Cheapskate Tuesday: Clothing

Pasta is Halle Berry's secret biological sister (but more fashionable). When we went shopping she said, "Heidi, I really like your style, it's laid back and fun, but I'd love to nominate you for the show 'What Not to Wear'. I really think they could help you out." Er, didn't that statement just cancel itself out?

Gosh is gorgeous and dresses sharply. That's actually how we started hanging out. He showed up on New Years wearing some handsome gray dress pants and a burgundy button up shirt. I lost my mind and asked him to hang out. We've been friends ever since. While walking together one day, I offered to go shopping with him to give him a woman's feedback. He quickly responded, "No thanks." What?! "Gosh, are you too cool or something?" He pretty much said I dressed terribly and that he wouldn't take advice from someone who wore "Inside out squirrel pants."

When we went out for coffee, Mochs accidentally slipped out this gem, "Hey look! It totally looks like I'm a business woman, taking my divorced friend out for coffee to talk!" She based this on our outfits. Another time, she helped me sort my clothes for goodwill and packing before I left to Calgary. She bloody tried to throw everything out! Good thing I stopped her, because I don't think security would let a naked chick on the plane. Just a hunch. She said my wardrobe was worthy of the show, "What Not to Wear." Red flag.

I brought my nicest clothes (the few Mocha had pity on) to Calgary. My sister Sea asked if these were *all* the "nice" clothes I had. Point taken.

So, today's Cheapskate Tuesday advice: to save money on expensive clothing, just stop buying it. People will begin feeling sorry for you and fund your own shopping adventures. It's that simple. You too could have a nice new wardrobe! For example, Mochs slipped me $60 for new clothes at the airport, my sister bought me two shirts, and I think Sea is hinting that people give me clothing certificates for Christmas. Brilliant.

Late night love ponderings with popcorn gut rot

This entry won an award for longest rambling dating entry for 2008. Readers beware. There is no prize money for getting to the bottom. If you have no endurance, give up now and wait for tomorrow's entry. It's actually 1:41 am on Tuesday, but I'm going to change the time so it still fits into Monday.

Dating. Blech. It's so complicated. Why can't you just say you like someone, they say, "Me too" and then you get on with it? I hate the stupid games. I hate the "reading between the lines" crap. I hate being patient. And I hate that I ate popcorn for dinner instead of real food, because now I have gut rot.

I wonder how you know if someone is "the one". Do you start dating him and see if it works out? That works for cooking. Either an ingredient is good in a recipe or it isn't. Is it something you just kind of know? Is there only one specific "soul mate" out there, or could there be a few potentials? I like like Chunks Ahoy cookies, but Double Stuff Fudgee-o's are also satisfying. How much do you have to "like" the person first? What if you like him as a friend? Depending on the friendship, is that enough to develop into more? How do you know?

I have fantastic guy friends. Seriously. They're amazing. A bunch of them are handsome, funny, smart, and love Jesus. Sea asked why I don't date one of them. Why don't I? My response was that I just don't feel anything. Is that because I'm jaded about love? Thank you high divorce rates and miserable marriages. Has it been so long since I've dated seriously that I don't feel anything? Maybe I'm turning into Data from Star Trek. Am I not open enough to the possibilities? Squidlo thinks I'm too picky. Is that it?

People say standards are important, "Make sure you have high standards." But then I hear, "Heidi, you're standards are too high." Pasta and I don't know which things should and shouldn't be negotiable. There are a number of things I have on my "list", but as Darius pointed out in one of our "recycling" conversations, even if a guy has the "requirements", I still don't go for him. Why? Maybe it's the fear of commitment. Does that actually happen? I thought that was just crap people made up when they were trying to avoid dating "Where's Waldo?" or Steve Urkle. But maybe it's true. After dating Spreedsheet and having my heart messed up with that whole thing, maybe I don't want to risk that happening again. That was three years ago, but it sucked at the time.

Another thing, how much do looks matter? Obviously dating a hottie is cool. But I've experienced dating where someone grows on me, or repulses me, depending on his personality. Could I date someone I cared for a ton but didn't want to sleep with? Quasimodo anyone? Would I get over it? I could fantasize about Batman, but that's probably wrong. Ha.

