "WORK HER MAGIC" on the price when I decide I'm willing to pay an extra 50% over my stated budget because I just have to have stainless steel appliances...oh, wait, I mean...stainless steel under wire.

I envy those folks on "House Hunters" I really do. At least they solve their search in 22 minutes.  For me, finding a bra that fits what I'm looking for is taking forever!

Oh, and in case you'd like to get in on the fun (of "House Hunters" not my bra shopping.) check out this game:

Enjoy!

Try not to think of my...girl glands...the next time you watch the show.  (I know I've ruined it for at least three guys...)

Barnes and Noble is put on Sarah's Naughty List.

Hello Everyone!

I trust all my American readers made it through Thanksgiving and Black Friday just fine? This is "Shop Small Saturday"  which is a movement started by American Express (because they're a small business) for people to get out today and shop small, local stores.

Hubby and I do our "shop small" all year 'round by not eating a chain restaurants.  We look for "local flavor" the smaller the better. Love those locally owned places! And yes, I am a fan of my favorite little local bookstore Martha Merrell's Books for books and gifts of all sorts that are local to Waukesha and to Wisconsin.

When it comes to retail and grocery, I tend to shop a bit larger.  I mean, I lean toward stores that are Wisconsin based, (Kohl's, woodman's) or at the very least are Midwest Based (Meijer, Target). But for hardcore shopping, like the holidays, I reach out to good old Amazon.   

Yes,  I'll admit it, when it comes to buying gifts I tend to look online because I can shop at home in my sweats, I get it brought to my house, and I don't have to stand people lines of people who are annoying me.  (This has nothing to do with retail customer service.  I feel for those folks this time of year because they have to deal with the masses and we, the masses, tend to be rude jerks.)

 But, after my experience yesterday, I might rethink the whole "shop small."

Hubby and I spend Thanksgiving with his mom in the town where hubby grew up.  When he's back "home" he likes to get together with old friends.  So, yesterday morning, we met for coffee (Caribou Coffee, a Midwest based coffee chain.) with friends, and had a lovely time.  Afterwards, I needed to get a walk in and suggested we go to the nearby mall (note: I am 99% done with all holiday shopping and most of the shopping I'm going to do for Peaches' birthday in January.) to walk the mall and see the crowds and maybe see the dying Sears store.

That trip involved us also walking through Barnes and Noble.  

I enjoy Barnes and Noble in the way people enjoy window shopping at stores they can't afford. I tend to buy my books and media second hand, and if I am getting a gift in print, I go to my friends at Martha Merrell's. Hubby loves the store, though, as does his mother, so yes, I have been known to spend some money there.

Yesterday, however, we browsed the media area which, as those of you who shop there know, has its own security. What is purchased in the media area must be paid for in the media area.

Hubby found an album that he very much liked.  He didn't buy it, because, you know, it's Christmas, but he did go to the bathroom at an opportune time.  so I picked up the album and went to the counter and waited for the clerk to come and check me out.

And waited.

And waited.

It's Black Friday and there was no one single clerk in the media area.

I didn't want to just walk out of the area, thereby setting off the alarms and I didn't want to walk away from the album to find someone in case someone else who wanted this album picked it up and I wouldn't be able to find another copy.

But I had my phone. So I looked up the store's number online and called it.

And the phone rang. 

And rang.

And rang.

I could hear it ringing at other places in the store.

I had whipped out my pad and pen and was about to write a sternly worded note that involved an expletive and the words "get it on Amazon" when Hubby, back from the bathroom, tracked down someone who told him the register in the media area was broken and that I should go to a regular cashier.  Hubby suggested they put up a sign saying that.  The person he talked to said, "Yeah....probably," and walked away.  

I should note, the store was not busy.  It looked more like a Tuesday afternoon in there than Black Friday.  And, it should be noted, the mall, including Barnes and Noble WAS NOT open on Thanksgiving Day.  My point being...someone had time to put a magic marker to a piece of paper and write "Cash Register Out of Order go to front of store."

Or, maybe someone could have picked up the phone and answered my question.  It's not like they were busy.

We went to the nearest cashier, a young lass standing completely alone, no line at all, at a register.  She asked if I found everything I needed.  I swallowed all of my sarcastic retorts and said, "Yes, although there's no one in the media area to check anyone out."

"Yeah, the register is broken." She answered in a dreamy, just-woke-up-from-a-nap voice.

Okay, so everyone know this.  

"Maybe someone could up a note?"  I ask in my sweetest tones.

