Shopping is evil

I don't much like to shop. In fact it is one my least favorite activities. But I find myself every few years with a closet full of falling apart clothing that have faded, shrunk, stretched, pilled, torn, or some combination of those.

I found myself in this situation recently. So today we went to the outlets. Malls may be terrible, but outlets are way worse. It seems that people pay no mind to those around them. One woman stood in the middle of the walkway looking at something, or perhaps someone. We slowed when we came up behind her and decided to walk to her left. That is when she decided that she needed to take one step to the left and then stop...suddenly. (Arg)

The food in the food court is about $3 - $5 more than at the actual stand alone equivalent. For example, Jeremy bought a 6 inch Subway sandwich with a drink and chips and it was $10. $10!!

Despite all the horrible things about the outlet, I did walk away with several new sweaters that are pill-free, and a few shirts that should last me for the next 4+ years when I go through it all again. (preemptive sigh)

The odd couple

Today I saw a guy walking two dogs. One was an enormous Great Dane. The other? The world's tiniest chihuahua.

Neat.

Brain melt down in 5...4...3...

I finished working on a document on my computer this morning. Then I printed it and scanned it to myself, so I could have it on my computer.

I left early before any other brain malfunctions could occur.

One visit to the doctor: $60. One round of bloodwork: $50. One lifetime of incredibly expensive medical care: Priceless.

It is sad to realize, while sitting in open enrollment for the new Benefits period , that the money that should last a person an ENTIRE YEAR and would cover regular doctor visits, blood work, prescriptions, will only last me ONE...count 'em...ONE...month. That's right, 1 month.

After that, I pay 10% of the cost of whatever I get done up to a set dollar amount which isn't terrible, but still. One month?

Stupid expensive old lady body.

Las Vegas Cat Walk

Yesterday, Jeremy and I went out for brunch and ran some errands. Not a strange event to do on a Saturday afternoon in Vegas. Apparently, all the bizarros of Las Vegas decided it was going to be their day to go out as well.

It started at the restaurant. It was a great local bagel cafe. In fact, that is what it was called: the Bagel Cafe. Very tasty food, and, all in all, pretty much regular people. Then walked in Old Lady Vegas and her, I am guessing, husband. She was approximately 1000 years old with shorty curly old lady hair. What made her super was her floral 1980's dress with lacey white stockings and bright blue high heeled sandals. She had an oxygen tank, and tubes running into her nose, and talked like she was straight out of a New Jersey mob flick.

While we waited in line at the register, there was a tiny father and daughter purchasing something from the deli and wanting to get a refund on a 1/4 pound of liver they had purchased 3 weeks prior. The manager told them that he couldn't refund them since they never complained. The teeny man said he didn't know he should.

What?? Had he never shopped or eaten anywhere EVER? It was as if the process of sending something back or calling to complain was totally foreign.

Yes, restaurant waitress, I would like a refund of $10,000 for a large purchase I made a year ago but didn't like. May I expect a check in the mail?

But it gets better. As we drove home from Lowe's to buy some hose that we chose, (Blows, dose, rows, foes, woes...) we saw a woman with a do unlike any other. Jeremy said, "look at her hair!" I thought she was wearing one of those fuzzy Russian hats, because her hair was square and about 3 inches above her head. It even came down to form ear flaps and a neck barrier. She was also smoking a Virginia slim, or one of the 8 inch long super skinny cigarettes that little old ladies smoke while playing the slots. She wore a little tight tank top, and I could find no signs of a bra. She hustled across the street because apparently she had to buy some car radio supplies...urgently.

With all the style I saw over the weekend, how could we be anywhere else but Vegas. Home sweet home.

Hide your children! No butts are safe!

Hello, my name is Liz, and I own a butt biter. That's right, my cat, Jezebel, is a bona-fide tried and true butt biter extraordinaire. Let me explain.

Jezebel is what one would call a bit of an affection whore, hence the name. She LOVES to be petted. She especially enjoys a good rubbing when a person is using the toilet. It doesn't matter if that person is planning a long visit or a quick in-and-out job. She comes in with motor a-blazin' and she rubs up against your leg, or the cabinet, or door, or whatever she can rub up against to get the love-fest started. Being that she is too cute to resist, I or Jeremy will begin to scratch her chin, back, grab her cat bag, etc. If I stop for any period of time she comes over to "rub" her face up against my exposed thigh. Then she opens up her mouth and bites your leg-butt. The leg-butt is the area between your upper thigh and cheek that tends to squish up when sitting on the toilet seat.

I had never actually experienced this before. I am not sure why; maybe I never gave up petting her. Jeremy had told me about this alleged butt biting, and I laughed thinking he was kind of mistaking her face rubbing mixed with the occasional exposed tooth to an actual chomp. No sir, today as I sat for only a moment, Jezie came in, like always, and when I stopped rubbing her for for mere seconds, she came over and nibbled my behind.

Shameful. Despicable. Adorable.

Gettin' Fancy!

Last night Jeremy and I went to see David Sedaris do a reading at UNLV. It was great. He was fabulous, funny, entertaining, and all around super duper.

The line to have our tickets taken, started to back up a bit, and we found ourselves behind a group of 4 middle aged white people. 3 of the four people were dressed like they were seeing a show. Not a fancy Opera, but more like Business Casual. The man wore slacks and a button up, and the two women wore skirts and some sort of blouse. But one of the men in the group decided to go all out super glam. He wore a button up shirt, a tie, green khaki shorts and Teva sandals. That's right, shirt and tie plus shorts and sandals. He was the clothing version of a Mullet. Business on top, and party on the bottom.

I think I should revoke his right to dress himself.