Posts Tagged ‘let’s go shopping!’

I was standing in the kitchen, starting dinner when I heard it.

So, do you want to go to Ikea on Saturday?

And before I could even turn around and express my glee, Husband was slapping his forehead, saying, “Dear god, what have I done?

You already said it! You can’t take it back!” I wanted to yell. What I actually said, trying to play it cool, was, “Sure. I mean, do you want to go?

As he begrudgingly nodded (because he understands the no takebacks rule), I immediately started envisioning our cart. And after supper, I began to Pin my little heart out, noting all the delightful things that Ikea has to offer to make an apartment a home.

(Which, consequently, does not have the same ring as “to make a house a home,” but you get the idea.)

This time around, though, I’ve been notified of some new ground rules.

Because, while I would love nothing more than to buy all our [totally necessary] new furniture in one swell foop, apparently we have to think about things like “our budget” and “not overpacking the car.”

Where’s the fun in that? Lord knows I love a good challenge.

But they say that marriage is all about compromise.

So perhaps this trip we’ll stick to one piece of furniture (plus, you know, all the little things that the ground rules are fuzzy on), and I’ll content myself with not having to hang on to our purchases, lest they fly out the window.

That, and the prospect of another Ikea trip in the near future.

Husband is really just prolonging the inevitable.

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Let me just start by saying that I love my little Ford Focus. I do.

It has done me well these past six years, helping me move from apartment to apartment, and making countless trips up and down I-95. And I have always marveled at how deceptively big it is on the inside – which has been extremely handy in those moving trips.

But this past Saturday I think we finally found its max.

We went to IKEA. I was sure that the bookcase we had our eye on would fit in the trunk, considering we’d previously bought and transported a TV stand and desk without problems.

BNF was sure that the car was too small.

Turns out, he was right this time.

I suppose it didn’t help that the bookcase came in four different boxes. And it also didn’t help that we decided to purchase a GIANT rug in the same trip.

BNF worked some magic with the twine, and it was my brilliant idea to stick the rug through the back windows.

Here, it looks almost comical. On the way home from College Park, however, I spent nearly the entire ride facing backwards, just in case something decided to slide out – poised to grab it if it did.

I’m sure that would have helped.

Regardless, we made it back in one piece, with no lasting damage to the little Focus, and losing nothing along the way.

And while this trip was a success, I suppose, I’m still fairly certain that next time we’ll use an SUV.

Though, as Mama said when I emailed her the photo, “Nothing sticking out of the sunroof – you’ve got plenty of room!

I’m sure that would have worked if we’d gotten pulled over.

Update – the finished product!

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I had ignored it for a while. Not out of principle or anything, but just because I didn’t need yet another site taking up my time.

Then I remembered Berrak telling me that it was a good place to gather all your wedding ideas and share them with your bridesmaids. And I thought, okay, that sounds reasonable. And maybe, while I’m at it, I could use it to show BNF what I want on the registry, or for the apartment, etc.

I think you can see where this is going.

I signed up. Before I’d even pinned anything to my boards (look at me! it’s like I know what I’m talking about!) I had followers, thanks to Facebook. And that? That stressed me out.

What if my lack of activity made me a loser? What if I pinned something that everyone else thought was stupid? What if, what if?

Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I’m an adult. Usually.

And while that reminder may stop Pinterest from being a source of stress, it’s still a complete time suck.

I spent the better part of this morning poring over wedding websites and pinning left and right. Yesterday, I was all over Williams Sonoma. I’m sure later today it’ll be something else.

Hopefully, at some point, this will become productive. For now, though…



…well, let’s just say this post would have been up a while ago, except that I got distracted by someone else’s pins.

So much for productivity.

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You see, it’s been almost a year since I bought new running sneakers. And, while that might not seem so bad, most running gurus suggest getting new shoes every 500 miles or so. To put things in perspective, I calculated out the miles on mine and came up with just over 1000.

Not good. I should be on my third pair by now.

You can’t totally tell from the outside. I mean, really, they just look a little dirty:

You’d never know that these shoes carry puke stains from the first time I threw up after a race. Or that they ran through the first snow of the season. Or that they stayed strong through the marathon. But I can tell while I’m running – when I feel my ankles rolling, or more impact on my soles – and the last thing I want is another injury.

Enter these new, beautiful running sneakers:

See how pretty? How clean? How, well, large? I always get running shoes about a half size to a size bigger than my regular shoes, you know, for extra room. These, though, these are a size and a half bigger than anything else I own (aside from other running sneakers, naturally). When the sales guy suggested the size, I kind of cringed out of vanity, but conceded that he was right.

And, when he convinced me that this bigger shoe would a) stop me from getting most of the blisters and calluses on the tips of my toes, and b) make it less likely that I lose toenails (you mean I could have all ten at once?), I was sold.

So these new boats of mine will see me through my next marathon training and marathon (Marine Corps!), as well as countless races and runs this summer. Hopefully they won’t be in danger of any race vomiting, but I can’t make any promises – we never did quite figure that one out.

But, regardless, I’m positive that I’ll have happier feet for having purchased them. And more toenails.

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About a month ago, when I had the unfortunate leaky apartment and I asked you guys to help me find the bright side, some of you mentioned taking the opportunity to rearrange and maximize my space, organize, and whatnot. And so I did. Not only did I rearrange, but I’ve been ordering new pieces from Target left and right. The perk of the delivery option is, obviously, that I don’t have to lug the furniture from the store to my home. However, I still have get it from the lobby to the seventh floor. Thank god for elevators and dollies.

