Temerity Jane

What do you do when your crap starts being crappy?

You guys, Penny has nothing to do with this entry, but I feel as though my readership has split down the middle into “Shut up, show us the baby” and “Put your damn baby away and talk about something that doesn’t poop.” So. I compromise.

Ok, Internet. We all buy things. We buy all kinds of things. Sometimes, those things stop working. I mean, eventually. I guess everything stops working at some point. My mom’s got HER mom’s Kitchen Aid mixer and IT hasn’t stopped working, but I assume that the day will eventually come.

But normally, stuff stops working, and you hope it’s at some reasonable point. What I am wondering is this (are these?): what factors determine when it is acceptable for something to have stopped working, and what factors determine what you do about something that has stopped working?

I was thinking, when I was… thinking… before… that it’s obviously some combination of price and time. That is, how much it cost you to buy the whatever, and how long before it went all to hell.

Then I realized, though, that what the whatever is would probably have to factor in as well. Like, extreme examples:

Say you paid $1 for a can opener (one of those hand ones, not those fancy electric ones with the knife sharpener in the back that no one actually uses). If the can opener opened a single can and then fell apart in your hands, you’d be like, “Damn can opener! I’m glad I had but one can to open for my dinner this evening!” And then you’d move on. You wouldn’t sit there, stewing over your single sad can of tuna.

I don’t know why I’ve made you into some kind of weird loner who eats a tuna directly from a single can for dinner each night, while plotting your revenge against can opener manufacturers. I’m sorry.

If your can opener cost $10 and it broke on the first tuna can, you’d probably be pretty mad. You might even throw it on the floor in a rage, depending on how open you got the can and how badly you wanted that tuna.

“And TIIIIIIIIME… goes BY!… so sloooooowly…”

I should note here that not only do I not ever eat canned tuna, but when Phil dared eat some last week, I wouldn’t do the dishes for days until he handled the TUNA SINK. If you eat tuna in my house and then you rinse off your plate in the sink, any dishes already in the sink and any dishes added to whatever is already in the sink is NOT MY PROBLEM until YOU handle the TUNA SINK. Your best bet is to handle it post haste, or you will be washing every dish in the house, because I take tuna contamination seriously.

Anyway, if your $10 can opener last 4 or 6 or 8 months and broke, you probably wouldn’t think anything of chucking it and getting a new one, because by that time, you’d probably have forgotten how much you paid for your can opener, and you’d probably never really given any thought to how long you expected a can opener to last.

But say your can opener – a hand crank dealie – cost $30. What would you do then if it broke on the first can? Or what would you do if it broke 6 months down the road? Because I imagine that if you spend $30 on a hand crank can opener, every time you have some tuna, you think to yourself, “I’m opening my tuna with my $30 can opener.” Because how could you NOT?

BUT. What if you bought a car that cost $30? And it broke on the first time out? You’d be like, “Ah, well. Who expects much from a $30 car? I mean, Laura Ingalls Wilder would probably expect a lot from a $30 car but she could buy plow parts for a nickle, so. You know. It’s all relative.”

And if your $30 car last SIX MONTHS? You’d probably high five yourself all the way home, even if it was kind of raining and you had to wait a while for a ride. It would be hard to be too mad about that.

So, I figure it’s obviously not just a matter of what an item cost and how long it lasts, but obviously also of what the item is.

So, say the item is… a something you use regularly. Let’s say a fancy TV clicker. Something you’re using multiple times a day, and you didn’t really need the fancy one, but you figured, “Hey, I use this a lot, I’m going to spring for the nice one,” even though it was kind of slightly out of your comfortable price range. You’ve treated yourself to a small bit of luxury, is what I’m saying. It doesn’t have to be a clicker. Maybe it’s… one of those beady seat covers, like in taxis. Whatever. Just go with me.

So, think of your item and assign it a price that is slightly more than you’d normally consider paying for such a thing, and remind yourself that you’ve decided that something you use so constantly is worth a little extra cash sometimes. And you know what? You’re worth it, too. Anyway, you need to think up your own item for this scenario. Think it up now. This is an exercise. I’m not going to tell you an item, you need to THINK OF ONE.

So you’ve paid for your item, whatever it is, and it falls just over the line into “luxury” due to its price, and that line is different for everyone and every item, which is why you needed to come up with your own.