"Yeah...probably...." She handed me my bag and went back to staring into space.

Again...this store was not busy.  They'd not been open on Thanksgiving...and at that point, the store had been open for less than four hours.  The other stores we'd been to were swamped with shoppers and the yet the retail helpers were cheerful, knowledgeable, and super, super on top of stuff.  

So what I'm saying is, yes, Barnes and Noble, you're on the naughty list.

As for the rest of you:  Shop small. And when you're out and about, be nice to the retail people. They have a hard job to do this time of year.  And if you can't be nice to the retail people, just shop on Amazon in your jammies.  

'Tis the season of peace on earth and all and if that means some of us stay in our houses, I think we can all agree, that's just fine.

L. L. Bean Disappoints: Random Woman in Line Does Not.

Good morning everyone!

It's an old rant, but there's a new verse:  Once again I was fat shamed at a national store, but this time with a twist.

Hubby LOVES outdoor stores:  REI, Gander Mountain, Columbia, Dunham's Sporting Goods, Duluth Trading Company, you name it, he loves them.  And I love Hubby, so when he wants to check out stores like that I go with him, knowing full darn well that there is NOTHING, NOTHING in those stores' clothing departments that's going to fit someone like me.  (Because apparently only women size 12 and under want to go camping and be outside. And while that's a very fair point in my case, I'm sure there are fluffy girls who would like to be outdoorsy and still look like, you know, girls.  And who knows?  Maybe I would like to be an outdoorsy hiking type person if I could find fun clothes that fit me.)

So yesterday, after a somewhat frustrating and disappointing brunch at Cafe Hollander, (That's another story for another rant), Hubby wanted to stop in the NEW L.L. Bean store.  I knew this would be would like all the others, oh sure, they have an XL or an XXL for women, but it's never, ever going to fit.  But I love Hubby, so in I went.  And he loves and wants me to be happy, so he pointed me to the oh-so-stinkin'-cute womens' side of the store and suggested I find something fun.

I knew I wouldn't.  But I went because I wanted to make him happy.

And look there, joy oh joy...a pair of size 18 jeans!  AND THEY WERE ON SALE!

Now, sure they weren't size 18W, but I'm sort of between sizes right now as I'm still working on losing weight (I've stalled a but, but still hanging in there keeping 14 of the 20 pounds I lost last spring off.) so an 18 was going to be great!  Hubby walks over and said, "Oh those look really comfy!"

I agreed, but a tiny voice in my brain suggested I try them on. Just to be safe. This isn't Kohls. I'm not going to be here four more times this week.  So I went in and tried the size 18 jeans on.

Could. Not. Get. Them. Past. My. Knees.

Now friends, at my heaviest, which I am not at right now, I was a size 18W.   All of my size 18W pants are loose on me. Very loose. MUST wear a belt loose.  My size 18 regulars fit beautifully, and I even have some 16W's I wear on a regular basis.  

So yeah, not getting a size 18 pant past my knees was horrifying, disheartening, and made me wonder why I even bother to continue the fight to lose weight.

Thanks, L.L. Bean.  Thank you for snapping the tiniest thin thread of self esteem I'd managed to build for myself in battling to lose weight.

But that's not where the story ends.

Angry mostly with myself and my shortcomings and my failure to fit the mold of what a woman who wants to buy things at L.L. Bean needs to look like, I tried to be happy for Hubby, who found what he called, "The most perfect pants."

This is the great unfairness when it comes to shopping, and it's not hubby's fault, I blame retail stores and their focus on making life easier for male shoppers. Hubby has his own weight battles.  He's not super thin. And yet, he's never had to shop in a store for specifically plus sized men. He's never had to search high and low for the "plus" department mostly because there's no such thing as a plus sized department for men.  Sure, they have big and tall shops...my father who is 6'4" shops at them. But when it comes to big box stores, most guys don't NEED a big and tall shop.  Hubby shops in a normal human man department and he doesn't even have to try and squeeze into the largest size offered, oh no. Men's clothes are made for all sizes and shapes of men and if a guy wants a pair of dark blue pants and a white shirt in a size "super mega" he doesn't have to hope the designers deigned to make them in his size. Why?  BECAUSE THEY DID.

So yeah, Hubby can walk into any store he wants to and find a pair of pants and twelve shirts that fit and look great.

And he doesn't have to shop in a store that advertises "Selling plus sizes 14-30."  Again, because he can walk into big box stores, outdoor stores, pretty much any store, and find his size without anguish.  And again, not his fault.  This is the fault of US retailers and their notion of what women should look like and what they should wear.