How can I tell if I love someone as a good guy friend or as a partner? Isn't there a saying that you should marry your best friend? If I were to pick my best guy friend, it would be "Lucky". He's awesome. Like many of my guy friends, he's hilarious, intelligent, talented, hardworking, loves Jesus, is disciplined, ambitious, generous, thoughtful, sweet, strong, tough, independent, a good communicator, and gives the best hugs. I could go on about how much I admire him. He's fantastic. He knows me pretty much inside and out, but accepts me anyway. Why am I not dating him you ask? Good question. He thinks I'm awesome too. Would it work? I have no idea. I don't even know what to do with the situation. If he made a move, would I run for the hills or give it a try? I honestly don't know.

The long term freaks me out. It's weird. Ultimately, I want to be in a committed marriage where I'm a devoted wife and have a devoted husband, and we grow old together and wear matching sweaters. But when scary words come up like: "future", "compatibility", "marriage", "children", "love", it's like a bellowing voice reverberates off of narrowing walls and says, "HEIDI YOU'RE GOING TO BE LOCKED IN! THERE'S NO ESCAPE." Then I get an irrational fear that the walls will squish me or the voice will get so loud that it shatters me and I couldn't be put back together. That's a lot of pressure. Whatever's husband assured me once that I didn't have to agree to marry a guy just because I dated him. That helped. Gosh says I over analyze. I wish I didn't eat as much popcorn.

Cascade

Turns out I don't know how to use a dishwasher. I fit in about 1/3 of the dishes. Sea laughed at me and reorganized it so all the dishes fit.

Stircrazy

Remember that song, "I am slow-ly go-ing cra-zy. One, two, three, four, five, six, switch. Cra-zy go-ing slowly am I"? This is pretty much the story of my life right now. I need a job. I need friends. I need a friggin' Starbucks that isn't forty minutes away on a bus route through the ghetto. Sigh.

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*Ghetto Bus Update:
Today we had a new driver. He didn't know the route. He took wrong turns and backed up the bus to turn around. He also forgot to open the back door and had to ask us which way to go next. I love the bus.

Adventures on the bus

I'm not used to not having a car. Bus schedules, correct change, and a warm jacket are now a big part of my life. Fortunately, I live next to a fantastic bus route. It goes around the entire city of Calgary. This is impressive considering the size of it. I took it the other day to see the entire loop and hopefully find some sweet places to apply for jobs. The ride was 2.5 hours long. I was glad I peed first and brought Purell. Here are some of the highlights:

1) Through the ghetto section (this will definitely be a regular part of the update!) I saw a shop called, "Discretely Sweet Day Spa". What is the deal with this? Why "discrete" why not just say "day spa"? The windows were tinted. My sketchy alarm went off.
2) Saw a sewing machine store with barred windows. Who the heck robs a store like this? Has anyone ever lifted a sewing machine? They're heavy and awkward. Perhaps you could get out of the store with three of them, but then you'd have to leave your crowbar behind. Is there even a sewing machine black market?!
3) A guy came on the bus who looked just like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. It was hard not to stare.
4) Some dude sitting behind me sighed and his breath moved my hair. EWWWWWWW!
5) A lady came on with two extra large black bags of pop cans, and two smaller white bags. It was quite a production.
6) Buses aren't meant for girls with long legs. My knees hit the back of the seat in front of me. Special would be in agony.
7) I took notes along the route. People were really interested to see what I was writing and it made me wish I had some juicier subject matter. Also made me self conscious of my printing.
8) A guy sat beside me and he smelled *Exactly* like my friend Black. This made me instantly homesick. I wanted to hug the stranger. That might make him uncomfortable and might get me kicked off the bus in the middle of no where, so I didn't do it. An hour later someone came on who smelled like Vanilla. That reminded me of Mocha. Pout. This gave me the idea to collect deodorant and perfume/cologne samples from all the people I care about back home and sniff them every now and then. I imagine stalkers do this, so maybe I better not.
9) The closest Starbucks is 40 minutes away.
10) My butt fell asleep.

Cell phone rant # 2

Caution: This entry is for rude cell phone users only.

