are you expressing yourself or propagandistically supporting financial insanity?

About two months ago, I got a really cool pair of shoes from a friend’s teenage daughter.  She said she was not wearing them anymore, so I took them home with me.  The shoes were awesome, great colors and artwork!  As soon as I got home, I put them on and went outside to play with the boys.  We got out the sidewalk chalk… well our version of sidewalk chalk… and started the outside art process.  I drew the skull that was on my shoe.  

I had seen lots of merchandise with artwork like my shoes, but I didn’t really know much about it.  Ed Hardy.  Stuff that people are paying insane amounts of money for.  $109 for a short sleeve t-shirt?!?!?!?  Are you kidding me?

Okay, so I have been know to shop at The Buckle on occasion.  I love their stuff, but not as much as they do.  Even if I had that kind of money, I would not pay full price for it.  I typically avoid the mall at all costs, but I needed to go there for my annual visit.  I had the boys with me and they picked out my Christmas gifts there.  Each one picked out a shirt for me off of the sale rack.  As we went to pay, we passed a table full of Ed clothing.  I didn’t even stop to look since I knew I would never pay what was listed on those little tags.

When I went to wear one of the shirts, I realized it had loose buttons.  My laundry theory: wash similar colors together in warm water, dry on high heat and anything that comes out looking good is worth keeping.  Oh, great.  Another trip to the mall to make a return.

This time I went without the boys.  It was the day after Christmas and I’m really not sure what I was thinking, other than I just want to get all my errands run.  I decided to just return the shirt and not get anything else.  I think I’m probably the only person over 40 that shops there, because they did not see a teen with me, so nobody asked if I wanted anything else in place of the shirt I was returning.  

On either side of me, there were teen girls shopping with their moms, making purchases with what was probably Christmas money or Buckle gift cards.  The girls were purchasing Ed hardy clothing.  One had a total of $87 and the other a total of $94.  Each girl only bought one t-shirt.  It really saddened me that this is an acceptable way to teach kids how to spend money and how our society endorses financial prostitution.  

On the way out of the mall, I saw an Ed Hardy bedding set at Macy’s.  Don’t get me wrong, I think his stuff is really cool, however I think it’s ridiculous that it costs as much as it does.  Just for a queen duvet cover and 2 pillowcases… $299.  Saddened once again that Macy’s was nearly sold out of this stuff, I left the mall.

I had one more return to make at Marshall’s.  As I was once again standing in a long line of people waiting to return something, I saw another teenager shopping with her mom.  They were checking out, and once again, the girl was buying an Ed Hardy t-shirt.  It was not the one she really wanted, but it was an Ed shirt for $30.  I suppose she thought that any Ed Hardy shirt was better than no Ed Hardy shirt.  I had a respect for them for shopping at a discount store, but whether or not the Ed stuff is discounted, or like in my case free, what statement are we making by wearing it?  

• I support financial insanity
• Food… $12, gas… $40, mortgage payment with late fees… $2367, Ed Hardy t-shirt… priceless
• My shirt cost more than yours!
• The tattoo would have been cheaper
• So what, my parents paid for it

Ok, I’ll stop now.  Should I start my own clothing line?  I could, but that would make me another victim of our society.  I think I will write a book (Allison will have to do this with me) about self expression through clothing.  How to treasure hunt at thrift stores and modify clothing to make your own personal statement.  

Off to treasure hunt now…  Oh, and I will probably still wear my free shoes, but as usual, I will modify them and make sure I tell everyone about treasure hunting.

jHOA

Well, there goes the neighborhood… 

I guess by the photo, it is obvious that I live in a neighborhood with no homeowner’s association.  My front door was a blah shade of hunter green, blending in with all the other doors in the area.  I suppose it could have been worse.  The door could have been a beige or tan color.  Maybe I would have painted it sooner.  The door is not in the best condition, but it serves it’s purpose and won’t be replaced anytime soon.  I like the bright turquoise.  My door looks happier than the rest in my neighborhood.

If my neighborhood had an HOA, I would have been kicked out a long time ago.  My lovely trampoline would have insured that. It has nine colors of duct tape holding it together– and you don not want to see a picture of my fence! HOA’s make you pay money to have rules.  I guess that could help for resale value by keeping the area looking nice, however who wants to pay all those extra fees?  Your home should be a safe, comfortable place to live, but let’s not forget that a house is also for self expression.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told that everything I do in my house is not good for resale.  Over the past 30 years, we’ve become a bunch of conformists.  Houses used to be many different styles and colors.  Now, they are all designed to blend in with nature.  Earth-toned colors are the norm.  The same natural stone tile, beige carpet and wood floors are acceptable.  I understand that people have different tastes in home decor, but if you like something just a little bit different, you will not find anything out there to suit your taste.