Now, how long do you expect this item to last? More importantly, where’s the line between breaking due to normal wear and tear, and breaking due to oh HELL no? You know what I mean? Like, if your item wears out at the very earliest that “wearing out” could be even slightly reasonable, that would be really annoying, but what are you going to do? It wore out. But anything BEFORE what is even remotely reasonable for wearing out, based on item and money spent, would fall into the “oh HELL no” category, where you’d be totally outraged about the money spent for item enjoyment duration.

And still thinking of your item, now combined with your general personality traits, what do you DO when something falls into the “oh HELL no” category of breaking? I think this is not so much a function of price and time, but more of each individual person.

Do you get mad and go out and replace it?

Do you get REALLY mad and swear you’ll never buy that brand again and go out and replace it with a different variety?

Do you write to the company and tell them, hey, your thing broke, WELL before the “oh HELL no” time period of thing ownership was up, what do you intend to do about it?

As you may have guessed by now, this is about me, because, come on.

Come on.

I’ve never been a “write to the company-er.” I don’t know why. I mean, I’ve had plenty of things break in the “oh HELL no” phase, just like anyone else. I guess I kind of feel like writing a letter to the company or whatever would make me look… greedy? Grabby? I don’t know. But it WOULDN’T, not if I was writing within the “oh HELL no” time period, because things breaking that quickly is unreasonable.

Basically, I am concerned about what strangers at a company that manufactures the occasional faulty product might think of me. But maybe THEY should be afraid of what I think about THEM! And their faulty product!

(They probably don’t care.)

“Are you… still MIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiii-IIIIIIeeeeeIIINE?”

I have an item that, for my entire pregnancy, I intended to buy but did not. The price, for me, put it just over the line I talked about above, and since there were several varieties available, I felt like I needed to really think it out and make sure I NEEDED this product before purchasing. I’m not going to tell you what it IS, because what I consider over that line and what other people consider over that line are two different things, and I don’t need anyone being all, “Come on! It’s only $XX!”

You know how when you read a magazine and they do a whole page of “MUST HAVES FOR SUMMER! If you don’t have these MUST HAVES, you might as well go live in a hole! Don’t worry, though, we’ve divided them into splurge and save!”

Bathing suit: $1 jillion!
Save on this clearly crappier version: $1 half jillion!

And you go through the whole list, looking for SOME MUST HAVE that you can actually HAVE and you finally get to something that seems like it should be reasonable.

Nail polish in the color you HAVE TO HAVE OR YOU’LL DIE FRIENDLESS AND ALONE: $80
Save on this version that might get you a pity friend, if you always volunteer to DD: $65

Anyway, you see what I mean? I’m not telling the item because I don’t need you to tell me that it’s actually a SAVE, because NO. I DECIDE WHAT IS A SAVE.

This item is showing signs of wear – signs of wear that, over time, I’d consider pretty reasonable. However. Penny is still a week short of 2 months old, AND I’ve only been using this item with as it is INTENDED to be used for a couple of weeks. For me, for what this item cost and the fact that I have used it in a perfectly reasonable, perfectly textbook manner, I am still WELL within the “oh HELL no” phase.

Now, knowing me, I’ll continue using it until it is unusable, which isn’t that far off, judging by the signs now, then try to use it in some modified fashion, and then feel like I should replace it out of my own pocket because I used it for so long, EVEN THOUGH it was in CRAP ASS condition for most of that time. I am TRYING to convince myself to write a letter, because, what can they do to me?

(It seems I kind of half-assume they might write back some strongly worded “fuck you, sucker!” letter, which is a little out there in terms of assumptions about what a reasonable company might do, but I can’t help it – the mind leaps to irrational conclusions as it wants to.)

Anyway, forget my thing. My thing is stupid. Go back to your hypothetical thing. How do you determine how long your “oh HELL no” phase is? Are you a letter writer or an angry replacer? Have you ever gotten decent results from writing a letter, or did you get the dreaded “fuck you, sucker!” email?

Do you believe this shit? My mom’s such a wiener!

Posted in Penny, shameless consumerism | 68 Comments »

Pandora, Purchases, Penny… Phather’s Day. Ok, that was a stretch.

I’m on to you, Internet. Now I’m putting pictures of Penny between the words so you’ll at least have to skim by and one or two might lodge themselves into your eye.

This method will also conveniently disguise the fact that nothing I have to say is related to anything else that I have to say.

Penny eats with pinky up on the regular. I am not even fucking with you.