I once went out for coffee with someone for an hour and forty five minutes to two hours. In that time frame the person talked on the phone seven times. Six calls were with the same person. I'm not making this up. What am I supposed to do during that time? Bust out a crossword puzzle? Volunteer for Starbucks and start clearing tables? I understand if an important call comes through and the person needs to take it, but trust me, the calls were ridiculous. In my mind I fantasized that I lunged for the ringing phone, grabbed it, chucked it through the glass window (breaking it), and then said something tough like Bruce Willis would have in Die Hard. Instead I smiled and fiddled with my cup lid. Glad I took two hours out of my day to meet with this person. Phew ok, there's my rant.

Cell phone rant

Who doesn't have a cell phone? Me. I use a home phone and I'm happy with that. I don't like people being able to reach me wherever I go, I don't want to lose or break it, and I sure as hell don't want to pay expensive bills. Charges for text messaging doesn't affect me at all. Bring it on. People argue that it's great for emergencies. Like what? My car breaking down? Wait a minute, that happened to me! I just knocked on a door old fashioned like and used their phone. Beautiful. And usually if you're in a group and need to use a phone, everyone around you has one.

It's great entertainment for others when you use their phone and don't know how to dial the number. I needed three coaches to help me send a text to Special on Saltspring. This boosts people's ego because they feel technologically advanced. I have a phone that plugs into the wall and says "BC Tel". Darius rescued a red phone out of the dumpster for me. It has a headpiece and I'm going to bleach it.

Most interesting ways people I know have wrecked their cells:
1) Dropped in a glass of Baileys.
2) Dropped in a urinal. Mmmm: soap cake flavour.
3) Run over by an SUV.
4) Dropped in a deep fryer at A&W. What does that do to the fries?!
*Any other experiences are welcome in the comments section :)

Cheapskate Tuesday: How to save on Tupperware

Today we have a very special edition of Cheapskate Tuesday, I hope you like it.

I bake a lot for people, but get frustrated when they don't return my expensive Tupperware. Fairweather did once and it was mouldy. Realizing that Tupperware was not the way to go, I decided to use Ziploc bags. Ziploc let me down. Big time. Imagine having a crush on a guy and baking for him. Imagine something bad happens to that baking in the car. Imagine handing the guy a bag of broken bits of creepiness. This is not effective. Don't try it.

So, while I was on the plane earlier this year, I had an Epiphany. I decided to use those handy (and free) barf bags to put my cookies in and give them to people. Brilliant! The cookies stack perfectly in there and don't shuffle around getting broken. The bag stands up by itself, is easily resealable, and looks similar to the cookie packages in the store (minus Air Canada or West Jet written on the side). No more lost Tupperware or creepy cookie bits. And best of all, it comes with it's own joke that I like to write on the side: "Careful not to toss your cookies."

My mom's a cougar

Puma, called me today and asked me why the hell I moved to Calgary, when I have hottie friends like Special and Black. Ha, this doesn't surprise me one bit. She saw them at the airport.

"Bringin' BC back" (Sing it JT!)

No one recycles here because you have to drive it somewhere. Bastards. My sister never heard of composting before. Ever. She's 34. In a few days we're getting big containers from Walmart for recycling. This makes me happy. Yodell called me a hippie. She makes her own granola cereal.

How to travel poorly on a plane

.5) Start with only 3 hours sleep
.75) Don't shower
.85) Dress like a bum
1) Don't bring your boarding pass
2) Exceed the luggage weight limits
3) Hold up the line while trying to lighten your suitcases
4) Spend too much time with your friends in the terminal and show up late for security
5) Sit next to a stranger in the waiting area, then cry when you read a card
6) Start getting on the wrong side of the plane
8) Hit *both* the person sitting beside you and the one in front of you with your back pack
9) Fidget like you have ADD
10) Fashion a barf bag into a screen cover to hide the annoying screen in front of you
11) Cough and blow your nose so everyone thinks you have the plague and that they will get it
12) Don't take your headphones off when they tell you to
13) Once off the plane and waiting for luggage, talk to your sister about how snobby the person sitting next to you was, then notice he is standing 3 feet away from you
14) When grabbing your luggage off the spinny thing, hit someone with it
15) When you arrive to your destination, don't tell anyone you arrived safely. Let them wonder if you're dead.

Gooey, sappy, drippy post with honey on top

Darius once asked me why my super cool friends bothered hanging out with someone like me. Thanks for the vote of confidence Dad. But it's kind of true. Don't get me wrong, this is not a "pity edition" or a desperate attempt to seek validation from my friends, but my friends really are just *that* cool.

