Thursday, November 04, 2010

Day Four: A steal or a deal, the conundrum of coupons

The month of November is National Blog Posting Month.  This is my 5th year participating. This year, for thirty days, I'll be telling stories from some point in my life.  Enjoy!

halloween happy dance




Okay, so this isn't much of a story, but it's a long post.  Which might lead you to believe it's a story.  

Just go with it.

There are many things in my life that I have an aversion to.  Like, fish and all things aquatic, yellow cars, driving on the freeway, beans,  little kids who eat their boogers and people who just don't know when to stop talking.

One of my many aversions however often really bugs people and for me. Yes folks, I'm talking about coupons.

I don't use coupons, or qupons, depending on how you say it.  They make me feel....well...cheap.  Sort of like I'm stealing.  Now, I appreciate a deal as much as the next person but there is just something a little sneaky about someone who will buy 15 newspapers and go to 20 grocery stores to get a buy one get one free on a bar of soap and end up with 76 bars of soap by the time the day is out.

A few months ago I went to a coupon party to learn about how to make the newspaper and Tuesday mail ads work for me.  To save money.  To make my grocery bill only $50 a week instead of $150.  I really like the idea, but not the crate of folders involved.  To start the party, the presenter had each participant go around and talk about their families, their grocery habits and whether or not they use coupons.

My introduction went like this:
Hi, I'm Annie.  There are four people in my family.  We do the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace stuff and only use cash for all of our purchases.  I do not use coupons.

Outspoken person at the party said to me, "Why not?"

I replied, "Coupons make me feel cheap."

Person at the party, "Are you a snob?"

reply in my head, "Maybe, but so what?"

You see, I just can't do it.  I feel like I need to pay for food and toilet paper what the asking price is.  Now my sister, she'll shop around for weeks for a toilet brush and buy one at the dollar store on .88 cent Tuesday  because she thinks that $6 dollars for a toilet brush is too much money.  But me?  I just figure that I should pay what I'm told.

Now with all that being said, here's the conundrum I face.  When it comes to nearly everything except items at the grocery store or at Target, I'm always willing to jump on the deal bandwagon.  In fact, I'll wait for coupon codes for photo books, prints of pictures, clothes and every thing else so I don't have to pay full price. I live for free shipping.  I figure that all I wear are t-shirts and stretchy pants and that because I go though three t-shirts a day (thank you sons!) that I shouldn't have to pay $18 dollars for a t-shirt that is just going to get puked on, snotted on, or slimmed.

Ages ago when I was a teacher, there used to be this thing called the Eddie Bauer Outlet Sale at one of the local convention centers.  Boy oh boy did I save my money for that one.  I loved being told that even though I'd spent $200, I'd saved $300 on slacks, button down shirts, and dress shoes.  It was awesome.

And, though I'm very upset about it, my favorite place for t-shirts is officially out of business at the end of this week.  I discovered on vacation in St. George at the beginning of October that Shade Clothing was going out of business.  And guess what folks, I panicked like a chicken about to get it's head cut off.  Minus the quarterly trip to Old Navy for some throw aways, the staple of my wardrobe is the super long "modest" t-shirt.  This going out of business hit me hard in an emotional sort of way.  I have not however, let it stop me from taking advantage of the Shade loss.  In the last few weeks, I've bought enough t-shirts to last me the next three years.  Seriously.  And, if that wasn't enough, I drove 40 minutes out of my way today with two munchkins to go to the warehouse sale with a bunch of other desperate moms to buy up as many t-shirts in my size (and for other people my size) for ONE DOLLAR EACH.

The thrill of that sale?  Exhilarating.  I spent $31 dollars and got 31 shirts.

No wonder people hoard stuff. 

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Day Three: Meeting the boy

The month of November is National Blog Posting Month.  This is my 5th year participating. This year, for thirty days, I'll be telling stories from some point in my life.  Enjoy!

cake

In 2002 I was a school teacher.  I taught American History.  My two best teacher friends taught English and Biology.  We hung out with each other a lot.  Nearly every weekend.  There were no boys on our horizons.  We were all three in our early twenties and consumed by our jobs with no time for anything much else.

One night, as the three of us sat pining and brooding as we were apt to do from time to time we made a deal.  We'd just seen parts of an episode of Oprah about online dating and since we were all three dateless, all the time, we decided that we would each place an add on an online singles service of our choice, just to see what was out there.

We talked about it for a couple weeks.  Knowing I had nothing to lose, I created an account at yahoo singles and decided to write a profile.  I did not include a picture, made sure to note that I was tall, and talked a little bit about basketball, saying something about Gonzaga of all things.

That add got me quite a few replies.  I went out on one date each with two of the guys who wrote to me. One was much older than me, wore a mock turtle neck, medallion and driving gloves and didn't get my joke about the Eagles.  The other, though he had a voice that could melt butter, was in person snaggle toothed, drove a turquoise truck, and wanted me to "come up to my place" after dinner.

Um...no.