But, when the last piece arrived just the other day and the dolly was already signed out, I figured I’d waddle it upstairs on my own. Yes, waddle. I bought a bookcase that comes up to my shoulders and is about two feet wide. There’s really no graceful way to carry it down the hall.

The perk about it being so tall, though, was that I had no trouble seeing this safety sign printed on the top:

Let’s discuss.

  1. TEAM LIFT (and the rest of the message) suggests that I shouldn’t have been lifting this on my own. And yet, somehow I managed. Either Target severely underestimates its employees or I really am Wonder Woman.
  2. The typos. Ohhhhh, the typos. My inner geek was (not so) secretly thrilled and overwhelmed at seeing so many in one place. Not only do we have a couple extra letters in “either” (“edither”) and “bulky” (“bullky”), but apparently they’re talking about handling safety, itself, as opposed to safely handling something. Now I don’t know what I’m doing.

And the bonus? There was another sign on the edge of the box:

I’m going to assume that “complint” means “compliant,” but where does formaldehyde come in for a bookcase? I hear that word and think of the biology lesson where everyone tried to get out of dissecting the frog. And last time I checked, I didn’t see any frogs in the packaging.

Maybe there’s a follow up delivery?

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Last week I mentioned that one of the things I was looking forward to while home was Black Friday shopping. Call me crazy, but it’s become tradition to get up at 4am, hit the sales, fight the crowds, then come home for a catnap – and revel in how much money I’ve saved.

Within the past couple years, though, retailers have decided to take advantage of the craziness and make their extra-special-super-duper-how-could-you-miss-this? sales start earlier and earlier. Like midnight – only hours after you’ve stuffed yourself full of turkey, pie and wine.

That's about right.

This year, my mother tried to convince me that we might be better served to attempt the midnight sales. “I just want to get it over and done with,” she told me. “Besides, I doubt the outlets will be that crowded – they weren’t last year.” I protested. I told her that I had already assured concerned friends that I was not that crazy. No midnight sales for me. In a conversation with Patrick, who also seemed to question my sanity, I had even professed that I was a Black Friday purist – a 4am shopper.

But apparently, when at the mercy of She Who Wields the Credit Card (read: Mama), my ideals go down the drain.

And so we devised a plan that would enable us to take advantage of the midnight sales, factoring in maximum nap time post dinner. Traffic wasn’t bad last year, we reasoned, surely it would be similar this year. Right?

We were on the road by 11:50pm, after a brief gas and caffeinated beverage stop, and we were making great time. I’m talking 30 miles in 30 minutes, give or take. We began to see a few more cars as we neared the outlets, and then, five miles out, traffic. just. stopped. Nothing but tail lights as far as the eye could see.

Like that, but worse. And in the dark.

What do you mean, I told you so?

And so we sat. My mother drove, or, rather, sat behind the wheel and nudged the gas pedal every 20 minutes or so, and I dozed in and out of sleep in the passenger seat. Every now and then we took time off to curse at the jackass who was riding the shoulder, or laugh at the guy(s) who reversed back the on ramp when he saw the traffic mess in front of him.

So when did we finally pull in the outlet parking lot? 2:50am.

That’s right. Five miles in two and a half hours.

And despite the eventual purchases made, I have to say, I am so not eager to repeat that.

Next year’s alternate route planning starts now.

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All of this spring summer weather that we’ve been having lately has reminded me of something that’s been lacking in my life (or rather, my closet): sundresses. Cute, strappy, I-can-wear-this-anywhere, so-much-more-comfortable-and-breezy-than-clinging-shorts sundresses.


You’re starting to see them more and more out on the DC streets now. Gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve noticed the recent abundance of shorter skirts showing just a bit (or a lot) more leg. And I’ve been taking notice, too. I often find myself wanting to tap on the shoulders of women on my way to work, and ask them where they’ve been shopping. Unfortunately 1) I’m not that friendly in the morning and 2) I’m not that forward, in general. I could, quite possibly, scare someone.

This desire for an updated warm weather wardrobe, though, has also reminded me of something else that’s lacking in my life: money.

As naive as it may sound, I’ve felt nearly (not totally, I’m not an idiot) recession-proof for a little while (though I knew it wouldn’t last). I knew people who were losing their jobs and taking pay cuts, but also people who were finding jobs, and making good money. And I knew others, still, who were moving back in with mom and dad, trying to weather the storm for a bit. But I was still doing all right. Until, at our last staff meeting, El Jefe officially announced that there would be no raises this year. We all knew it was coming. We knew. Yet, we all still hoped that maybe something, anything would turn around in our favor.

However, as if in answer to BOTH of these “problems”, I received a happy surprise in the mail yesterday: my tax refund! (Is it a refund? A rebate? A return? Whatever it is, it’s money back.)

It’s like the government was reading my mind! As much as I had complained about doing split state taxes, apparently it worked out in my favor. I gave Virginia too much money, so they’re giving a little back. Woohoo! And now that it’s sunk in that I’m not at all recession-proof, I’m fully aware that the majority of the check should go into savings.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t spend a little bit on summer fashions, right? It’s good for my mental health.

Thanks, Virginia. You made my day.

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