vow and I still can't get myself to post every day. I suck. You see, I had Monday off and so A and I went out for some serious retail therapy. Something about taking your grown child(ren - young M was there in the form of demands for new jeans; he will not go shopping himself unless threatened with death) shopping means that while you may have intentions of buying yourself a new wardrobe, somehow, your child(ren) will come out with one while you will sort of - not. Well, I did get 2 pairs of sandals that I won't be able to wear until or if the weather warms up, a pair of long shorts, ditto, and a pair of cheap jeans that are slightly better, I hope, than any jeans I currently own, which all suck rocks in hell. And a very cute black sweater. A found two adorable skirts and some shirts and a couple pairs of plastic sandals and all in all I think she made out better than me. I got young M some jeans. Evil parenting tip #473: if he says they're horrible, which he probably will, I will just wash them and put them away with his other jeans. He will then totally not notice that they're new and wear them all the time.
Why is it, though, that all the stores stop selling weather appropriate merchandise in February? Look, it's still cold here. In fact, it's fucking freezing. And if I could afford to go off on a cruise or something to more clement climes so that I actually needed a sundress, sandals and a neon colored bathing suit cover up, I wouldn't be shopping at Ross Dress for Less, Goodwill and Wal Mart, now would I? I'd be shopping somewhere perfect, where it's eternally 1968 and I'm sitting in a comfy chair while nicely dressed ladies flutter around and bring me different things to try on. Somewhere like the Lord & Taylor I remember as a small child, where not only did the ladies bring clothes for my mother, we got to have lunch in a fancy restaurant called the Bird Cage, which, although it was disappointingly bereft of actual birds, got major points for cutting the crusts off their sandwiches. Ah, the club sandwich - nostalgic soul food for the white middle class. You cannot get a club sandwich with the crusts cut off at Ross Dress for Less.
After our shopping excursion Monday, of course, A & I drank beers (as you can tell from the image above) and so yesterday, being Tuesday, you would have thought that I was in appropriate shape to post to this blog. And I was but I could not face it. Someday when I'm like 90 I will learn not to drink on a work night. Therefore, instead of blogging, I continued my shopping madness with an afterwork trip to Wal Mart to wander around in a flourescent light induced haze, buy more jeans that might work or might not and a pizza, which I then ate hungoveredly in bed before going to sleep at 8:30. Yes, Wal Mart is evil and they suck but they have awesome pizza and where else can I buy jeans, a PS2 memory card and dinner all in one spaced out ramble? Also, a vacuum cleaner.
Yes, I bought a vacuum cleaner. The president is going to send me more money for being poor (if he's trying to buy me off, it's totally working. Keep the checks coming, shrub! I am mercenary and conscienceless!) so in the good, classic American way, I'm spending it on crazed luxury items before I even get it. My current vacuum cleaner, of more or less the same vintage as the Lord & Taylor trip described above, is an electrolux that looks like a pig and sucketh not, neither do it do much except make a fearsome noise unto the dogs. So I bought a big upright fancy maroon vacuum cleaner which I haven't tried out yet, being as how I was too hungover to vacuum yesterday - there are limits, after all - and I am looking forward to checking it out. Well. That is to say, looking forward is probably too strong a term. More like anticipating with resigned misery; still, a new vacuum cleaner is a new vacuum cleaner and at least the first time, it will be pretty cool.