If I had an HOA, it would encourage individuality, self expression and fun.  We’ll call it the jHOA.

Rules and Regulations

• Grass can be any length as long as you mow it in circles.
• Bold paint colors are encouraged for exterior, as well as interior.  After all, it’s just paint!
• Doors should be painted your favorite color, or all of your favorite colors.
• Yard art is encouraged.  Enter our annual Funkiest Yard Art contest!
• Your garage is yours.  Store whatever you want in it.  (Legal stuff only please)
• Tree houses are acceptable as long as they are painted nicely.
• Feel free to park your car the wrong direction.
• You park your VW bus out front and live in it.
• The jHOA is free of charge, but all residents must share photos of their property on a social networking site or blog and must be an active participant in the jHOA.

These are just a few of the basic rules.  And all rules, just because that’s an awful word, are up for debate.  Come live on my street!!!

the great pumpkin

They say the older women get, the bigger their underwear get.  I’m not sure who ‘they’ is, but I’m quite sure ‘they’ spent too much time at grandma’s house or looking at the Sears catalog.  

So what’s my obsession with panties lately?  Well, for starters, we’re using a pair of granny panties in a photo shoot for our Christmas church mailer.  Christmas surprises.  (nope, this one wasn’t my idea)  So when I posted that I am shopping for granny panties on Facebook, I got a lot of interesting questions.  First of all, anyone that knows me, knows that I’m always looking for odd things to shoot or weird things for my art projects.

So when I was getting dressed the next morning, I chose a pair of underwear (I prefer to call them underwear, not panties, as that is a girly word) from my drawer.  My thought process: These aren’t my favorite ones, they fit okay, I don’t really like the color, but they’re clean.  Who’s going to see them anyway?  I do wear teenager clothing and my jeans are more low-rise than they should be.  No big deal, if I just wear a shirt that is long and covers everything, nobody will see them.  So I put them on.  I got dressed and remembered I had this totally awesome hat.  After choosing the hat, I had to find a shirt that matched.  I found the perfect long sleeved t-shirt.  Time to go hang out with some friends and unwind.

Well, needless to say, the shirt matched the hat perfectly, but did not work with my underwear plan.  I needed under-cover-wear.    They were not only just a tad big for me, but they were also bright orange.  After listening to many comments about my underwear during happy hour, I told them to take a picture, it would last longer.  So they did.  My friends got in on it too.  Yes, we all flashed our underwear choices right there on Main street.

So this morning when I got dressed, I very carefully selected my underwear.  My shirt today was long, so nobody ever saw them.  They were my Gap men’s boxer briefs.  I have several pairs of men’s boxer briefs. No, they are not hand-me-down’s from an ex, I bought them myself.  Comfort in underwear that can’t even compare to anything they make for women!  Should these just be for men only?  I think not, although I haven’t found a use for that opening in the front yet.

So if people can see your underwear, make sure your underwear fit and that they aren’t orange.  There’s nothing worse than your butt looking like the great pumpkin.  Unless it’s your halloween costume.  And if that’s the case, you should rethink your costume choice.  

is it coffee or an investment?

Anyone that knows me well, knows that I cannot live without my latte machine.  It’s a Pasquini machine, basically a smaller version of the ones in the trendy coffee shops.  

This is a pricey machine, but after doing a cost analysis on how much I was spending at Starbuck, Seattle’s Best, Caribu Coffee and many other coffee addict hangouts, I decided it was time to make a purchase.  (Yes, I did the cost analysis, I used to be a financial analyst)  Being the thrifty person I am, I had to price shop it to death.

The best place to buy beans, is also the best place to buy a machine. wholelattelove.com I bought this machine about 4 years ago.  It retailed then for $1700.  Again, being “one of those people” who will not pay full price, I bought it refurbished from whole latte love through eBay for $1300.  Yes!!!  A great deal.

I use this machine everyday.  (mine looks much cooler than the stock photo, hey?)  And then some.  So due to heavy use, one of the knobs broke.  I had to buy my Lavazza beans last week and decided to look up my machine to see if they had parts.  I was shocked to see my machine out there (exact same one, I checked) selling for $2699.00!  