I want you to know some things about Phil. I think I make him sound pretty good on this blog. Sometimes, even when I am attempting to show you what a butt mouth he can be, the comments reflect the fact that many of you are impressed by Phil and I assume by his tolerance of me. I swear, it’s like he’s some kind of goddamn mesmer or something, the way people are all, “Team Phil! We back you in this lifelong endeavor of being married to this woman!”

YOU KNOW WHAT?

I tolerate HIM, TOO.

EXAMPLES:

- always, without fail, points the shower head all cockeyed when he gets out of the shower.
- insists – INSISTS – on calling “Baba O’Riley” TEENAGE WASTELAND, even though he knows DAMN WELL that is NOT what it is called.
- will call whatever I am watching “the worst show ever,” making it sound as though I am torturing him by forcing him to watch the ONE SHOW IN THE WORLD he finds intolerable. Law & Order: SVU and Roseanne can’t BOTH be the worst show in the world, Phil. It’s not possible.
- I’ve been using Pandora since 2004, and if you’re a Pandora user, you know what that means – my stations are AWESOME [to me]. Years of work, people. Years. Thumbing and thumbing and thumbing. Since we are now sharing one computer in the living room and also have a television that can play Pandora, I shared the log in details of my account so that we could listen while cleaning and doing shit around the house, like you do, you know?

I trusted him with my stations.

If Phil’s SO GREAT, Internet, why is my Bon Jovi station playing so much Dr. Dre?

HM?

HMMMM?

I went to get my My Brest Friend pillow for Penny’s snack between Early Breakfast and Mid-Morning Second Breakfast/1st Lunch Preview and came back to find a note propped next to her:
“FELL ASLEEP WAITING FOR SERVICE.”

So, Phil’s first Father’s Day is coming up. Now, I have a father, so I’d like to think I’m pretty well prepared to handle this, except Phil doesn’t wear ties.

So, basically, I’m not prepared at all.

Ok, I sort of am. This is going to make me sound all 1950s housewife, but I don’t often have any money of my own. It’s not like you’re thinking. I’ve had a variety of issues with my car, so when we go places, we’re all together. Phil and I share bank accounts so when we’re out, it’s not really a big deal of who pays – it’s usually him, but if I’m closer to the register, I’ll swipe my card. It’s all the same.

But since we’re usually together and since every place takes check cards these days, I don’t usually carry any cash. That means whenever I do spend any money, it’s with my card and comes right out of the bank account with a nice label of where I’ve been.

Which I am TOTALLY ALLOWED TO DO. WHENEVER I WANT. Just so you know.

What I’m saying is that I don’t really get the opportunity to be stealth, or to feel like I’m purchasing something for Phil on my own – not just, you know, buying something. From our joint account.

HOWEVER, Phil does like to carry cash. And when we’re out together and he pulls out some cash, he usually hands me a $20 as well, assuming that I, too, would like to carry cash.

It’s not an allowance. In case you were thinking that. I have access to ALL the money, WHENEVER I want. Not that I need to explain our financials to you. I’m just explaining them a little. So you understand.

Right, so, Phil gives me this money because even though it doesn’t usually occur to me, he’s a thoughtful guy and considers the fact that I might want to do some autonomous spending – to have some money of my own, separate from the budget, to do whatever I please.

Pretty much without fail, I use said money to buy us both Coldstone.

HOWEVER. Recently, I have been squirreling said money. So. All of this to say, I’ve got some money. Money that has been removed from the bank account, thus from the joint budget, handed to me, and then promptly forgotten.

So, while all of our money is OUR money, it is safe to say that this bunch I have been poking away into a hidey hole is most assuredly MY money.

Now, I still have no idea what to DO with it, but I will spend it on an item or a dinner of his choosing. I realize that I have not come up with a thoughtful gift to mark his first Father’s Day, but I’m hoping that, “Hey, you know how money is kind of tight right now? Here, you choose how to spend this money I have been hoarding instead of immediately spending on Peanut Butter Cup Perfections” will totally be one of those “thought that counts” deals.

IN SUMMATION: It’s hard to buy gifts when you share a bank account, because some of the essential GIFTY-NESS is stripped away. Also, I’m a poor planner.

You guys. Knee dimple.

A couple of people have already asked me for a post about my experiences with cloth diapers, which I guess I can understand, considering how constantly I sought out blog posts and forum posts and all kinds of other information on how it all WORKED.

