Spring for the Sequins? Not for $500.

For $495, "what is it made of? Unicorn Hair and Puppy Tears?" -- My good friend in Chicago said this to me just now, and seriously. Mickey Drexel = clearly on some crazy drugs. Someone call the pricing police.

Everyone’s Doing It Except Me So I Got a Dog

What is very cool right now is that the ladies in my life are having babies like it’s going out of style. I think this is awesome. Some women get threatened by this. Some women want babies and marriage and everything that entails. Some women (me) shop and seriously doubt their friends, in the taking of the major steps, are thinking of the dirty manly underwear, the constant cleaning up, the crying of the children or, God forbid they have a daughter, the teenage years. Of course not. No one ever thinks of the CONS of a major life step, right?

While I sometimes fear that I come across as a smug single (versus smug married, which is what a good friend of mine sometimes refers to herself as just before she offers the kind of advice you only get from married people about your relationship, your life choices, etc), I think I’ve done my best to be supportive of what seems to me like absolutely the scariest thing ever for people (babies, being unselfish, etc.). Yikes -- scary stuff. Joint checking alone is terrifying much less college savings accounts for offspring. So everyone has their fears and everyone has their associated baby steps to allay those fears.

That’s where I was about 12 months ago. I was kind of like “wow, I really like my emergency person (EP). I like the idea of him being here for a long time.” So life was good. I was about to finish grad school, I was excited about all my free time and thinking of all the things I’d do (blog more, exercise, read fiction again, etc.) to avoid taking any “steps” (recall: joint checking, manly underwear, not doing dishes, etc.)… Then, after I finished my exams last fall, I went to the movies one Saturday afternoon.

I saw Marley and Me. If you have not seen this movie, I want to tell you to see it but at the same time I want to apologize for the emotional turmoil it will cause you. I left the theater in tears, drove to the EPs house and I think he thought someone had been killed or I was having a nervous breakdown. He was terrified. (Side note: we’d been in talks about getting a puppy and had not quite settled on it yet but were really excited, selecting a breed, debating whether to adopt or find a breeder etc).

Then I said something that (to me) was profound: “I want a puppy. But I am not going to share your puppy with you. The puppy will be mine because if you leave me, break up with me, get hit by a bus or otherwise cause me heartbreak, I don’t want to lose the puppy, too.” [Note: No idea why I thought the EP being hit by the bus would cause me to lose the puppy] He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and said OK while shaking his head. Of course he did. For the record, he got the deal of a fucking lifetime.

For me, the past six months not blogging have been spent at work or with this guy:

Meet Gryffin, now an 8 month old Welsh Terrier who has been with us since April. Gryffin is my solution to finishing my MBA, finishing the mammoth construction project I am working on, not being ready to take the plunge with my EP and coping with the micro-biological clock that kicked in right around the time that Jennifer Aniston, Owen Wilson and the most awesome yellow lab ever brought me to tears in a movie theatre. I won’t lie, I had no idea what I was getting into.

Growing up, my family had three dogs over my 18 years in the house (and an irrelevant number of cats – irrelevant because I said one was my favorite once and was shocked to hear that that one had been dead for 6 months…again, irrelevant number of cats). Aggie, our first dog, was a black lab who tore up the linoleum and whose passing absolutely crushed us (I was in middle school and it still breaks my heart). Bernie, our second dog, was a beagle with a colon of steel and a mind for mischief. Mollie, the latest addition, is a chocolate lab with a big heart (a “gentle soul” according to my mom) and basically an IQ on the level of Forest Gump. Mollie is getting old, she has a tough time moving around, and she has terrible breath. But we love her despite this because she’s ours and she loves us. I had surgery last year and was on my parents’ couch for a few weeks. Mollie was befuddled not only by my presence, but also my real estate on the couch. That was her corner. After a few days she realized I was going nowhere and curled up on the floor to embrace the DVR with me.

Despite my adoration for the dogs, I have not ever really taken care of them, been held responsible or had to clean up their messes, pay one vet bill , etc. I’ve played with them, walked them if I had to (that is, if no one was around to do it and they needed to pee), fed them if necessary and essentially only enjoyed the good parts of them. The stories of diarrhea, eating milk cartons, the time and money consumed by dogs etc. never really clicked with me.

