#17 Bargains - Olivia

Please forgive for my tardiness this week.  I've been sick, Thanksgiving reared it's glutenous head, and the first climatically seriously snowfall fell continuously throughout the week.  But without further ado, let's talk bargins.

First, I have another confession for this blog.

Somehow, I have been classically conditioned to feel the call of nature whilst in the presence of perceivably good deals.  I think the comes from a reoccurring experience I had as a little girl of going shopping with my mother, having to deal with a little girl bladder, and being almost to that finish line when she would get held up by a sale, a clearance sign, or a bargin bin.

I guess eventually I just began associating one with the other.

It's probably one of those extremely rare conditions.  Like never nudes.

Today, before I can even consider the potential of a thrift store, yard sale, or dollar store, I have to tend to a more pressing need.  This is easier said than done because businesses designed to save you money are also designed to cut corners, which translates to no public bathrooms nine times out of ten.   What is a girl to do?

Good question, reader.  If you're at a yard sale, you're fresh out of luck.  It took me at least three weeks to feel confortable enough to wander past the other cubicles on the way to washroom at work.  I just don't know if I have it in me to ask a stranger to let me use their facilities.  It's weird, I know.  But we must proceed.  You need to channel the pressure of the situation into a divide and conquer mode.  Be picky and honest.  Do I need this?  Is it worth $3?  Do I really look good in orange?  There is no lingering, only instantaneous decision making.  Stand by all the decisions you make.

If you find yourself at a thrift store, evaluate the situation.  Take in your whereabouts, consider your options, and act.  We all know that the best bargins exist, not so much in a geographical location, but in a state of mind.  If you are ready for deals, they will find you.   But you can't be ready to let those deals into your life if you're on a full tank.

Some thrift stores do have bathrooms.  Out here in the west, we have Deseret Industries instead of Salvation Armies and they're built near identical.  You can navigate both if you can navigate one.  They build Goodwills out of whatever they can find, so that's not always a guarantee.  The best thrift stores are of course holes in the wall.  My favorite, Re-Use Industries in Athens, is notoriously sketchy and cheap. And without a ladies room, but that goes without saying.   In those instances, I suggest going next door to take care of the emergency and move on with your life.   Luckily, New to You is not far at all from Re-Use, and it does have a public bathroom.  (Well, sort of.  It goes between being public and for employees only, but I use it regardless.)

The real trouble is in the dollar store.  First, let it be said that I adore the dollar store.  I am never disappointed by the whimsy of a dollar store.  Canned cheese doodles next to pizza flavored toothpase, behind glass figurines of clown-dogs?  What will they think of next?!  I could wander these aisles for hours, wondering who puts together the double feature DVDS that include one Marlon Brando western and a Betty Boop cartoon, or who creates the prototypes for the bizarre ceramic figures.  Dollar stores are brimming with wonder and fascination at a very affordable price.

But we all know my hold-up.  First thing is first.  If you can locate a loo, do it.  If not, you have a couple of options.  You can either grin and bear it, or you can distract yourself.  Start with a piece of gum.  Tune into the loudspeaker jamz, they're normally pretty fantastic.  Luckily, you're in a dollar store and you're surrounded by distractions.  You're going to be ok.

The only setting I can imagine real struggle with is Bargain Billy's in the Plains, Ohio.  It's the perfect storm of reuse, discount, and surplus.  I have no idea if it's still open (I have a sneaking suspicion it is), but my dusty memory only provides sensations of being overwhelmed.  It was crazy in there, from what I recall.  They had everything from memorabilia to garden decor.  There was no way to truly determine the worth of a deal because of how peculiar the items were.  I recall even their pop-machine having weird flavors.  And of course there would be no bathroom in sight.  Plus, you probably purchased a weird flavored pop.  You could walk down to the library, but you're pushing your lucky compadre.

You could say it was more than you bargained for.

HA ha HA ha HA ha HA ha HA ha HA ha HA!  This is the part where you probably just peed your pants.

Sometimes you get the deal, and sometimes the deal gets you.

#17 Bargains -- Don

It’s about 8 pm on a Sunday night as I write this.  I’m flying home from a few days in Orlando where I was attending an English teachers’ conference and the National Writing Project’s annual meeting.  It’s been a busy few days, and considering how late I’m going to be getting home tonight, I’ll be dragging quite a bit through work for the next couple of days. So, I guess, the first bargain I want to talk about is the bargain I’m going to make with myself where I agree to just hold on a couple of days and then I’ll rest up on Wednesday (which is the first day of my nearly week-long Thanksgiving break).

In addition to going to some great (and few not-so-great) sessions at the conference on how to be a better English teacher and/or workshop facilitator, Ruth and I took in three theme parks, the new Harry Potter movie, and an outlet mall.  As we like to say back in the hill country, “my dogs are a barkin’.”  Of course, my feet would probably be even a little bit more tender had I not went ahead and bought myself a new pair of comfortable shoes at the outlet mall.