However, there are SO many out there that I really don’t think I have anything new to say. Aside from the fact that she’s only been in her cloth for a week-ish now. She goes in the diapers and then I wash them. I know, I know, there’s 8000 “But what about!!!” questions, and I had them, too, but honestly, getting into it, that’s really what it’s come down to so far. She goes, and I wash them.

Maybe a little farther down the road I’ll have a system down enough that I’ll write something about, you know, what I do, personally, but as far as general cloth diapering information, there is SO MUCH out there that I don’t have anything new to say at this point.

I put cloth on Penny as much as possible, usually sticking to prefolds and covers when it’s just me and her and switching to pockets when Phil is home, because dude will not deal with prefolds. And even the pockets, if I don’t put one IN HIS HAND, he will ferret out one of the last tiny sized disposables in the house and put it on her butt. He’s accepted and okay with the fact that we will be doing cloth, but is going to hang on to disposables until we absolutely run out, and even then, I can imagine him rigging up some kind of duct tape/paper towel creation.

I’m sure he’ll make the switch just fine (once he can no longer find a disposable anywhere in the house), but he is still refusing cloth wipes. I have some very nice, very soft, good sized flannel wipes and a spray bottle of wipe solution, so it is not only JUST as easy (and, I think, more butt-luxurious) as disposable wipes, but it also saves having to carry a dirty disposable wipe to a second location.

Phil doesn’t make any kind of sense when it comes to baby poop, people.

But really, who does?

At my last appointment with Dr. Nameless, he checked my c-section incision and said, “You healed awesome. That looks great. I’m really psyched.”

Yes, he said psyched.

Obviously, as a doctor who sees c-section incisions all the time, we must assume that not every incision inspires psych-itude. I mean, come on. If he was going to blow smoke up my ass, Penny was sitting RIGHT THERE. He could have complimented my baby, not my be-stripe-ed belly, you know?

We can only conclude that I have healed extra well.

If you’ve been reading this site since the dawn of time (which is what I consider the day I started writing this site because, come on, who cares what went on in the world before that day?), you know what this means. I am reaching way back into the sands of time and adding this spectacular awesomeness of midsection healery to the evidence file.

Remember how I told you about how we tried to buy a Nook, but it never came, and Phil spent literal HOURS on the phone with Barnes & Noble customer service trying to get one/get a refund, and then ordered a second one because the first one was NEVER COMING and even though we PRE-ORDERED a Nook and were supposed to have one on June 3rd, we still remain Nookless, almost 2 weeks after the early release date and PAST the SCHEDULED release date, and got ZERO HELP from Barnes & Noble, and I was in a fury so intense that I ACTUALLY TWEETED at the Barnes & Noble person on Twitter, which I have NEVER DONE IN MY LIFE?

Yeah, we cancelled the orders and bought a Kindle.

And MOMENTS LATER, the Barnes & Noble person on Twitter decided to respond – asking me to write to customer service.

We ordered a Kindle yesterday and it will be here today. I’m done with Mr. Barnes Noble. Up his.

Posted in cloth diapers, daily BS, Penny, shameless consumerism | 37 Comments »

Advanced Tactics in Memorial Day Celebration

As you can imagine, Internet, Memorial Day is quite an important holiday around these parts, with time spent consider the sacrifices of those who have served our country and all of that. Phil and I, of course, could not let the holiday go by unmarked, and spent some time in the weeks leading up to Memorial Day wondering what the best, most appropriate way to mark the occasion would be.

After careful consideration, we decided that we would spend Memorial Day weekend and the week leading up to it – because we’re dedicated – in service to our country ourselves. Of course, Phil has an edge on me in that department, so we needed to get a little bit creative as to how I could be involved as well. We thought, well, what does our country really need from us right now? How can we contribute in a meaningful way, making some real sacrifice and not some hollow gesture?

Well, finally, it came to us. We decided to sacrifice eating for the next couple of weeks by serving our country with some major economic stimulation.

We decided to jump in with both feet and bought ourselves three of these. We had bought a fourth, see, a few weeks ago, in a totally unplanned fashion, isn’t it AWESOME when that happens? Having been told he needed new tires back before Christmas and having been re-told he needed new tires at a personal vehicle safety inspection at work on Friday, we decided to match the already purchased tire with three more, because nothing says Memorial Day like answering blog comments from an uncomfortable chair in the Discount Tire waiting room.