So we're in line, waiting to purchase his magical pants and he's trying to be supportive and kind about my feelings. He asks if there was anything on the rack that would have fit me.  I say, "Sure, if I wanted to go to a 20 or a 22 those might have fit."

And then he says this...and bear in mind, none of this is his fault and I'm not angry at him and really he was trying to be nice, and really only plus sized women who are fighting to lose weight are fully going to get what this statement meant to me, but he says this:  "Well if it fits and it's comfortable, who cares what the number is?"

And that's when the woman in front of us, an older lady who was returning something, turned around, looked at him, then looked at me, roller her eyes, and shook her head.  

I bust out laughing, and so did she.  Poor Hubby was quiet for a moment and then he said, "I just got slapped with a look."

We chatted a bit, the lady and I, about her great "drop dead" look and I left the store feeling a bit better, if not about myself, at least about the battle I'm fighting.  Because it is a battle, and I fight and fail and sometimes I fight and win, but most of the time I lose, and not in a good way.  It's a battle that destroys a person in the worst and most complete ways.  It shatters our self image, it destroys people's respect for us (I've been told by an employer that I'm fat and therefore I'm stupid) and it shatters our desire to go, and do, and see, and be around anything and anyone. Oh and if you're fighting this fight, you know that it can be a matter or life or death, so you've got that added pressure hanging over you.

 Being fat is not about being lazy or stupid or gluttonous.  It's about a physical craving at 2 in the morning that won't be silenced. It's about looking at a $6 salad and a $2 burger and thinking about the $8 you have left in checking until payday.  It's about wanting to exercise but everything, everything in your body hurting so much that putting on shoes makes you cry. And you'd like to cut out food all together, because the whole "Cold Turkey" can work for some addictions, but hey, guess what?  If you don't eat you are going to literally die. So yes, you MUST partake of that thing that is your demon.  Also, cookies are delicious while brussel sprouts are not.

If questioned, plus sized people will tell you that it's not about genetics or some blood disorder, or whatever else the weight loss community is trying to sell to us as the cause of being overweight.  Most people who are my size will admit it's all about the deliciousness of food that's not at all good for us, and the fact that exercise is never as fun as lying on the couch with a bag of chips and a bowl of dip.  But food issues, like everything else, never starts out as an  eating marathon on a Saturday night.  It starts simply, quietly, and without any sort of warning signs.

For me it was about not wanting to waste food. I baby sat when the kids were little and those kids usually didn't finish their lunches.  Rather than just tossing the leftovers out, I grazed away, finishing this chicken nugget and that mouthful of mac and cheese, all before eating the lunch I'd made for myself because I was raised to believe wasting food is sinful.

While the kids ran around and burned off lunch and any snack I might produce, I didn't because I was babysitting and also working a telemarketing job from home.  So I'd send the kids to the back yard to burn calories and I'd sit down for a couple hours while my double lunch turned into a bigger pants size.

Every heavy person has a story about the starting point.  Maybe you had a baby and couldn't get that baby fat off.  Maybe there was a death in the family and you turned to food for comfort.  Maybe you had an injury that kept you sedentary for an extended period of time. It doesn't matter. It doesn't take much to turn a normal sized person into a plus sized person.  The siren song of food and leisure is strong.

I joke about being fluffy because it's my defense against what I just know people are thinking, even if they never say it out loud.  I need to beat people to the punch, so I laugh at myself, but the reality is that I hate looking at myself.  I hate buying clothes, which is why I return half of what I buy. I hate what plus sized clothes look like most of the time.  We're heavy, we're not blind.  Plus sized women want to look good too, and we want selection. We're even willing to pay extra for it, but hey, it would be nice if a 2X actually meant a size larger than a 12.  

Stores are going the wrong way in this fight.  Case in point, the 2 Kohls in my town have all but removed plus sized fixtures from the store, and has filled the space with clearance racks for normal sized women.  I'm not making this up...I went to two separate Kohls this weekend and the selection for plus sized was half of what it used to be (which is saying something since normally the selection is about a fourth of what's available for misses sizes) and the space was full of misses clearance.  I actually asked the cashier if they were getting rid of plus sized and she said she didn't think so because (and this was her reasoning)  "They're so excited about the men's big and tall shop."

Like what they do for men has anything to do with what they do for women.  So yeah, not reassuring.