When I think of the word “bargain,” I think of two different meanings.  The first is the type when we get a good deal for our money (in other words, the bargains we get when we see a good deal).  The new Mickey Mouse watch that I only paid $10 for at the outlet mall is a pretty good example of the first kind of bargain.  The other kind of bargain I think of is when we make a deal with someone after negotiating with them over something we both want.   For example, while we’re deciding what to do next in the theme park, we work out the deal that I’ll ride this ride with you if you agree to ride the next ride with me.

So after the last few days I’ve had, I guess I want to yak about where I’ve been and if I thought the expense of the theme parks was worth it or not.  Are the Disney parks a bargain?  Is it worth $10 to have a butterbeer in Hogsmead under the shadow of the Harry Potter ride?  What’s the best deal on a meal I made this week?

Okay, Question #1: Are the Disney Parks worth the expense? (I’m sure as my kids are reading this, they are sucking in their breath waiting for the answer because for nearly 10 years now I’ve been grumbling loudly that I’d never go to Disney because it cost too much; I think Ruth was more than a little bit surprised when I agree to purchase not one but two half-day tickets at Disney parks from the conference website on the night before we left for our trip). 

My answer is a qualified yes.   By “qualified” I mean the cost of the tickets to get into the parks are a pretty good deal; however, because of how easy it is to lose track of how much you’re spending once you are in the parks (on food, drinks, and souvenirs) it’s very easy to slip from good deal to bad deal if you are not very careful about how much you actually want to spend.  There’s a strange mentality that gets engendered in the park where you end up saying to yourself, “Well, it’s pretty special to be here so I’m going to go ahead and spend $22 for an éclair and another French dessert whose name I’m not exactly sure of.”  Now, one fancy “let’s splurge on a dessert” moment wouldn’t be so bad, but these parks are designed for you to have these “let’s spurge” moments every 12 minutes or so.   The bag of Japanese salty snow peas snack (they were like potato chips but made from snow peas) were a lot of fun and so was the caramel brownie from Germany; but I’m not sure I needed to spend the $8 for the beer from Norway (or was it Italy?).  Just what were we noshing on as we passed through Morocco and Canada? I don’t remember, but I’m sure Discover card never forgets.

But, like they say in the ads, “A week hanging out with my favorite person on Earth – Priceless.”  (We’re 39000 feet in the air and by now, hundreds of miles away from Orlando and we’re still snacking on Disney fare – chocolate covered almonds from “Ghirardelli.”  Yum!)  I guess the next bargain I make is with the exercise machine in the basement.

Question #2: Is it worth $10 to have a butterbeer in Hogsmeed (this is at the Harry Potter land at Universal Studios)?  Absolutely.  Until that first sip, I could only imagine what a butterbeer tasted like.  I would be glad to tell you what it tasted like, but I’d feel obligated to charge you a consulting fee (hey, it’s not like the IRS is going to let me deduct this just because I’m an English teacher and this is really literary research.  See – you’re not buying it either.)

My family knows I’m a bit of a tightwad (although I prefer the word “Frugal”).  I’d like to say how much we blew at the Harry Potter gift shops, but I can’t.  First of all, some of the stuff we bought are Christmas surprises and so I can’t talk about them lest a certain couple daughters find out about a good reason to come home for Christmas, and secondly, I can’t say I really know.  Ruth has her own copy of the credit card.  Could be scary.

Question #3: The best deal on a meal I had this week was the Baja Fish tacos from a restaurant in “Downtown Disney.”  They were delicious and very reasonably priced.

Disney, by the way, has their own shopping center (“Downtown Disney”) that has free bus service from all of their hotels/resorts.   “Free bus service” to go and spend more money on stuff after the theme parks are closed – now there’s a bargain for you.  Who doesn’t like free?  Only my Visa card knows how much those free trips cost me, but until I get the bill next month, I’m going to keep saying it was worth it.

#16 Haircuts - Olivia

Congratulations, readers.  Today, you get three polaroids instead of one.  Because this is a very short photo essay on haircuts.  You could say it was trimmed.  Har har har, knee-slap, har har.   You're so welcome.

This is my last haircut, circa April of this year.  

Gasp! Choke! Sputter! What?!  I know.  It's practically Thanksgiving.  I'm beyond overdue. 

My hair looks nothing like this now, due to the fact that two summers ago I dyed my hair a striking Marilyn Monroe blonde and it has since lightened up every time I dye it.  Even though I've cut most of those locks, the blonde seeps back through.  What was left of the blonde is pretty much just the tips, but you can still see it.  

And really, I don't mind.  Right now my hair is like Neapolitan ice-cream.  Blonde on the bottom, red remaining from this dark color, and my natural milk chocolate hair blending in from the roots.  

Due to the angled cut, my hair has these two long pieces in the front now.  It's like I'm from Middle Earth.  What do my Elven eyes see??

Only that next paycheck, I'm getting a haircut. 

This is was the best hair cut I've ever had, or at least my favorite. 

I loved everything about it.  This was my subsequent trade-off from the crazy golden locks of summer.  The warm brunette made me feel like myself again, just a better, more styled version.  

This is also when I tried bangs and loved it.  This has not always been my experience, as hair is always an experiment. 

Nothing reminds you that there are no rehearsals for life like haircuts.  One learns this by experience, such as wishing for a perm in sixth grade.  Readers, be careful with what you wish for.  