We felt a little bit like we had leapt too eagerly into our plans, forgetting to stretch and limber up, so we decided to back up and take it a bit easy. We went to Lowes and then to Target and finally to Wal-Mart, because apparently we were on a Wild Plastic Chase, and bought Sheldon a pool. After all, Memorial Day weekend does usually mark the unofficial beginning of summer – what’s more summery than a pool for your dog? He likes to chase floating balls around it and also stand in it for no apparent reason.

Not pictured is the bright orange stake driven deeply into the ground and carefully measured dog lead, because I felt that Phil and I would come off looking better if I just told you that we got him a pool, not that we have to tie him up when he’s in the backyard, or about the time I accidentally placed the pool just out of his range and he could only get his front paws in and it was so sad, but you know what, if he didn’t teach himself how to climb the fence, that wouldn’t be an issue, now would it?

Whenever we buy something for Sheldon, we try to buy something for Brinkley as well, or at least something that will benefit both dogs, so when we ventured out on another serving our country‘s economy spree, we stopped into PetSmart. A quick calculation reveals that this bag of treats represents 2.4% of our total pet-based bill on that particular shopping trip – we totally gave the economy the shocker.

This is an inside the house grill. Remember how I told you that Phil’s Best Friend came home from Iraq? Well, we said we would cook him some dinner when he came back and he requested steaks, but we didn’t have a grill. So we bought this inside the house grill, because it suits our current needs. Of course, we also purchased steaks to go on it. And corn. And potatoes (oh my god, make those potatoes). And then, of course, there was all that diet soda, but when it’s $2.50/12 pack, it’s not economic stimulation, it’s just good sense.

Also, even though I really like the Liberty of London stuff at Target, I have mostly resisted buying it, but random items have been appearing on clearance shelves, thus random items have been making their way into my house, like that canister, which has a lid, but has been repurposed to hold all of my utensils because I was keeping them in a DRAWER, and you know what happens when you keep ladles and shit in a DRAWER, half the time the damn thing doesn’t open so you have to stick your hand in there, the whole time cursing yourself for also using the same drawer to store your mandoline slicer and mezzaluna.

I have never eaten cottage cheese. Until recently, I could say that I had never purchased cottage cheese. Until even more recently, I could say that I hadn’t even touched cottage cheese. However, after pitching some money valiantly down the hole that is dog veterinary care, we had to round out that segment of Operation: Spend ’til Everyone in the US has a Job Again with the purchase of the cottage cheese so that I could hide Sheldon’s antibiotic and steroids in a deeleeshoos treat. I fail to see what is so deeleeshoos about cottage cheese and I don’t ever actually want to know, because next to applesauce, cottage cheese is basically a food-based nightmare for me.

OH, speaking of nightmares? The other night I had a nightmare in which a guy shot at me and I fell to the ground, but I wasn’t dead yet, and he knew it, and he came up to where I was laying face down on the ground, and he had a shotgun, and he was going to shoot me right in the back and I knew that, and in the dream I very distinctly remember wondering if getting shot in the center of the back with a shotgun would hurt, or if I would die instantly, and the feeling associated with being in a position to ask myself that question has stuck with me for days now and it’s pretty creepy. I try to relieve it by remember another dream I had recently, where Phil and I fought Paris Hilton to the death and ended up killing her with corn on the cob on a stick.

Do you know what you get when you combine a non-housebroken dog with the raging thirst brought on by a course of steroids? Come on, give it a guess. I have faith in you. Our Target, grocery store and PetSmart trips resulted in this little collection that is seeing a healthy amount of use. I mean, buying useless items isn’t good for anyone, so we were pleased to manage to purchase such useful, necessary items for our home while still keeping with the spirit of the Spend, Spend, Spend Fiesta.

Of course, as often happens when you immerse yourself in a project like this, you get on a roll, where one purchase necessitates another purchase. In this instance, when collecting yet another pack of paper towels at Target to use with the pee-cleaning purchases pictured above, we also went ahead and picked up some items to cover up the smell of the items we were using to clean up the smell of the dog pee. So the candles can be traced back to the paper towels which can be traced back to the floor cleaner, which can be traced back to the steroids, which can be traced back to Sheldon, and I know you think I’m going to stop there, but Sheldon can be traced back to Brinkley, who was so cute and perfect that it was impossible not to want a second dog and Brinkley can be traced back to PHIL.

