Why Saving a Buck is Not Always Worth It

I'm typically a loyal Hannaford shopper. Close to home and with reasonable prices, it's a no-brainer.

However, in an effort to save a buck, I made the executive decision that I would travel to the new Super Wal*Mart in Scarborough to get groceries this week. I was stocking up, not wanting to have to go to the grocery store for at least two weeks and thought the home of cheap would be a good idea. Especially on a Monday morning at 9am on the first day back to school and work for many people.

Clearly, I forgot about all the unemployed people also looking for a deal.

3 hours later, I pushed $250 worth of groceries out of the store. I'm happy to report that I did get a lot of groceries and will likely not have to go to the store (except maybe for milk) for the next two weeks. However, it was what I witnessed while I was there that has me so shaken (not stirred).

Upon entering the store, I saw a man (and a large man at that) perusing the aisles wearing a full-length black and white striped fur coat with a furry black fedora and reflective aviator sunglasses. Just pushing his cart along like it was not unusual in the least.....and again, when I say he was a BIG man, I mean BIG. And not like, fat big, but big, big - like hitting the gym on a very regular basis big. I chased him all over the store trying to get a picture of him to post but at the last second I chickened out. Even pregnant, I worried he'd snatch my phone and crush it like a bug.

Then, as I get to the check-out lane, I had yet another Wal*Mart-exclusive experience. The line was short and the woman ahead of me had two carts. Not full by any means and I just assumed that she was likely shopping for herself and an elderly parent or neighbor. After I was boxed in and had part of my cart up on the check-out belt, I realized this was not the case.

She had compartmentalized her items on the belt, complete with the little divider thingy, by what she really wanted - all the way down to what she could live without. On top of that, she had multiples of everything (window cleaner, sandwich baggies, avacados.....) After the first few sections, she asked the cashier to subtotal her order.

I'm still thinking that she's shopping for herself and someone else.

Then a few more sections go by and she asks for a subtotal again. Then we get down to subtotaling after each section.

She gets to the final section and all is good. She gives the cashier (who is trying really hard not to lose his patience) the go-ahead to ring through the last 15 or so items (including the window cleaner and avacados) and when the final tally is rung, she says, "oh, I must have mis-calculated. I can't afford to pay for all of this."

She then proceeds to have the cashier void the items, one at a time, until she's at a balance that she can afford to pay. She then pays with all small bills and change. And we're talking about close to $100 worth of stuff.

Now, I'm all about being on a budget. I am that person that walks through the grocery store with a calculator to make sure that I'm sticking to our alloted grocery amount. But I'm also person that buys the store brand whenever I can (or whenever it doesn't conflict with my favorite brands that I won't compromise on). This woman had no generic items in her cart, had all reusable bags from Whole Foods and was clearly not your typical bargain shopper.

Which is what made me so damn annoyed.

So, the moral of the story? Saving a buck is not always worth it.

8 Weeks and Counting

Wow, we're getting down to the wire here. Although, I guess if I feel like 8 weeks is, "down to the wire," then once we only have a few weeks to to I'll be jumping off furniture trying to put myself into labor. And while my pregnancy is going admittedly very smoothly, I'm ready to have this baby. Little Miss Ella has taken up residence right on my Sciatic nerve and it's killing me. Sleep is done in the upright position, getting out of bed is a chore and standing, sitting or walking for more than 10 minutes at a time causes me to have excruciating pain through my back and hips.

So what do you do when you can't sit, stand, lay or move? I'm not sure about you, but I bitch about it - a lot.

For the most part, the boy has taken up residence on the couch. He says it's so I can sprawl out in the bed, but I suspect it's more for his own benefit so he can get some sleep. Which I can understand. Were I in his position, I would do the same. But last night he decided to sleep upstairs. And when he came to bed, he promptly set his alarm for 4am. It's now 4:48 and I'm up typing to all of you while he lays in bed, sound asleep. Asshole.

"Why are you setting your alarm for 4?"
"It might snow. The forecast said there's a chance for flurries, up to an inch."
"What forecast are you looking at? I watched the weather and they said no snow."
"I looked it up online, duh."

Very mature Dan, very mature.

So, at 4am, his alarm went off, he peeked out the window and saw that there was NO SNOW, and promptly went back to bed. I laid awake for 20 minutes contemplating the things I could do to him while he snored and in the end, decided to play nice and just get up.

"Where are you going?"
"I'm getting up."
"Why?"
"Because I'm awake, duh."

Real mature Stacie, real mature.

I made sure to make plenty of noise letting the dogs out, feeding them, letting individual pieces of chunky kibble clink into their plastic bowls slowly, wadding up newspaper to make a fire, dropping firewood on the living room floor and as soon as I'm done with this, I'll go ahead and start doing dishes.

Now who's the asshole?