So when Gryffin arrived and didn’t sleep through the night for 4 weeks I thought to myself, what the hell kind of devil puppy did I get? My mother did not hesitate to remind me that this is like, “having a baby.” For the record, my mother, brothers, coworkers, boss, friends, etc. were all very skeptical of this dog owning thing (and rightfully so given not only my history of basically stepping over the dogs on my way out of the house or into my room but also my kind of insane schedule and inability to maintain interest in one thing for very long), but I was going to prove them wrong. I was going to have a great dog!!! And then about four hours before my entire family was coming to visit, Gryffin woke up in the middle of the night with the runs.

Which was followed by me chasing him through the house and stepping in his shit, barefoot, at 4 in the morning. That's right. This, my friends, is what it is like to own a dog. You step in shit. Then you clean it up. Then you want to kill the dog, but then you love him so you can’t. What the hell what we were thinking? (What did I do after that incident? I called the EP. His phone (shocker) was off and he was asleep. Not his problem. Because the dog is mine, technically…THAT was dumb).

Fun Facts about Gryffin:

-He is currently 20 lbs.

-He was named after a bar, The Griffin, in Las Vegas but I spell his name like that because my obsession with Harry Potter can only rear its ugly head in small ways.

-He is a Welsh Terrier and will likely not grow to be bigger than 25 lbs and is not to be confused with an Airedale Terrier (Like his friend Maggie, whose awesomeness inspired us to get a similar dog).

-He tears soft toys to pieces, loves bacon, will sit if you ask him to, wags his tail when he gets excited and loves wrestling.

With that, I give you the top Gryffin highlights in the 6 months he’s been with us:

5) The EP and I are at the vet after the dog wakes up in the middle of the night and moans when he tries to pee. Not only was there an awkward convo about urinary tract infections, but also a hilarious over/under wager on what the vet bill was going to be. Then the EP, who took the UNDER, started negotiating what tests we really needed to run on the dog. His response to the vet’s description of a $125 blood test was, “Doc, I think the bloodwork at this point is unnecessary.” After I won the bet (we were still over $100 without the blood test), I thought about writing Senator Reid and asking him to see if they could do something about a public option for pet insurance.

4) Gryffin lost his manhood on September 26^th. He was neutered. This was not fun for him but yielded a lot of jokes from me to the EP at the vet. “Excuse me, is there a two for one deal on this?" (I looked at the EP, who realized I was suggesting maybe he could get the snip, too).

3) You’d think Gryffin’s manhood was cost enough for the surgery required to remove his manly parts; however the vet’s office did not. When faced with the bill, I handed over my Visa, turned to the EP and said “we’re splitting this, right?” and he replies “what happened to ‘I want the dog to be MINE in case you break up with me’? Doesn’t that include all vet bills and associated fees?” Yeah. Eating my words on that one.

2) The humping. Oh the humping. More fun facts: Gryffin likes long walks on the leash, peanut butter, a good belly rub and humping small white fluffy dogs and dachshunds. Right before his surgery, this old hag at the dog park kept asking me when we were getting him fixed, which was frustrating because we were doing our best with the dog and couldn’t stop him from humping this ONE dog (That actually liked to be humped, which was OK with us, his owner, etc.).

So this old lady really pissed me off. And I constantly told the EP that she was awful but got “oh well she’s always nice to me” as a response. This is because old ladies love young men with dogs. Until they see their wives, girlfriends, what have you – at which point they generally just get judgy. Then she gets annoyed when dogs want to play with her dog. Listen lady, I say to myself, “if you don’t want your dog to play, DON’T TAKE HIM TO THE DOG PARK! And stop giving me shit about Gryffin humping that dachshund. It’s not YOUR dachshund so shut your piehole.” Then I feel guilty the entire way home for wanting to push her over on my way out of the park. I contemplate putting a treat on the ground under the chair she brings for herself at the park and seeing what the dogs will do (I know Gryffin doesn't really care what he has to knock over to get a treat). I am still weighing this option, but she’s stopped saying anything because Gryf (sans balls) doesn’t really hump as much. Bitch.