Since we were at Target anyway, it only made sense to also purchase some new plastic cups, because we only had the four red ones, and I’d been looking for more for a while. The purchase of plastic cups was a pretty pro move on our part, because not only does the purchase meet our goal of honoring our country with our wallets, but it also saves us money as well. Do you know what happens when you drop a plastic cup? Nothing. And that is why I mostly drink from plastic cups.

A peek into the background will reveal that we also managed to complete our Shrek glass collection this weekend. I know you’re probably feeling intimidated right now, maybe a little ashamed that you did not cram as much love for your country into your weekend as we did, but you need to take things at your own pace. One Shrek glass a week is fine. And those plastic cups will probably be at Target all summer! Ease into it, guys. Ease into it.

Taking on such a lofty goal for the Memorial Day weekend also lead to the necessity of some down time to rest and recover from our efforts. Phil chose to spend his down time with this video game. Y’all, I am not the type of person who believes that video games make children violent. Until I met this video game, I really couldn’t think of a game that I’d restrict a young teen from playing, assuming they could demonstrate that they understood the difference between games and reality. There is no chance in hell I would let any kid play this game. Now, that’s not because I think that letting a kid play this game would turn him into some kind of criminal or bandit. This game is just over the top unnecessary. Blood splashes the screen when you skin animals. There are hookers who you are supposed to hogtie. New rule for any future hypothetical child that may come into this house: You cannot play any game that includes hookers until you are of an age where you have somehow learned on your own what a hooker is, so that I do not have to explain to you anything about hookers.

Must demonstrate preexisting, mysteriously acquired knowledge of hookers before allowed to play anything by Rockstar Games.

You know what I discovered on our quest this weekend? Home Goods. Not only did we replace the random square of carpet that was serving as a from doormat for the last three months, I am also reasonably certain that the store will serve as a jumping off point for significant amounts of country-supporting spending to come.

I named this guy Donny.

We went to the New Balance store because I needed to purchase some new sneakers, because I hadn’t bought any new sneakers in several years and the ones I have are so beaten as to barely be clinging to the “sneaker” category designation, and I have some other ones for decorative wear, but Sheldon PEED in them. You’ll notice that this picture is not of sneakers, because when the apathetic sales guy helped me choose some shoes and put them on, I couldn’t even stand to touch my foot to the floor, the sensation was so awful.

Now, it is generally understood by me, and by Phil, and by maybe some of you, but probably not sales guys, that I am weirdly sensitive to different sensations, and apparently the feel of New Balance shoes is among them, as I found out as I sat in the store, feet deliberately pulled up and dangling from my chair so as not to accidentally touch the ground because it was the most intolerable non-pain foot-related feeling I have ever felt, even above tickling, but World Market was right there, so I bought some incense and vowed to purchase a papasan some day soon as well. Also, I am still foot-cringing at the idea of my feet touching the floor while in those shoes.

These are not New Balance shoes. They’re a different kind. We also bought some pink socks, because I’m that person who goes to the mall, specifically to buy sneakers, but is wearing flip flops and no socks. Of course, the socks were buy one, get one 50% off and the green ones were equally cute, so, considering the bargain and how well it matched up with our weekend goal, we collected those as well.

The lovely gentleman at Foot Locker also noticed that the arches on my feet could easily stand in for the one in St. Louis for a day or two with no one being the wiser and put some inserts in the shoes as well, while explaining that some shoes – most especially New Balance – are very flat inside so that flat feet people can wear them and non-flat feet people can put in some arches if they want. Whatever the reasoning, I did not want to scream when I touched my foot to the ground, and I think that’s a pretty good indicator that you have a good sneaker on your hands. Feet. Whatevs.

With one last push, we decided to make a long term commitment to our Memorial Day Spend-a-Thon. Since we now have two dogs and will go through food twice as fast, we decided to switch to a more expensive brand of food! That way, not only are we going through twice as much food as before, but we’re also paying significantly more for each bag! I was particularly impressed with this choice, you guys, and I really don’t mind tooting our own horns here. It is this kind of far sighted dedication to keeping yourself hovering just above the poverty line that is going to bring this country back to where it should be.

Anyway, I hope that everyone found a fun, safe and productive way to spend their Memorial Day weekend. If any of you spent it locating dangly earrings that won’t make me feel like I’m playing a joke on myself, shorts that have a more than crotch-length inseam but won’t make me feel like a pastel-wearing retiree, a casual skirt that manages to not cling and also covers all areas of butt cheekage, or tank tops that are neither too tight nor too flowy nor too boring nor too overly-patterned, please let me know, as I feel I have a little bit still left to give to our country.

Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, daily BS, shameless consumerism | 38 Comments »

Listen up for my very nearly imperceptible roar, PepsiCo!

Posted in daily BS, shameless consumerism | 23 Comments »

KY Yours & Mine: A review, by TJ

Internet, I’ve told you on numerous occasions that I consider myself to be a pretty average person. If I think something or want something or am interested in something, I am always quite certain I am not the first or last to think or want or be interested in that something. It’s just the way of things, you know? If I have seen a commercial that piqued my interest for whatever reason, some of yours must be piqued, too. I write this assuming you totally want to know all of this stuff. You have the length of this sentence to back out now if you DON’T want to know this stuff.

So, having seen the commercials for KY Yours & Mine, I was intrigued for two reasons. One, the test tubeyness of it looks sciencey, which appeals to my inner nerd. Two, the commercial seems to acknowledge the Pizza Theory of Sex, in that the dude is all “Hey, I’m a dude. Sex is good no matter what. But we got these science sex tubes, and now my lady is all FOGHORN.”

Anyway, so it was Valentine’s Day, and I’d been away for two weeks, so of course, being a young couple who has been together for less than 2 years, it was obviously a Sex Night.

Reality:

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“I know. *sigh*”

“Are we going to have sex?”

“I dunno. Do you want to?”

“*sigh* I guess.”

Also, being the young, fun and adventurous types of people we are, we decided to try out something new – namely, KY Yours & Mine. Our burning desire for the new and different in all aspects of our lives knows no bounds!

Reality:

“So you want to try this new stuff?”

“*sigh* Why not?”

“All right… Twenty fucking dollars? Hot christ.”

“That’s… a lot.”

“Well, put back one of those boxes of condoms. They expire eventually, you know, and 24 is a bit optimistic.”

“They don’t expire for two years!”

“OPTIMISTIC!”

So, I cooked Phil the dinner he requested (that part’s actually true!) and eventually, when we couldn’t wait another minute, it was time to head to the bedroom to give KY Yours & Mine a test run.

Reality:

“*sigh* Are you ready?”

“*sigh* I guess.”

I’ve read a few reviews of KY Yours & Mine that complain that since the bottles are test tubily shaped, they don’t stand upright and lead to leaking. I don’t know if those were old reviews or if those people threw away the packaging, but the two test tubes came with a small test tube holder dealie inside the package, which we have successfully used to keep the bottles from not standing upright and leaking all over the dresser.

Now, with it being Valentine’s Day and all, we were able to integrate KY Yours & Mine seamlessly into our romantical activities.

Reality:

“Wait, turn the lights back on. Which one is yours and which one is mine?”

“Uh… I think… no wait, other way. Ok.”

“Ok. Lights?”

“Wait, wait. One second.”

“A towel? Seriously?”

“I JUST washed these sheets.”

“*sigh* Fine. But put it on YOUR side.”

“Ok. All set. NOW get the lights.”

As shown on the packaging, KY Yours & Mine has one blue tube and one purple tube. The blue tube is his and the purple tube is hers. I didn’t notice until last night, looking over at our dresser in the dark, the the words labeling the separate bottles actually glow in the dark. It’s subtle, but definitely would be helpful if you knew to look for it when fumbling around in the dark.

So, you know, things progress, as they do in these situations, until you arrive at the point where KY Yours & Mine comes into play. I don’t know if there are standardized lubricant application methods at play in the sexy time world here, but in general, we tend to stick to the solo application. KY Yours & Mine, however, relies on the dual application. One for yours and one for mine, you know? Your bottle does something specific for you, and my bottle does something specific for me, and they’re supposed to combine into like… Genital Voltron or something.  There was a moment of hesitation while the usual non-luber among us deal with his/her bottle, but otherwise, all was standard.

Reality:

“I can’t find my bottle.”

“It’s right there.”

“Are you sure that’s mine?”

“What difference does it make?”

“YOURS and MINE. YOURS AND MINE.”

“Yes, that’s yours.”

“Ok. Okaaaaay… ok. I’m good.”

The point of KY Yours & Mine is that each test tube of lube is designed to provide a certain feeling for him and a certain feeling for her. I have to say that upon initial application, neither of us noticed any kind of specific sensation. Things seemed pretty standard, actually, as things got moving in a sexy time direction. Nothing out of the ordinary from our usual Astroglide.