So the takeaway here is that coffee IS an investment.  :)

Proverbs

 

no fortune for me?

I have this ritual… every time I go to a chinese place to eat, I get two fortune cookies.  One before my meal and one for the road.  So on this day, my cookie was empty.  No fortune.  I’ve been collecting these little pieces of paper that start a thought process.  Nothing more, just a piece of paper some printer made up to sell more chinese food.  Proverbs.  the only proverbs I should be reading are in the Bible.  But it made me sad that there was no fortune.  I was missing from my cookie that was after my meal.  My thought process for the road.    

So does this mean I have no fortune?  No thought process to leave with?  No little piece of paper with an encouraging thought?  Proverbs.  Maybe I was supposed to go home and find one.  Read Proverbs.  :)

While you were sleeping…

Coconut Grove is a popular nightspot in Miami, especially on a Saturday night.  This is going to be a great evening I thought as I was driving home from work.  I knew I would be driving, the Diet Coke plan would be best tonight.  Finally, tonight was my first night out with friends after a nasty divorce.  I needed to get out and socialize again, right?  The Baja Beach Club in Coconut Grove sounds like just what I need.

I was invited to a friends going away party right after work so I was going to arrive late to the club.  I arrived a little after midnight.  I drove around the block several times looking for an empty parking space.  Finally, I decided to park one block behind the main building, the one housing all of the restaurants, shops, and clubs.  One block is a short walk I thought, considering myself fortunate for finding such a good spot.

The club was packed; however, I promptly found my friends.  We had a great time socializing and dancing.  It was so nice to be out of the house.  I was having a great time!  Time flew by and before I knew it, it was after three o’clock in the morning. 

The club was pretty well cleared out by the time we decided to leave.  My friend Randall offered to walk me to my car.

“I’m fine, you don’t have to walk me to my car,” I said.

“Are you sure?  You’re going to walk out there by yourself in the middle of the night?”

“Yes, I’m a big girl.  I can take care of myself.  I’m parked only one block away.  Nothing is going to happen.”

Randall kept asking, and so did his finance Soliette.  I kept refusing their offers for an escort.  They finally gave up and we all left the club.

Once I left the building, there was no one anywhere around, just an eerie silence.  I started walking to my car, passing the beautiful Mediterranean style buildings with their manicured landscaping.  I was enjoying the walk; the night air was warm and calm.  As I got closer to my car, there were less streetlights and the landscape quickly turned from attractive to unkempt.  I could see my car up ahead in the darkness.  Still, I was content and leisurely strolling to my car.

Out of nowhere, a man appeared.   He was dressed in dark, baggy clothing and wearing a knit skullcap pulled low on his face.  I was not frightened, and I thought maybe he was homeless and would ask me for money then go away.  Suddenly he was walking right beside me.

“Give me some money,” he said in a nonchalant tone.

“No.  I don’t have any,” I said.

“Give me some money,” he asked.

“I said no.”

“Then give me your watch,” he said with a bit more determination in his voice.

“I’m not giving you my watch.”

“Then give me your money.”

I was close to my car, maybe five parking spaces away, when he jumped in front of me.  Before I knew it, there was a gun pointed at my chest.  He held the gun sideways, like the bad guys portrayed on violent television shows.  I expected the gun barrel to be cold on my skin, maybe it was.  I was too scared to realize it.  And where were all of the streetlights?  It seemed much darker now than when I was walking.

“I said give me your money!” he shouted.

The only money I had was change from a ten-dollar bill.  Good thing the bartender gave me ones as change that night.  The small roll of money probably looked like more than it actually was.  I gave him the money.

“Give me the rest of your money.  Now!” he said sternly.

“I don’t have anymore money,” I said.

Either he thought I had more since I was playing tough-guy earlier or he just thought I should have more than I did.  He began to dig his hands through all of my pockets, looking for money that did not exist, still holding the gun firmly against my chest.  It was at this moment that I started to feel like I was in danger.  I was startled when he pulled out the gun.  Now I realized that I could be seriously hurt or even die.  He was still digging, the feel of his hands in my pockets making me cringe.

He then proceeded to rip the front of my shirt and look for money in my bra.  No, he can’t be touching me!  Even though he was looking for money, I couldn’t help thinking that he might rape me.  There was nobody around.  What would stop him?

“Give me your watch,” he said.

I snapped back into the reality that I was being mugged, not raped.  I started to take off my watch.  Why can’t I get it unclasped?  It took me a few seconds to get it off since I was shaking so badly.