After two bad dates I sort of gave up on the whole online thing.  Oprah was so wrong.  Wave of the future my butt.  I'd put myself out on a limb and got beaten down a bit.  I left my account active but completely ignored it's existence.

Until one day......

I got a message from a boy.  I don't remember what it said, something about my basketball reference, and that boy had a picture.

He was cute.  He looked like he was 12, but he was cute.

I showed his picture to my friend the English teacher.  Initially I thought about lining her up with him.  They both were super into sports and she seemed more desperate than me.  She wasn't interested.  I showed his picture to my family one night.  They didn't say much.  My mom was creeped out by the whole online thing and wasn't sure that I should pursue it.

After some thought, I ended up communicating with the boy.  We exchanged some e-mails.  I found out some important information about him.  I learned that he'd served a mission in Argentina at the same time, same place, as my Biology teacher friend.  In a casual conversation with her one afternoon, I mentioned his name.

Her eyes bugged out of her head.  She said his name out loud very slowly.  He lived in her neighborhood RIGHT NOW!  He was in her ward RIGHT NOW!  She didn't think that I'd like him, that he wasn't my type (too opinionated or something like that) or would have lined us up months ago.

Huh?  What?

At this point, I knew he was safe.  That I could maybe talk to him on the phone instead of just e-mail.  I had her assurance that he didn't wear driving gloves and had straight teeth.

We started talking on the phone.  He was working for SLOC (The Salt Lake Olympics) and he'd call me driving from Provo to Salt Lake every night on his way home from work.  We talked to each other for a couple of weeks.  My mom made me get a cell phone because I was taking up too much of the house phone.

We'd finally decided to meet each other in person.  A few days before he called me to tell me that he was going to be on the local news, and that I should watch to see what he really looked like and if after watching I still wanted to meet him.

I watched.  He was cute.  I was convinced that all deals were off however, because he just didn't seem as tall as he said he was.

We finally made arrangements for a "date" of sorts a couple weeks before the Winter Games.  He was going to pick me up on a Sunday afternoon, drive me to Provo, and get me into the hockey venue for a private tour.

He came.  We met.  We drove.  We conversed easily.  I had fun.  I spent the entire night trying to see if he was really as tall as me or if he was faking it.  I thought that maybe he sat too close to me on the bleachers as we were talking.  I was also concerned that my hands were bigger than his.

We made plans for the next night.  He was going to meet me at the Huntsman Center for the Utah vs. BYU basketball game.  He promised that he was only "sort of a fan" for the cougars.  We were going to be sitting with my dad and one of my dad's brothers in a packed arena and I couldn't bring someone who was going to cheer loudly for the wrong team.

I had his ticket.  I stood outside waiting for him.  I thought I was being stood up.  It was cold, getting late, and the game was ready to start.  No one was outside but me, and the guy making the roasted nuts so at least it smelled good while I waited.

He finally showed.

He didn't cheer too loudly for BYU.

We ended up going out on a few more dates.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Day Two: Polygamy in New York City

The month of November is National Blog Posting Month.  This is my 5th year participating. This year, for thirty days, I'll be telling stories from some point in my life.  Enjoy!


In the summer of 2001 my sister and I decided to drive to New Jersey to go to a Barenaked Ladies concert.  The trip planning became central focus to my sister and I sort of took the back seat happy to be along for the ride.  My primary contributions to the trip were suggesting that we visit some of the wacky and weird sites discussed in a book I'd just read called, "Driving Mr. Albert" about the guy who drove Albert Einstein's brain from Princeton, NJ to UCLA in California.

Anyway - the trip was one of those once-in-a-lifetime-do-something-really-awesome-with-your-sister kind of trips and as part of the journey we decided to spend a couple of days in The Big Apple, New York City.  We rode the train in from Red Bank, NJ and had a great time.

On our last night in NYC, we were walking through Times Square headed to the train station when we noticed a guy following us.  He was of slight build, middle eastern decent and I towered over him.  After a few blocks of feeling him get closer and closer he finally was at the same crosswalk waiting with us and started a conversation.

His name was Jene and he was from Pakistan, educated in London, living with cousins in NYC looking for work.  I seem to remember that he had a slight English accent.  That may be the only reason I decided it was okay to talk to him.

He wanted to know where we were from.  He said he'd never seen such tall, blond white girls before.  I suppose we did stand out a bit as not being from the East, and my hair was a bit of a glow-in-the-dark blond at the time, but we weren't anything special.

We told him we were from Utah.  He wanted to know if we were Mormons.  When we told him yes, he wanted to know if we were married to the same man.  Oh, the ghosts of polygamy still haunt us.  He also wanted our contact information because he was trying to get a job and was willing to go anywhere in the US to get one.

This long and involved conversation took us the blocks to the train station and he followed us in.  I wasn't sure if we were ever going to get rid of him, or how to escape.  We new our train was coming but he didn't seem to have any reason to not get on the train with us.  I finally gave in and gave him my e-mail address and that seemed to appease him enough to let my sister and I go in peace.