This also may have been the most expensive haircut of my short life.  Do you think that fact subconsciously contributes to it being my favorite?   

This is the best haircut I ever gave.  (Thus far)

My mother, father, and I were snowed into the Dudding Manor in January.  School was canceled, the roads were forbidden, and the electricity was sketchy.  

We did all the things people do when the forces of nature keep you from going anywhere.   Exhausted from Monopoly, playing in snow, reading, playing music, dancing around the wood stove, we collapsed onto the floor, the couch, and the large corduroy chair respectively.   

"Well," I recall my dad saying with a sigh, "I guess you guys can give me a haircut." 

What we gave him was a real punk rock mohawk and Teddy Roosevelt chops.  Which gave way to a photo shoot.  And entertainment for hours.

Man, I wish I had traced that shadow.  

This has been a short photo essay about haircuts.  Thank you and come again.

#16 "Haircuts" -- Don

I hope I’m not in trouble with Olivia, but I moved the topic of “Haircuts” to this week because I just had one yesterday and considering that I only get my hair cut about every three months, I thought we’d just go ahead and yak about it today.

First, as a bridge to last week’s topic on strange words, I like to put it out there that the language I feel I am supposed to use when describing the haircut I’d like to have is more than a bit off-putting.  In fact, it perplexes me.  Every time I go to get a haircut, the barber (or stylist) asks, “How do you want it?”  Now, I understand the necessity of the question – the barber wants to know how much hair to hack off – but my own linguistic inability to articulate approximately how short to cut my hair is very disconcerting.

Naturally, I want it shorter.  Although I’d like to have it longer on top (where I am balding), the physics of the clippers pretty much rules out this option.  I’d like to say, “I’m tired of having more face to wash everyday; could you please just shorten the sides and lengthen the stubble on top?” but one important lesson I learned in childhood was never to make jokes with someone who has sharp objects in close proximity to your head.

The English language works against me when I’m in the barber’s chair.  If I ask for a “trim,” how much hair is he (or she) going to take off?  What is a “trim” anyway?  When you’re trimming a tree, you could be pruning branches off or throwing decorations on.  If I ask for a trim, am I going to leave with a garland around my head or a wreath?  What if I ask for a trim and I leave looking like Julius Caesar in the pizza ads?  I’m certainly not going to complain to the guy who has ready access to scissors and straight razors.  I guess what I’m saying is even if I leave the barbershop with leaves on my head, I'm going to tip the guy anyway because complaining about such things is simply not within me, and besides, it’s my fault for asking for a “trim.”

The word “clip” works the same way as “trim.”  You can cut something off by clipping it, or you can attach something to something else by clipping it.  However, I dare not say, “clip my hair off, please.  Do not clip anything to my hair.”  I have no idea how women, who make it a custom to clip things into their hair, have this conversation with their stylists.

Just how short my haircut end up is always a delicate issue when I get home.  You see, years ago while I was first dating Ruth, I made the mistake of letting my dad give me a haircut.  She had not seen me for a couple of weeks, and when I went to pick her up at the bus stop, I was wearing a toboggan (which, I know many of you think of as a sled but here in Southern Ohio is the word we use to refer to a winter stocking cap).   Thus, when I picked Ruth up at the bus stop she didn’t know that I looked like a new recruit for a Buddhist temple until after we got home and I took my hat off.   

That haircut freaked her out a little bit.  I think she thought, “Oh my god, if this guy is willing to go around with such a shockingly bad haircut, what else is he capable of doing?  What other dark secrets is he hiding?”

Okay, now in my defense, I didn’t ask my dad to give me the same haircut he gave me when I was seven.  It was just that that particular haircut was the only haircut he knew how to do.  What I couldn’t say when she asked me why I let my dad shear off my head like a farmer clipping a spasmodic sheep is that I didn’t have the money for a haircut because I had just shelled out for the down payment on an engagement ring that I was keeping hid in my pocket.

So when she asked me back then, “Did you mean for him to do that?”  I responded all manly and blustery and said, “Of course, I did” when actually I did not.  What I really wanted was just a basic haircut that does not call attention to itself, and I was hoping against all of my previous history that my dad wouldn’t operate his hair clippers as though they were manufactured by John Deere. Hope springs eternal when you’re broke.

Now, more than two decades later, Ruth still thinks I specifically ask for short haircuts when – truth be told – I just don’t know how to ask for the right haircut.  As soon as I get into the chair and the barber asks me how short do I want it, I begin to sound like a blithering idiot.   I stammer and jabber, and then, words just fall out of my mouth.

Perhaps, I should start driving to another town maybe an hour or so away and pretend that I’m mute.  Then I could hand the barber a preprinted card that would read, “Please cut my hair short enough so that I won’t need another hair cut next week, but long enough not to piss off my wife.”

Or I could just continue to do what I always do.  Go get my hair wacked off and when I get home, Ruth will ask me, “Did you mean to get it cut that short?” and I will suck in my breath and say, “Of course, I did.  It’s not too short is it?

And she will say, “Well, it’s short.”  I know there’s a lot more she’d like so say, but she’s kind enough to let it go.