For example, today I was running around like a balloon rapidly losing air, and my friends came to the rescue. Whatever asked if I needed a ride to get my insurance cancelled and then offered to run a bunch of errands for me. We're talking like five of them! Yodel offered to pick some things up. And my mom, offered to drive me to the airport. Gosh showed up on my doorstep to hug me and say good-bye. And The Crew: Yodell, Special, and Black saw me off at the airport. I laughed and joked, but when I passed through security I teared up and wished I could go back out and hug them again or fit them in my suitcase. As a tangent, I don't think Special could fit into any kind of suitcase, Yodell could, and Black might. I wonder if they have to get special body bags for people like Special when they die. Hmmm, anyway... back to how cool my friends are!

Whatever, Pretty, Fernando, and Yodell all wrote really nice cards for me. Yodell slipped me $60 for new clothes. (Point taken) Enthusiasm found an art magazine and got a bunch of people to sign it at my Calgary send off shindig. How thoughtful is that? I also had a family shindig, and a girl's night to send me off. My friends are the best. Really. :)

It was going to go well... or terribly

So, I decided to pull a prank on my landlord. Being a new tenant with no lease, this was pretty risky. But hey, I am unemployed and it seemed like a good idea at the time. "Impulse Heidi" strikes again.

I was in Michael's Craft store a while back (not at church where I should have been), and I came across a really nasty fake rat in the Halloween section. I bought it. I decided to trick Fig with it, but I didn't want to scare his wife or their guests, so I propped it next to his workshop door. Golden. heh heh heh... maybe it was a little cruel.

The next day, I noticed it was gone. Delighted, I sat out in the yard waiting for him to come work in the garden and see if he said anything. Ten minutes later he surfaced and told me all about tomatoe plants blah blah. No rat. Maybe it really was a bad move. Impatient, I asked him if he'd seen anything unusual lately.

He exclaimed, "YOU!! I knew it was YOU!" Then he demonstrated how he grabbed a two by four (actually picked it up!) and hit the rat. When it fell over, he "thought it was cold or something" so he hit it again. Figuring he killed it, he grabbed a bag to dispose of it. It was actually in the garbage can. He fished it out and has been using it to freak out his guests and even the neighbours. We contemplated getting the old guy across the street, but he's 83, so if he dies of a heart attack, there might be some legal remifications. We haven't ruled it out though.

Backfire

So much for being a toilet paper freeloader. It totally didn't work. If it had though, I would have been golden forever. So, I went out this morning to get some. Because I'm leaving for Calgary soon, I thought I'd cut some corners. I started by buying the smallest quantity: four rolls. Nice. Then, I decided not to go for a name brand. Right on. I finished by picking the least expensive one. Sooo... I walked out with four rolls for $2.48 with my head held high.

Turns out the company confused "tissue paper" with "tracing paper", this stuff is practically see through.

My Uncle D. counseled my car and now we are talking. There's still a long way to go between my car and me, but we're doing better. My uncle is awesome.

Didn't see Karl today. Got on the scowly lady's good side though. Complimented her make-up.

Cheapskate Tuesday

I am so mad at myself right now. Cough cough... I may or may not have run out of toilet paper. I'd like to go out and buy some, but my car is in the shop and we still aren't speaking. So instead I thought I'd use Kleenex. That was working out fine until I noticed it leaves bits of toilet paper in my undies. That's friggin' not cool at all. Gross! My luck, I'd get in an accident (obviously not in my car- but maybe on my bike?) and I'd end up with the hottest ambulance attendant.

I think the part that bothers me the most is that I just spent 45 minutes of my life (which I can never get back) walking to the store to get eggs. Beside the store is a Starbucks, so I stopped in and got a drink. It made me feel like I was cheating on Karl a little bit, but let's face it Karl you haven't even asked for my number! If I walked to Karl's store, it would have been another 20 minutes of my life and he might not have been working. In fact, I might have got that grouchy lady who scowls at me when it's busy. She scares me.