1) The other day I picked up a treat and I looked at the dog and said “Go to your crate” --- and he ran to his crate, sat down in it, and waited excitedly for the treat. He’s a genius!! ( If only we can get him to stop chewing my shoes) This is awesome. You can actually TRAIN the dog to do stuff. During obedience school, the EP had to interrupt me being critical of his coddling the dog and point out that, "this is GRYFFIN training, NOT boyfriend training." Oh if they had a class for that I think it would sell out quicker than Miley Cirus.

Clearly, Gryffin has changed my life. This sounds trivial given the people who have had babies recently, or taken big personal steps…but it’s incredible. I find myself looking at my relationship in new light, actually appreciating the EP more for the way he takes care of the dog (who, on paper, does not have his last name) and how this brings us together. It’s one of the first things that is really…ours.

There is another story here: Man Meets Dog. The EP has never owned a dog before so basically there have been many surprises for him. The first: the dog poops a lot and you have to clean it up. The second: He takes up your time. Third: He likes to eat your shoes. Fourth: He likes to eat trim and dry wall. Fifth: If you give him too many treats or people food, he will get diarrhea and you will have to clean it up. Needless to say, picture a 30 year old veteran who works about 60 hours or more a week running around the living room with the puppy at 6 am, chasing him because the dog got his slipper. Then picture the same guy coddling the dog after his surgery, buying him a new crate to fit the big cone they put on his head and cooking extra meat on the grill for dinner just to give the dog. This is my favorite part.

So I think we’ll keep him (Gryffin). Maybe he’ll even consider changing his last name in a few years. I guess that’s his call. Gryffin, after all, is in charge now.

Sorry for the boring dog blog -- will now return to regularly scheduled midweek rants about other, important stuff. Like shopping and people watching.

Justice...

Now this...

Is more like it.

Thanks, JCrew.  Despite all the funky prints the First Lady has been sporting in the year's best free advertising stunt to date, and combined with your price points continuing to soar depsite craptastic perfomance in the last two quarters, a friend yesterday commented that yesterday's Abercrombie-esque boondoggle confirms that the company's decisionmakers are "a bunch of @ssclowns."  She's right.  That's 'Fitch's niche.  Pull it together!!  And thank's for the heads up on the sale.  Now where's my extra 30% off coupon?

Note to JCrew:  I hit you because I love you.  I want to see you succeed.  I also want to afford your clothing.  XOXO!

On 4/20, I am starting to think the people in JCrew's marketing department are high as a kite.

So it's spring.  It's officially warm in Vegas, and the sweating has commenced.  This is ok because I have good deodorant.  However, what is NOT ok is the spring wardrobe.  I cleaned out my closet last year around this time and never got around to refilling some clutch items.  Much to the surprise of anyone who has been in my closet, I don't have enough work appropriate clothes for 120 degree weather.  I ask, besides the cocktail waitresses at the Las Vegas resort pools, WHO DOES?!?!!?

So I didn't automatically delete the emails I received from JCrew, Banana, Nordstrom, Shopittome, etc.  Huge mistake.  I would put this mistake at a 6, with 1, 5 and 10 listed below:

(1) Calling your boyfriend the morning after a bachelor party and expecting him to want to go to brunch or grab a movie later.

(5) Checking out anyone's wedding registry.  Makes you a) judge and b) want to get engaged so you can get some quality products from Crate and Barrel in exchange for joint checking and a really great party.

(10) Setting yourself on fire.

It's just bound to upset you in some way.  Most of the time, these emails are upsetting because they make SO clear all the things you want and cannot afford.  Or they manipulate you into thinking that spending $200 to save $20 makes sense...  Lately, I've just hit "delete" and googled when I needed a sale.  Keeps me in line with the times and the concept of budgets.

So I thought, when I opened today's JCrew email about Jeans, that I'd see something fabulous, something great.

And I saw this:

What the hell?  That's right.  Nothing cute, nothing I can wear to work.  And while "authentic distressed" looks and "had it forever" feels have been all the craze these past years (read: Abercrombie and Fitch catalog circa 1995-forever), WHEN DID IT BECOME OK TO WEAR BAGGY JEANS WITH THE CUFFS ALL ROLLED UP?  And, quite frankly, the skinny jean thing is cute on the skinny people (that's why they are called skinny jeans - if you have hips, try a boot cut, thank you very much), and they also come in handy if you ONLY wear them with knee high boots or uggs.  However, this look has been memorialized on blogs, in tabloids and on TMZ by none other than Joey Potter herself (not to be confused with Harry Potter, who wears wizard styles and oversized hand-me-downs from his fat cousin).

