Is it weird that I’m starting to know all the paint counter employees at Lowe’s-es and Home Depots in a ten-mile radius? Today I got my least fave. I brought in actual paint chips (chips of paint I scraped off our peeling baseboards) and asked them to please match. This dude (the manager) calls me to look at their computer monitor while his underling stands slack-jawed and listens to this conversation:

Him: We can’t create a perfect match. It’s .56 off.

Me: Point five six? How off is that?

Him: [Very obviously refraining from rolling his eyes at my stupidity] It’s point five six. So there’s point one, point two, point three, point four, and then point five six.

(Also, he has extreme halitosis. This is how I remember I’ve had unsatisfactory dealings with him before–I remember not his face, but the smell of his breath at three feet away.)

Me: [Considering the fact that, in his mind, these fractions represent something–something he can see in his mind very clearly. And he’s the kind of person who thinks, because he can clearly see the thing that was beaten into his brain during Lowe’s Paint Manager training, I should be able to see it, too. But I can’t, because I’m stupid, and probably because I’m a woman. This is all sort of interesting to me, but not uncommon and not surprising and not worth getting into right now, so I’m not going to say “You’re just telling me numbers. I understand that point five is bigger than point one,” etc., etc.]
So… Is point five six like half a shade, or a whole shade? Is it visible to the naked eye?

Him: Oh, yeah. Are you trying to match something? People will be able to see the difference.

Me: And that’s the best you can do? You can’t make a match at all?

Him: No. UNLESS….

Me: ?

Him: Unless you want to go [waves at paint chips all around us] look at these paint chips and try to find one that matches.

Me: You’re saying you can’t match it from this sample, but if I find a paint chip that matches the sample, you can match that?

Him: [Obviously satisfied he’s finally gotten through to my stupid brain] Yes.

It takes me five seconds to look at the various Glidden whites and see that mine is a violet white. It takes me five more seconds to decide between the closest two violet whites. It takes me ten seconds to walk around with a bit of the sample on top of the paint chip, checking it in various lights afforded by Lowe’s and imagining the paint chip in semi-gloss form. I like doing this. I love colors and paint chips and matching and imagining. I think about the guy who worked at the Home Depot near my old house, who is the only person I’ve ever met who’s more obsessed with paint colors than me. He seemed like he had Asperger’s, the one time I worked with him. I couldn’t tell if he got pleasure from deciding on colors or not. But I had the impression he respected me. I wonder how he’s doing. I miss him.

I take my selected paint chip (“Pegasus”) to the counter and Halitosis Point Five says, “Did you find one?” in a supercilious tone that indicates he knows I picked the wrong color. It occurs to me that it’s probably a liability issue for him. He doesn’t want to make me a color and have me come back later, bitching and wanting to return the custom-made and therefore un-name-able and therefore probably un-re-sell-able paint. Maybe that’s happened to him a few times in the past and he’s learned it’s easier to force the customer to pick a paint chip. He’s probably not a bad person. He has no way of knowing I’m not a bad person, who would ask for custom paint and then return it and try to get him in trouble. I guess I can’t blame him.

As I’m waiting for my quart of semi-gloss Pegasus, another customer walks up and asks the Paint Underling, “If I bring in a paint chip, can y’all match it?”

She says, “Uh huh. We can match anything.”

I refrain from commenting. I focus on the poster board this paint department has prepared with handwritten labels. It’s the four exact colors of the Texans’ logo. (Or is it? Within how many tenths of a mystery unit are these reds and blue a match?)

I receive my paint can and walk to the cash registers, happy I had an excuse to look at paint chips today.

Duality of Dog Ownership

I am either the best dog owner, because I walk my dog three times a day, or I’m the worst dog owner, because I can’t train him to go to the bathroom in our backyard, and I yell at him about it.

I’m either a responsible dog owner, because I carefully monitor my dog during our walks, baggie in pocket, to ensure he only pees/poops on mailbox stems and plants no one would touch with their hands… or I’m an abusive dog owner, because when my tiny but wiry and willful terrier pulls very hard on his leash, I sometimes tug the leash hard enough to yank him off balance, making him flip in the grass. And then I sigh angrily and move on (now that I know for certain the flipping in the grass doesn’t hurt him). (Because it’s happened often enough, horribly.)