Reality:

“Do you feel anything different?”

“No, do you?”

“Not yet. I think we’re supposed to mix them. You know. With sex.”

“Ok… umm…”

“It’s too slippery!”

“*hysterical laughter*”

“*hysterical laughter*”

“*sniff* *sniff* Was that smell you?”

“I’m sorry! I was laughing!”

“Oh, god.”

Even though neither of us noticed any kind of independent sensation induced by the KY Yours & Mine (aside from the speedbump generated by two independent lubrication applications), I can definitely say that once we got into the whole Genital Voltron thing, a sensation was noticed. Yes, combining the “Yours” and the “Mine” portions of KY Yours & Mine definitely provides a sensation.

Reality:

“Ok, NOW do you feel anything?”

“Nothing different than normal… how about you?”

“Um… I think so…”

“You feel something different?”

“Yeah, it’s like… “

“Like what?”

“Hang on, I’m thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“OH MAN. IT FEELS LIKE ICY HOT.”

“*hysterical laughter*”

“Don’t laugh! IT FEELS LIKE I SAT IN SNOW!”

“*hysterical laughter*”

“STOP LAUGHING AT ME! IT’S COLD!”

Since KY Yours & Mine didn’t seem to provide any kind of unique sensation to each partner, I don’t know that it would really matter who got which tube, even though it is supposed to. And if you’re normally a solo lubrication application couple, I recommend making the necessary adjustments for a dual lubrication application to prevent… genital combination issues.

Other than that, though, I have to say that KY Yours & Mine did live up to what it said it would do.

For him, the man lube tube didn’t really cause any kind of independent sensation, and he didn’t really notice anything when they combined, either, but we might have to write that up to the use of condoms, of course (KY Yours & Mine is latex safe, FYI). However, the Pizza Theory of Sex, as shown in the commercials, does indeed hold true. It was sex, he’s a guy, that’s pretty much the recipe for no complaints.

For her, there was also no noted independent sensation from the purple lube tube, but there was definitely a sensation of sorts when they combined. As for the foghorn in the commercial… well, I could see that. Maybe. If the foghorn was intended to warn the USS Penis of potential icebergs in the Vaginama Canal.

Disclaimer: No one asked me to write this or paid me to write this or gave me any free $20 lube to write this. In fact, the manufacturers of KY Yours & Mine probably wish I didn’t write this. You probably are probably wishing the same thing.

Posted in shameless consumerism | 64 Comments »

Sitcom face!

Check out Phil totally giving me sitcom face.

You know, SITCOM FACE. Like if this was the late 80s/early 90s, you could totally picture me doing something wacky and him going, “Oh, TJ” and giving me sitcom face, at which point we’d freeze frame and the credits would roll.

Do you see it?

TOTAL SITCOM FACE. You may or may not be surprised to know that I am extremely familiar with that particular expression on that particular head.

(Also, how FREAKIN ADORABLE are we in our matching t-shirts?)

(Also also? I can’t help noticing you noticing that our mirror needs to be cleaned. Your noticing has been noted. Quit being so judgmental. Damn. I have a crippling fear of streaks, and I can’t reach the top of the mirror, and do you really think that Phil should have to CLEAN a MIRROR after he gets home from a hard day at work only to watch me get toothpaste all over it again mere hours later? Really? God, Internet. When did you turn into such a bunch of assholes?)

(And, another also? I know you’re looking at my boobs.)

Posted in daily BS, NaBloPoMo 09, shameless consumerism | 34 Comments »

The Hairs

I mentioned today, on Twitter, that I had purchased some new fake hair. That intrigued Swistle, who immediately began a descent into my archives to find more about my fake hair collection, but I realized that I had only ever mentioned it in passing, which is shameful of me.

The tagline to this site used to be “I’m Mr. TJ, and this is my demonic ponytail,” even long after I chopped off the hair that had grown to my butt. It has since been changed to something more appropriate – “It is way better to be me than to be someone who has to deal with me.”

Something I realized when I chopped all that hair off was that I really missed having long hair, but I LOVED having short hair. Thus, the fake hair collection was started.

Upon realizing, thanks to Ms. Swistle, that I had not discussed nor posted pictures of said collection, I did my best to rectify that this evening.

No pictures, please.
Click here for the full set.

Posted in daily BS, shameless consumerism | 7 Comments »