Tuesday, February 24, 2009

the danger of a random mind with time on her hands

Gift cards make me feel rich.

Slippers with soles are a dangerous thing. You forget that they are slippers and should stay in the house and find yourself out in public, wearing ugly-yet-impossibly-comfy slippers to things like the grocery store and your child's gymnastics class, looking like a hot mess of a woman who pulled herself together from the top down (styled hair, makeup, jewelry, non-pajama shirt and pants) but just got tired once she reached her feet and gave up in lazy despair.

But perhaps I am too hard on myself.

I really dislike ringback tones. That insipid voice saying "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached" and the subsequent tinny rattling that sounds only marginally like the original song makes my teeth grit. If you have one, and I'm perpetually snappish or short when we talk on the phone, it's YOUR fault.

Facebook makes it ridiculously easy to "remember" birthdays. It's like cheating.

I refuse to pay more than $4 for a 12-pack of Dr. Pepper. The prices I've seen lately have made me stare, as have the not-so-sneaky practices of same-price-for-less-product. For example, a 12-pack for over $5 and/or a 20-pack for $7. That's right... not a 24-pack, but a 20-pack. However, when I start thinking comparatively and critically, I see a funny trend in my spending. I hardly think twice about spending over $3 on ONE cup of fancy coffee, when I could get almost a full gallon of milk (or almost a 12-pack of DP) for the same price.

So, I'm making more coffee at home (and Rob and I registered for an espresso maker), have largely stopped drinking Dr. P, and hope to discover more cash in my pocket and less padding on my rear as a result.

G: "You're doing great."
(my massage therapist and mean friend, not easing up as she digs out my deep tissue kinks, even though I'm gasping or inching away from her mean hands - and I'm always grateful, even though she's mean)

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