Likewise, I worry about him running, half blind and half deaf, into the street and getting hit by a car. I worry about it so much, it makes me angry when he tries to do so, and I spank him. And he can tell, the few times he still tries to dart into the street, that I’m about to spank him for it, and he throws himself on the ground and makes a sad, abused, beseeching face that shows me what a monster I am. And I feel ashamed of it. But I spank him, usually, anyway.

I know a lot of people who think pets are like children. Once you get a pet, they say, you’ve made a commitment for life. Only evil, horrible assholes get tired of pets or give pets away or euthanize pets for biting their children.

I know a lot of people (who came here from other countries, usually) who believe animals are either food or employees/slaves. It’s almost immoral and certainly ridiculous to keep animals in one’s home for the purpose of decoration or affection, buying them food and getting nothing useful in return.

Between these two perspectives, I have a reasonably clear (?) vision of myself as a middle-class American woman who’s lucky enough to have time and money for indoor, full-time, named/registered/immunized pets. I’m very lucky to have the luxury, emotionally, to angst over my relationship with these pets and their emotions. “If that’s the worst thing you have to worry about…” my dad would say.

I grew up making pets out of strays and feeding them table scraps. Watching them give birth to litters on piles of dirty clothing in my closet.

I’ve lived in houses whose owners didn’t allow animals inside, from whose back doors I’d venture, out into fields, with bones in my hands, to buy a little wordless companionship.

I’m a good person because I sleep with my dog curled against me all night.

I’m a bad person because I typed a blog entry trying to excuse my sins. Used my writing skills not to make money, but to persuade you certain parts of me outweigh the others.
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This new compulsion started when I joined Amazon Prime on a trial basis last year, for xmas shipping. I stayed enrolled and let them bill my credit card because friends were raving about the service. Even though I’m not much for online shopping and couldn’t find many things on Amazon that: 1) I needed to buy, 2) that made sense to buy online, and 3) were priced competitively.

But recently I realized what the service actually is: an instant gratification machine. I blame a coworker: Every time we hold a “virtual meeting,” she constantly searches Amazon Prime for whatever we’re talking about and then sends me links. (Kinda like “There’s an app for that!”) She influenced me to order washable post-workout car seat covers while we were talking about hot yoga, and I don’t even do hot yoga. (But I did start doing regular yoga since that purchase, so… That’s good, right?)

The other day I was at a Big Box Retailer and my husband texted “See if they have those bamboo plate holders.” They did not. But I went home and saw that Amazon Prime did. Click–ordered.

Also at Big Box, I saw a child’s toy that I liked, so I bought it for myself. (I deserve the occassional cute plastic horse because I work hard, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it!) The brick-and-mortar environment killer only had one such toy left, but Amazon Prime had all of them, so I ordered my faves and I’m getting them TOMORROW.

It’s kind of terrible. I feel kind of bad about starting this shopping-based habit, just when I’d gotten my compulsive shopping habit under control. (Hours of therapy talking about that unpurchased plastic horse = success!) But not really. I don’t really feel bad about it yet.

Also, I’ve been spending a lot of extra time with my family, which makes me happy. And I would say more about that, but I feel like it’s too private. I feel… reclusive.

My X-mas List (Meaning stuff I want, not stuff I’m getting for other people)

1. Dark purple Schwinn Ranger bike. My husband is going to buy me this. He already said so.

2. New Kindle to replace the old one that my son dropped twice and that now no longer connects to Amazon wirelessly.

3. I wrote “bookstore” third on the list I’ve been keeping on my phone. What does that mean? A gift certificate? Maybe an Amazon gift certificate so I can buy Kindle books and MP3s, since I do that constantly, anyway. I don’t want to own a bookstore, so it can’t mean that.

4. I wanted this dog named Sidney that lives at my cousin’s house. My cousin Helen is one of those people who likes lots of pets and lives in a neighborhood where that’s allowed, so people dump dogs and cats on her. Out of all her current dogs, Sidney’s my favorite. She’s a black and white pointer type, really smart and affectionate. But she’s hard for Helen to handle because she likes to jump the fence. Sidney listens to me pretty well. I wish she was my dog, but my husband doesn’t want another pet. Normally I’d just ignore him and get the pet, anyway, but I’ve already done that twice and I think that’s the limit for un-agreed-upon pet-getting in our marriage. Meanwhile, Helen really wishes I’d come get Sidney, who won’t stop jumping the fence. Maybe Helen should start a blog and put a x-mas list on it.