But to bring this around back to something fun, if I ever see that lady again, I'm going to hug her, because she did give me a bit of boost when I was really down. And when you're trying to lose weight, like I am, every tiny thing helps.

Wait...Bath and Body Works...you want a tip for WHAT?

Good afternoon all!

I am a big fan of Bath and Body works hand soap. BIG FAN.  But you know how those pump soaps work when you get down to the bottom of the bottle and there's like half an inch of soap in there but it won't come out?

In the past, I would add a little water, shake it up and it worked fine.  Except for Hubby...who, inexplicably, would spray himself in the crotch every time with the soap/water mixture.  (I haven't a clue how he managed it, but it was like clockwork.  Five minutes after I added water, I'd hear him yell and stomp out of the bathroom to go change him pants.)

After doing this a few times, Hubby made me a deal:  If I NEVER added water to the soap bottles again, he'd buy me 1000 bottles of the soap.

Now, we have a joint checking account where all of our money goes, so really, there was no way to track if his money was buying my soap, but whatever.


That was a couple years ago.  At last count I'd purchased something like 55 bottles of the stuff.  My favorite place to stop is at the outlet store in Johnson Creek.    It's an easy on/easy off the freeway and it's on my way to and from my friend Marie's place in Madison, so when I go to her house I usually stop to restock.

Well, we were running low and I had no plans to see Marie any time super soon, so Hubby and I drove out to Johnson Creek for a day of shopping for soap.

Now, normally I run in and out because everything in the outlet store is clearly marked with giant signs. Oh, and I only buy one product, the hand soap, so it's not like I'm going to browse.

I was met at the door by a woman named Jenny.  Jenny was super perky and told me all about where everything was (which I knew since it was all clearly marked.)  What Jenny did NOT do, was hand me a shopping bag. Instead, she blocked my path to the shopping bags and I had to walk around her after listening to her entirely-too-long speech about specials.  (which were, again, clearly marked with giant signs all over every table.)

I filled my bag (believe me, it was full.  And heavy.)  I was about to make my way to the front to purchase my 17 bottles of soap when Jenny jumped in my path again.  "Do you need anything or do you have any questions?"

Yeah, one question:  Why are you standing in my way when all I want to do is put this massively heavy bag of soap on a counter and pay for it?

I noticed a sign next to several of the scents of soap I'd purchased that said, "Buy 3 get 3 free."  Well I had six of those bottles in my bag, and since Jenny was clearly not going to move, I said, "Does that special pertain to the soap it's sitting next to?"

"No." she said.  "It's just for the personal scents."

For the record, there were probably five shelves of soap on that table and exactly four bottles of personal scent.  But whatever.

"Okay then I'm good."  

Jenny moved out of my way and I dragged my cache to the front.  The cashier there went through the 87 questions they seem to always ask.  (By the time they're done, all I want to do is yell, "JUST LET ME PAY FOR MY CRAP AND LEAVE."

No, I don't want a credit card, yes I get your emails, yes this is my zip code....

Then the woman says, "Did someone help you today?"

Well, I'm not sure if blocking my path to the two places I really needed to go is what you'd consider help....but okay, I'll bite.  "Yes, Jenny."

"Okay, well, your total is $43 with the coupon. Now if you'd like to add a tip to that, you can right there on the screen."

Let's pause for a moment.

Do I want to leave a tip?

FOR WHAT?

Is this something new?  Are we leaving tips for random retail people now?  I mean, it's not 
like I'm in some shop on Rodeo Drive.  I don't shop retail stores where people work on commission. I'm too poor for that.

I tip my servers, I tip my hair dresser. I tip the mailman.  I've given gifts to teachers and all kinds of people as a way of thanking them for a good job done.  I am a decent tipper, I generally tip between 20 and 25%.  I'm not saying that to brag, but I think when someone does something for me that I can't or won't do for myself, they deserve a proper tip.  I enjoy tipping when it's warranted.

 But friends, I was GOBSMACKED when I asked to tip someone who had impeded my shopping experience and had answered exactly one question.  Seriously, I did more work than Jenny did to make sure I had what I wanted.  

I'm sure Jenny is a very nice person.  I'm sure she's good at her job.  And I agree, wages should be raised as a general practice. But tipping for your basic every day retail associate who says hello to you?  (Oh lord, is this why everyone at Kohl's is suddenly all on me?)

Kids, if this going to sound mean, but is how retail is going it's just making Amazon look better and better all the time!  (Those drones NEVER ask for a tip!)