A few weeks after we got home, I got an e-mail from him.  Actually several e-mails.  He wanted to come out west.  He wanted to get a job.  He wanted to know if he could live with me and my family.  He wanted to know (yes, family, I never told any of you this), if I had a boyfriend because he thought I was beautiful and American.

Green card?

Somehow I managed to get rid of him.  I think I might have lied and told him I was engaged.  We were in NYC in July, this all happened in August, and we all know what happened in September of 2001.  I'm sure that if Jene was still in New York at that time, he was a target for all kinds of crap and spending his time e-mailing some Tall Mormon girl from Utah just wasn't worth the time.

Monday, November 01, 2010

Day One: Coughing

The month of November is National Blog Posting Month.  This is my 5th year participating. This year, for thirty days, I'll be telling stories from some point in my life.  Enjoy!


As a little girl, every few years the whole extended family made it's pilgrimage to Mecca....our Mecca anyway - Disneyland.  Everyone who could, managed to make the long car ride from UT to Anaheim in one long caravan on the freeway.  Driving to California wasn't always fun (there was this one time when my sister sat in the back of the SUV with the luggage on top of a cooler the entire drive to and from Disney) but it was just something that we did.  I loved it because it meant that I could ride in the cars of other family members, not always with my parents.

Our pilgrimage was pretty predictable.  Salt Lake to Barstow to spend the night and then Barstow to Anaheim for a few days of Disneyland.   We'd regularly pass one another, signal to roll down the window and then ask the age old questions, "Did someone fart in your car too?"  Man, that never gets old!  On one of these trips, when I was somewhere between 8-12 (I honestly cannot remember my age anymore) I begged and pleaded with all involved to ride a leg of the journey with an aunt, uncle, and cutie pie little cousin, Chloe.  She was probably 18 months old at the time and I just adored everything about her.

We got up that morning, ate our traditional breakfast at the McDonald's in Barstow that was build in an old train and loaded up in the cars.  Most of us had to stop for gas at a station right on the edge of the freeway on ramp.  I was buckled into the back with Chloe and we were singing songs, reading books, and just having a grand old time.

As we were pulling out of the gas station, Chloe started coughing.  It seemed innocent enough, at first, but the closer we got to the freeway, the more menacing the cough became.  It all happened in a matter of minutes, but as my uncle pulled onto the on ramp and started to accelerate Chloe's coughing went from minor to severe and she started to puke her guts out in the car.

Seriously.

I remember screaming, "Chloe is throwing up!" and then I did what any reasonable 8-12 year old would do.  I unlocked the door and jumped out of the car.  On the freeway.  Brilliant.

The rest was a blur.  My fear of puke brought me to tears and desperate to leave to leave the situation.  My dad says he remembers seeing me jump out of the car and wondering what was going on.  I'm not sure what all went down, but I didn't end up getting back in with my parents.  I ended up riding with my grandparents and two of my uncles the rest of the trip.  Six hours or so wedged between my grandma and one of my mom's brothers in the back seat of a Lincoln Towne Car, holding my grandmas hand and plugging my nose, hoping that the fart wars would end soon.

The fart wars lasted the rest of the trip.

My fear of puke is still very real.  My fear of coughing however still stands greatest.  When someone starts coughing (yes, even my kids), my Pavlovian instinct is to run because I'm pretty certain something may project out of said coughers mouth that probably resembles their lunch.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

In a nutshell

It happened.  Halloween weekend hit us and for the first time in my married life, nearly 8 years, we participated in, and celebrated All Hallows Eve.

Halloween is so dumb!

But seeing my kids dressed up like little monkeys (everyday reality in cute sweatsuits) and watching my little Chickie think he was a big boy doing all the same things his brother does, was pretty priceless.

Want to see?

Look below.  Priceless I tell ya.

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a barrel of monkeys

I'm not sure which of them got a bigger kick out of the evening, or who ate more candy (I'm pretty sure little brother won by a landslide) but they were both so wild and crazy by 8:00 pm that as parents, we didn't know what to do with them. So, the got separated - separate bathrooms(shower for one, bath for the other) and then to bed with them both.

We survived Halloween. This morning however, there were a few tears shed at the realization that it was over until next year.

Such is life I guess.

******
The rest of our weekend was pretty busy and memorable, too.

On Friday, we got to have little Miss Molly play with us for a few hours. She loves her cousins, and they love her. She is just the cutest little girl in the world and I'm so glad that she loves me. She loves her mom more, but that's okay. I can live with it.

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I'm partial, but these are three of the cutest kids around. And what's best is that they love each other lots and lots.

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And, we're fish sitting. Like, babysitting a fish for a friend. We've done it before, but Chicker wasn't around. We had a fish, Blue Fish, last fall but he died. The little boy is fascinated by the fishy and has finally figured out that you don't grab the fish out of the bowl, but that you can wave to the fishy from afar.

saying hi to the fishy - we're babysitting

And, what holiday weekend would be complete in our house without some baking? We had two family parties today and that meant that I needed to bake two different kinds of cupcakes. Lemon with a vanilla bean icing (I'm told tasted like ice cream) and chocolate with peanut butter icing.

Yum. Yum. Yum.

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