5. Toyota FJ in green or orange

6. Video camera for making YouTube videos

7. Rollerskates

8. Rockband 3. I’m going to buy this for our family in October, when it’s released. I already said so.

9. Some black lace-up boots that I saw at Nordstrom, even though at the time I said they were too much like the ones I wore throughout high school. I’ve since reconciled myself to the fact that no one remembers or cares what I wore in the ’80s, so I should embrace whatever fads make me happy.

10. Industrial strength ice shaver for home snow-cone making.

11. My Little Ponies. I saw some at Walgreens the other day and they looked nice.

A One-Act Play About My Husband’s Misunderestimating of My Taste in Music

Dat: I do *so* understand your taste in music. In fact, I downloaded an album that I know you’ll love, because they sound exactly like Led Zeppelin.

Me: Yeah, right. I doubt that.

[Dat and Gwen cross to Stage Left, where Dat plays Wolfmother album on the laptop.]

Me: They sound absolutely nothing like Led Zeppelin. How can you say that they do, or that you know what kind of music I like, or that you’ve seen the depths of my soul? These people sound so little like Led Zeppelin that it makes me question your ability to love me. In fact, this last song, “White Unicorn”? Sounds exactly like Triumph.

Dat [sobbing]: I’m sorry! Forgive me! Stop bitching at me!

[Dat runs off stage.]

[Gwen saves “White Unicorn” song to a flash drive, puts flash drive in her pocket.]

[Curtain.]

FIN

Do you do this:
1. Get an unexpected day off,
2. say you’re going to spend it crafting or doing art,
3. but first, you need to go buy one or two supplies, so
4. you go shopping and end up spending the whole day doing so. Shopping. Nothing else.
5. Then you come home dead tired – too tired to craft or do art.

Am I the only one who does that to myself? I suspect I’m not.

Did that yesterday, because I had Presidents’ Day off, and my kids were supposed to, also, but then the school district decided to pull them back in and call it Hurricane Ike Make-Up Day, obviously because they wanted me to stimulate the economy by spending the whole day shopping. So I did, and didn’t even feel guilty about it because it turned out to be a Lucky Shopping Day for me, with the theme of Shoes.

I went to Payless, (don’t ask me how I ended up there if I was only supposed to be buying two beading supplies) and got two pairs of shoes, on BOGO sale, of course.

Later, I went to Ross Dress for Less, which is like a giant garage sale or thrift store, but with only new merchandise. If “new” can describe stuff that’s been thrown on the floor a couple of times and maybe stepped on or slobbered on by toddlers.

I only go to Ross a couple of times per year. I hadn’t been in six months or more, and last time, I got some skanky red patent platform heels, just for the hell of it, because they were only $11, once I asked for 15% off because of a scuff mark.

So I go back there, thinking I won’t look for anymore platform spike heels, because I only wore the red ones once, and only for about 45 minutes, and my feet went numb and I was sad. And that was when I weighed 15 lbs than I do now.

So… I’m there, and I’m glancing at the shoes, and … omg… there are, like, a thousand nice shoes. By well known designers. In my size. All I had to do was navigate my cart through every shoe aisle (because the sizes posted above the aisles are only theoretical, at Ross), each of which was filled with aggressive women, only 28% of whom spoke English, and one of whom wore the same size as me. But I enjoy a challenge. I zig-zagged all over, loading my cart with 8 and a half pair of shoes. (Never did find the other size 10 black Michael Kors pump, even after squatting on the floor and checking under each rack.)

As the shoe area afforded no privacy and I didn’t trust the other big-footed chick not to ambush me, I pushed my cart of shoes to the patio furniture section, where I could sit on an ottoman and try on all my loot in relative privacy.

Results:

• Ralph Lauren black snake peep-toe pump – $30: No. It was too tight on my toe fat.
• Carlos Santana gold 5-inch spike heel – $24: No. I was just kidding with that.
• Franco Sarto oxblood wedges – $19: No. Sniff! Too tight on toe box.
• Nine West gold strappy sandal with skinny 2.5-inch heel – $19: Almost, but I was too scared I’d bust ass in them.
• No-name black patent t-strap pumps with cut-out detailing – $12: Yes!
• No-name black patent/cork platform slide – $13: Yes!
• Nine West cork-soled platform wedge with navy cloth top, in which I will be 6 feet tall – $17: Yes!
• Old skool-ass LA Gear brown and pink sneaker/ballet flat – $13: yes.

As you can see, I am cheap. I have cheap feet. But at least I’m doing my part to get the economy back on track, right?

See y’all bishes at Ross! xoxox