Old People Are Pissing Me Off

And I'm not talking "old" like my grammie and grampie (in their late 80's), I'm talking about those damn meme's that are in their 60's and have bad dye-jobs.

I just left an intramural soccer game at The Kid's school and I was sitting behind one of these meme's, which is where my bad mood started. Keep in mind that this was an intramural game - no high stakes, no trophies, no World Cup, just a bunch of kids running around chasing a soft yellow "soccer" ball in a pint-sized gym.

"Come on Hannah! Block the ball Hannah! Run Hannah! Good block Hannah! Dribble the ball Hannah, dribble the ball." And on, and on, and on. Jesus God. Really? And then when Hannah would miss-kick, "What ah ya doin' Hannah? Get on that ball Hannah!"

It's a f'ing intramural game grammaw! Half the kids playing in this game are doing so because they're not qualified to play "real" soccer. Just ask my kid, "Syd, are you good at soccer?"

"Um, no. I pretty much suck. But that's why I play intramural's. I can still play but just have fun."

And that's the way it should be.

So then I decided that I needed a change of scenery today since half of my office is disassembled upstairs and the other half is re-assembled in the basement, I've made the decision that I'll surf all the free Internet I can find in town today (meaning Panera, Border's and the library). I no sooner get to Panera and another one of these goddamn meme's is bitching because there's no light roast coffee in the urn. And as the manager comes walking out of the back with an urn in each hand she huffs and says, "Oh! So there you are. I was wondering if we were ever going to get some light roast."

It's a good thing I'm not the manager. I would have thrown the light roast right at her, hopefully drenching her ugly snowman sweatshirt and her ugly mouse-brown dye job. I mean, really, if you're going to dye your hair, at least pick a decent color.

24 Weeks and 15 Pounds

I was sitting in a client meeting yesterday with my legs crossed ever so daintily (which, btw, is no easy feat when you've got a protruding belly). I had an itch on the back of my thigh and when I rubbed my hand over it to scratch it, I actually FELT cellulite THROUGH my pants.

Seriously?!?

And while the doctor assures me that my 15 lb. weight gain over the last 24 weeks is entirely normal, I'm so grossed out by the fact that I can actually feel cellulite through my clothes that I can barely even stand it.

Here's what's interesting though. When I was pregnant with The Kid, I put on a total of 50 pounds - so right around the 24 week mark I was probably 10 pounds heavier than I am now. And I didn't care! So why am I so body conscious now?

I'm 31, feel like my boobs are becoming cow udders and my thighs are permanently soldered together. Shaving my legs has become a chore and if I stand on my feet to long, my socks leave little lined in my calves. I sleep sitting up because I have heartburn from everything I eat, whether it's a cookie or an apple.

Hi, my name is Stacie. I'm 31 and pregnant. And I fear there's no amount of therapy that will cure me.

The Ultrasound

Last week we went in for the standard 18-20 week anatomy scan of the baby. For weeks, the boy has stressed about his reaction if it wasn't a boy. I assured him that, if he were to swear out loud, it would be okay - he's surely not the first dad to be pissed off that they're having a girl instead of the coveted boy.

Instead, I was the one swearing. No, more like demanding that the ultrasound tech take it back. She lead me on, first of all. Which is entirely unfair to a hormonally imbalanced pregnant woman who has had just about enough of tween drama.

"See those three little dots right there?" she asked.

"Uh-huh....." I responded dreamily, my eyes quickly misting with tears at our good fortune to have a boy. 3 dots surely means two testicles and a little turtle, right?

"It's a girl!"

I nearly punched her in the face. A girl?!? What?!? How am I supposed to deal with that? How, when I am FORTY-TWO-years-old am I going to deal with a whining tween coming home from school, rolling her eyes and telling me how wrong I am about everything that comes out of my mouth.

At nearly FIFTY, how am I supposed to deal with horny boys and eating disorders? I am not prepared for such things.

In the elevator, the boy tried to console me, "maybe there's still time honey - maybe one will grow."

My reply? "Honey, if it's this small now, I don't want it to be a boy. No son of mine will bear that burden."

Of course, now the guilt is setting in. My rational side is telling me that I waited a long time for this baby. I should be thrilled, even if it is a girl. I should feel blessed and overjoyed that we will soon be parents for a second time.

Instead, I'm a neurotic mess (this seems to be a golden thread that runs throughout my life). So, welcome to the family Ella Alexandra. Your mom's a neurotic nut job, your dad has decided not to put you up for sale on eBay as was his original plan if you were a girl and your sister has already picked out your wardrobe for the next 5 years of your life. We love you, even if we are crazy as hell.

The Weekend Wrap-Up

So yeah, the weekend officially ended like, 5 days ago. And there is a new one starting in approximately 7 hours, but hey, who's counting? And the fact that I'm just getting around to posting about my ever-so-exciting weekend of last, we're all just gonna go with it.