“Hurry up!” he said.

“I’m trying to do this as fast as I can.”

“Faster!” he said, pushing the gun barrel into my chest.

I got the watch off and gave it to him.  I was wearing two rings.  Immediately he asked for them.  I took off the first one, a real diamond and emerald ring, and handed it over.  I tried to get the second one off, a cheap rhinestone band, but it was stuck.  It had always fit snug, however, I had been dancing most of the evening.  It would not budge.

“Hurry up!  Do you want to die?” he said.

“I’m trying to get it off.  It’s fake anyway,” I said.

“I don’t care.  I want it now.  Hurry up, bitch!”

I kept pulling for what seemed like an eternity.  Finally, the ring slid off my finger.  I quickly gave it to him.  It was at this point I began to think I might not get out of this alive.  I was trying to come up with a get away plan, one that would get me away from this guy unharmed. 

He asked again for money and I said no, begging him to just let me go.  He told me to get down on the ground.  I did as he said, thinking that he’s now going to shoot me in the back of the head.  I looked on the ground for a weapon, although I’m not sure if I would have tried something so daring.  After all, he did have a gun.  I was on the ground for a few seconds, but it felt like several minutes.

I kept thinking I was going to die.  How was I going to avoid that?  Is he going to shoot me?  What is he waiting for?  What else does he want?

“Get up and run.  Fast,” he said calmly.  I don’t think any Olympic runner could have even come close to running as fast as I did at that moment.  I was running away from my car, back to the club from which I came.  I ran right into a group of people.  They started asking me if I was okay.  I realized that the guy had ripped all of the buttons off my shirt and that it was completely open.   I was too freaked out to be embarrassed about it. 

I was trembling as I told these people that I was just mugged.  They helped me locate a security guard working across the street and hurriedly left the scene.  I told the guard I had been mugged, then asked him if he would just please walk me to my car so I could go home. 

“I can’t do that.  I’m working security on this side of the street,” he said.

“Please, just walk me one block over to my car,” I pleaded.

“I’ll get fired if I leave my post.”

“Can you at least call the police?” I asked.

“No.  They won’t come out unless someone is hurt.”

I continued begging him until he reluctantly agreed to walk me halfway to my car.  I guess he knew I wasn’t about to walk there by myself, which meant I could have been harassing him for hours.  I was running by the time I reached my car.  I quickly looked behind me; the guard was long gone.

I got into my car, locking the doors immediately.  I was shaking all the way home.  I didn’t feel safe even in my locked car.  I didn’t even feel safe walking from my car to the front door.

It’s easy for anyone to think, “Oh, that will never happen to me” or “I’m not afraid to walk alone in the dark.”  A traumatic experience like getting mugged and being held at gunpoint has really changed my way of thinking.  Now, when I go out and I plan a late night out, I don’t go alone.  I also plan on getting mugged.  Yes, that’s right.  Sounds insane?  Completely crazy?  I make sure I have money in my pockets.  I also hide a twenty in my shoe.  I would hate to see a disappointed mugger with a gun pointed at me.

 

where it happened

A very long time…

It’s been way too long since I have written anything.  Blogs or otherwise.  I don’t like to write.  But it’s good therapy.  Beats paying $120 and hour.  Well, maybe not, but it’s still good therapy.  So this is my online commitment to write.  I don’t what I’ll write, but I will write.  Maybe I can trade Allison graphics training for writing training.

Nobody really pays attention to my weirdness anymore.

Day 4 I guess anyone that knows me well enough just expects strange things from me.  Because nobody seems to think that having 60+ 3 legged men on my ceiling is a weird thing.  The kids saw them for the first time yesterday and Cole just looks and goes about his business.  Nothing unusual to come home to for him.  Joe on the other hand, he was a little unhappy that he didn’t get to participate in the madness and wonders how we are going to get more of these little toys since they are not coming off the ceiling.

wow.

Day 3 and they are still firmly attached.

I tried counting the men on my ceiling.

Day 2 Yep, still there and very firmly attached.   So I tried to count them this morning.  I kept getting different numbers.  It’s somewhere in the neighborhood of 60-70 men.  That’s really way more men then I need.  At least they’re well behaved.  The garage door repair man came and had some really weird looks, but was not brave enough to say anything.Thad was going to try and pull them down so he could win the 48 hour bet that they would come down.  But then he said Tony would win because he said someone would have to pull them down.  They’re like my own little Verizon network.