At the convenience store, I almost got arrested for shop lifting. True story. I was thinking about the stupid price of eggs there, and the stupid fact I'd have to carry them, and the stupid fact I'd have to walk all the way home and my stupid MP3 player ran out of batteries, and my car and I are still fighting. Arg. Anyway, while I was stewing about these things, I absent mindedly started walking away with the eggs in my handbag. Heading for the door, I realized that my bag was making some jangling sound and it occurred to me that I hadn't paid for the eggs! I had become a thief and some guy named Chunky Chip was going to start yelling, "Freeze!" and knock me to the floor before pepperspraying my eyes. My students would learn I was an egg crook and was probably in prison getting in a fight with Angry Betty, or having Rough Rhonda give me a tattoo with a jagged spoon. I never want it to go down like that. Fortunately I realized this before Chip did and I took the overpriced eggs to the till. Jesus knows.

I don't have tattoos right now, but I don't have toilet paper either. Hmmm. I'm pretty resourceful though and came up with an idea. There are 15 of us girls dressing up and going out for a fancy dinner tonight (note to self: find something to wear) and a bunch of them will be arriving at my house to get dolled up. Sooo... I wrote a bunch of the reliable and compassionate ones to explain my story (I left out the near theft) and asked them to bring a single roll. Brilliant. At least one person has to remember right? And if I end up with 15 rolls then... BONANZA! Only 7.5 hours to hold my bladder.

Gosh only calls me when I'm napping

As a warning, this entry is kind of a rant, so if that is going to rain on your sun-shiny day, don't read this entry.

I'm unemployed, which means you'd think I'd have oodles of time, but I don't. I'm always busy doing something and have developed a habit of napping in the afternoons to make up for the lack of sleep. Gosh must have a sense for when I'm in bed, because that's when he calls. I keep my blinds closed, so I know he's not stalking me. Naturally, it seems like I don't really do anything. We have a joke about how bad it looks.

It's funny being unemployed because people assume you're free all the time. If my friends invite me to hang out late and I say, "No, it's pretty late already", they point out that it's not like I have a job in the morning. Thanks, I didn't realize that. But if I sleep in, then people point out that it must be nice to have the luxury of lying in bed all day. Yeah... must be. Lets not forget about the midnight phone calls. People wouldn't call an employed person at one am, but feel like they can call me. News flash: I SLEEP TOO! Different people phone at 8am. News flash: I SLEEP TOO.

Another thing that I've noticed while being unemployed is people feel entitled to comment on my finances. My favourite question so far came from an aquaintance: "How can you afford to take all this time off, especially to go to Mexico? How are you paying for that?" Well, Mr. N. Oseyparker, it's a free trip that a friend is taking me on. I didn't say that, because it is none of his business. Instead, I told him I got the money from dealing drugs to my students. I smiled and laughed when I said this, which is the polite way of saying, "None of your business!" It is effective because it is a joke, but still reveals no information. Another good question comes up at restaurants, "Can you afford that dish when you don't have a job?" I smile and laugh again and say something about washing dishes. "Heidi, if you don't have a job, how can you afford Starbucks?" Whoa, slow that train down. My iced coffees come to $2.25, back off. I haven't come up with a comeback for this one, any ideas? Help!

I guess my little Sunbird won't be singing me to sleep tonight

My car and I are having relationship problems right now. I was driving to meet some friends tonight and out of nowhere my car freaked out on me. It got all pissy and said something about me not paying much attention to it and expressed how upset it was with me going to Calgary without it. It flipped out and spewed radiator fluid everywhere and steamed. The car hasn't spoken to me since. I guess I should have dealt with it sooner. I knew things weren't great with us, but I didn't know it was that bad. It's spending the night at the garage and doesn't know when it's coming back. My friend said that if that's the way it is, I should just get a bus pass or rides from other people. That's not cheating is it? I think we're on a break. I'm so confused.

When's recycle day again?

Last night, my dad Darius informed me that I was "recycling" again. Recycling is one of our words to describe the process of reanalyzing the possibility of dating someone who has already been eliminated. For example, years back I was friends with an awesome guy- let us call him Fairweather, and I thought about dating him. He's pretty amazing so there were lots of positives; However, the negatives outweighed them. Sadly, Fairweather was eliminated. Done. Topic closed. Yet, with "recycling" the subject was reopened a few years later and all of a sudden Fairweather was back on the list of possibilities. Roughly the same positives and the same negatives were involved, the only difference was that he had less hair and my student loans were higher. The beauty of recycling is that the same junk is run through a machine, squished up, torn apart, and expected to make white paper. It never does unless you bleach it, but by this point I don't know what happened to my metaphor.