#1. I found shit in my bathroom cabinet. Not like crap that people don't bother putting away - actual HUMAN FECES folks. On toilet paper.

Now, I know my own kid well enough by now to understand that she would not do such a thing. And certainly the boy and I would not do this either. So who exactly wipes their ass and then puts the dirty toilet paper in my bathroom cabinet with my nice Downy-fresh towels? Oh, that might be the neighbor kid across the street who I heard going through my cabinets when she was using the loo the last time she was over. And I know it's her because she's the only other person that's been in our house since then. Hm.

#2. My kid was offered a Playboy. By the same neighbor girl. Who's like, 8. WTF? She came over to our house and was like, "you've got to come over, I've got to show you something." Apparently, she'd been in her parents room and (shockingly!) been pilfering through their private spaces (between the mattress - how original) only to come up with a Playboy which she promptly hid in her own bedroom to show my kid. Lovely.

The first question that I have is, "why is she rifling between her parents mattress?" The second question I have is, "why must I have this knowledge?" I can no longer look out my kitchen window without seeing the man who owns the Playboy and getting visuals that no one should ever have. Short, squat and with a beer belly, he's a man that loves his leaf blower a little too much.

#3. I wasted 3 hours of my life that I will never get back at the spanking new Wal*Mart Super Center. It's a lot like Meijer's. Which was a little nostalgic for me. Anyway, the Sunday before many kids went back to school, 30 lanes open, every one of them 15 people deep. Who do I end up in line with? The old lady on the motorized scooter with an 18-pack of Ensure, a 24-pack of Busch Light and a value-size pack of Depends. I didn't actually talk to her, but I desperately wanted to take her picture and post it - too bad I couldn't find an excuse to get in front of her and do it.

#4. I realized the boy has no clue what Orange Crush is. Again, I ask, WTF? Sometimes I wonder if his parents kept him locked in a closet when he was little. We attended an outdoor wedding reception this weekend (which was in the middle of "Hurricane Danny") and of course I couldn't drown my sorrows at the open bar, so I opted for an Orange Crush. Dan walks up and asks for one, only to get in an argument with the bartender. When he is handed said can of Crush, he is thoroughly confused because he is thinking an orange slushy-type thing. I promptly edumacated him that it also comes in Strawberry and Grape. Yikes.

#5. I bought a new-to-me-vehicle. Without consulting the boy. Which is exactly what he gets for buying a new truck and plow last fall without consulting me first. I am still sticking out my tongue at him over that one.

So that's my weekend wrap-up. I'm headed north for the weekend to visit the 'rents for a night and then Sunday and Monday I have a wee bit of work to do. I've been bit of a slacker lately and it shows. Have a fun and safe holiday weekend!

Summer is Officially Over

I truly believe that summer is over. Although we're supposed to reach 80 in a few days, it won't be the same 80 that we had last week.

And that's just fine with me. 80 and humid sucks - when you're pregnant, it sucks even more.

We're slowly getting ready to ease back into a routine. The kid is excited to go back to school, I'm excited to do the same and my mind is swimming with all the things I need to get done before February. It's a long list and includes moving my office to the basement where I'd really like to make some major changes so that it's a little more "homey" and inviting. The prospect of working next to the hum of the furnace and staring at the washer and dryer is not exactly appealing, but done right, I think it will be alright. That is my major fall project - I'll post pictures and you can be the judge of how well I do.

The summer has been productive though we didn't do anything major at all. Just laid around, spent lots of time at the pool and the kid learned about money management with not one, but two, jobs that she juggled. Pretty impressive for a 10-year-old. Now she's looking forward to May when she's 11 and can take the Red Cross Babysitters Class. When we were in NYC for her birthday we of course visited the American Girl store where she purchased a babysitter's kit, complete with business cards. She's got them filled out and ready to go. Bless her heart.

Hopefully now that fall is nearly here, I'll be visiting the blog more frequently. I'm having a hard time deciding what direction to take it - should it stay the same? Or change? I have lots of creative projects in mind that I'd like to talk about, but are those really as funny as my bitchy comments about the world around me? Probably not. And I could spend a lot of time bitching about pregnancy over 30 (because, by the way, it's a hell of a lot different than when you're pregnant at 21), but I feel like that might be bad jou-jou. Of course, after the baby is born, I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories about how our life has been turned upside down, how Dan is bitching about diaper changing (he opposes cloth, I think it's more environmentally friendly - and besides, what's the difference between disposing of dog crap and disposing of baby crap?) and how we're dealing with two kids that are a decade apart. It should be fun. But for now, I'll just keep rambling and showcase my slowly but sure changing office in the basement. Good times.

See you soon.