Sock it to 'em!

I just saw an older man with gray hair walk down the street in his white socks, get in his van, and drive off. Then he drove by the other way. Maybe he remembered he forgot his shoes? I'm glad it wasn't his pants. Shudder.

Grandpa Makes Farting Cool

Gramps likes to listen to the TV at top volume and is obsessed with the US election right now. I wonder sometimes if he thinks he's American. He also watches the US news channel. I don't know why he needs to know about the crime in LA and why he wants to hear it at volume 20. But the election occupies his mind and that makes him happy. Perhaps surround sound makes him feel like he's in the auditorium listening to the debate, kind of like an old person vacation. I wonder what Hawaii Five-O is like in surround sound. Maybe I could sit under a heat lamp and watch it. Where's my pina colada mix?

Anyway, Gramps likes to bust out his fart machine. It's got a speaker and a remote control device. Sometimes, he hides it under someone's chair and presses the remote. He did that at my grandma's bible study once. Other times he puts it in his pocket and keeps a straight face while he presses the button. He's 96 so people figure he's lost control of his bowels or something and try to assure him that these things happen. He hams it up some more to test people's reactions. We've got a video of this.

The whole thing got me thinking about farting. I mean, why do we crack up when someone rips one? What's hilarious about fecal air reverberating off of rectum walls? Who knows. Meep informed me however, that it's not funny when you do this in front of boys that you like. Ok, noted. I really messed this up at a dinner I went to with a group of friends and a crush I was trying to impress. I started by bringing gross broccoli (strike one). Then I shared a story about the time I ate a whole pound of bacon to myself. Shut up Heidi, shut up. Then I thought I'd let a "sneaky" little fart out slowly and quietly. Turns out farts are amplified on wooden chairs and echo with high ceilings. Good to know. Would have been better to know earlier. Why didn't that guy give me his number?

(I didn't see Karl today, but I ordered a Vivanno at a different store. Someone said I'm not old enough to be a cougar. How old does one have to be?)

Which drink gives off the "right" signal?

So, I'm pretty much in love with my Barista (yeah, I capitalized it). He's a bit taller, medium build, nice skin, and spikes his hair cool. Gosh once made fun of me for asking a dude his hair secrets with the intention of replicating them, so I know that's not a cool thing to do. Thanks Gosh. Anyway, back to my story: so how do I get Karl to make a move? He gets awkward around me and fumbles with things and forgets how to make drinks. He also does some sort of Gumbi lunge, but you'd have to see it to understand. The girls all think he's into me, now what? Any tips?

The whole thing got me over analyzing my drink choice. I mean, I get the same thing every time. I order a grande, hazelnut, iced coffee, with room for cream as well as an organic blueberry bar. Ok, I used to get the bars from there, but they were soggy so I stopped. Gross. So, what if my drink choice is turning him off? Maybe he thinks it's predictable and boring. Maybe he hates hazelnut and every time I order it, he thinks of his Aunt Martha who fed him stale nuts as a child?! I don't want to be Aunt Martha. But if I order a different drink, maybe he won't know it's me or he'll think I don't like the way he made my last beverage.

I could order a Vivanno drink, which is chocolate, banana, espresso, and protein powder. That screams, "Health nut! Borderline granola!" And unless banana is used as a sexual ineuendo, it isn't that exciting. No one wants to date a girl who orders a protein drink. Besides, they're more expensive and I'm cheap. (As a disclaimer, I love Vivannos) If I order a non-fat blah blah whatever, then he might think I'm self conscious about my weight (which I am) and lame or that I should definitely go the non-fat route, in which case I don't want him estimating my BMI. If I got a frap, he might think I am young and playful (that's cool right?), but since he's got a fit (did I say beautiful?) bod, maybe he'd judge my calorie intake. Anyway, this is all too intense for me to sort through when I'm at the till and he's dropping pens and scattering papers.

Oh, I should mention that Karl is younger than me and that I'm kind of a cougar. I sneakily discovered he's in his last year of biology. I'm thinking 22 or 23?