And now JCrew thinks it is ok?  Listen, Mickey Drexel -- and listen good.  It makes sense to sell the skinny stuff, and the distressed stuff -- it's what the people want.  But sometimes if the people want what Joey Potter is wearing, maybe you don't want the people shopping in your stores!!!!  Take a page out of Suri Cruise's book, please.  Take ANY OTHER PAGE out of Katie's book.  The chic haircut, the big shades, the ballet flats and casual cardigans.  

So today JCrew upset me.  First they don't reinforce the buttons in their women's button-front shirts (which sucks if you have a rack) and now this.  I don't want to say that this is an irreconcilable difference, but I have to either drop 20-30 lbs., lose my hips, or take a job as a painter in order to make this look work.  I get it, it's not for everyone.  So don't put it in the email you send EVERYONE, even the loyal denim buyers like myself.

Please.  For the love of retail...put down the bongs and get serious.  My time is precious.  It is spent blogging, working and thinking about how long it would take me to be in shape for a position as a stripper and the length of the severance package I'd need to allow for that.  So I do NOT have time to waste on emails like this.

That's all.

Enjoy the ride.

I graduate in one month from graduate school.  Unfortunately I missed the deadline for the student speaker contest.  This was my first draft.

There is a reason people look back on college, on grad school, on law school, and feel the pangs of nostalgia creeping up on them.  There were no limits in college.  As an undergraduate, I did not appreciate this.  Graduating with a masters today, I find that I’ve pushed more limits than I thought possible, with the help of my classmates, my professors, my family, my boss, my parents…

I wanted to get my masters degree as fast as possible.  I originally endeavored to do it because I kind of had to, I thought I’d make some more money, and I hadn’t really found something that I was passionate about doing.  My father told me once that passion doesn’t come to you in 15 minutes like Domino's.  It takes most people a lifetime to find what makes them happy.  I hate to admit it, but I kind of enjoy the journey.  That said, I think to some degree, everyone does.  That’s why you come to college.  That’s why graduating is so cathartic – we’re leaving something behind that we’ll miss forever, but we’re beginning a new stage of our lives. 

And what a time to be in a new stage.  Many say this isn’t a good year to be a graduate.  We are living in a time where it is easier to be in school and think about how to solve the problems of the world; we were here to get the tools, develop the skills and begin to set on a path to actually solve those problems.  Who knew we’d graduate in the year of uncertainty, where all of our skills, all of our good intentions might not be put to good use because getting a job, keeping a job and even doing a job in this climate is a challenge that many of us have never known?

With that, I think of Anna Quindlen.  She wrote in a commencement speech that “When you leave college, there are thousands of people out there with the same degree you have; when you get a job, there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life.”

I urge you to take stock of what it is that truly makes you happy.  What did you love about college?  What was the class you took but didn’t major in it because it was too hard, or too easy or not marketable enough?  Think about those things and build your life on what matters.  There is no line on a resume for being a great mother, or having an uncanny ability for making people smile, or for the ability to forgive; but these are the things we admire in people. 

I worked and went to school at the same time, like many of you.  And I love my job because of the people I work with and the things that they’ve taught me.  The tasks I put on my resume are not even half the story of that job.  There is nothing to be said for moving to a city where I knew no one, there is no spot for “worked and went to school and managed to not completely unravel in the process”…but these are the things we’re proud of.  These are the things that we remember.

We’ve accomplished so much in our time here that for many of us, graduation is a relief.  For others, it yields incredible fear of uncertain times.  Will I have a job next week?  Will I even like that job?  What’s not really said on the news, or even in conversation right now, is that many of those unemployed on Wall Street are looking into teaching, into entrepreneurship, into non-profits – they worked so hard for so long for what?  No one ever said on their deathbed that they should have spent more time at the office.  That lesson has never been more relevant than it is right now.  Inhibition doesn’t breed success, nor does it yield any kind of happiness.  Let go of it, find what makes you happy, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you, congratulations, and good luck.

I was a venti non-fat chai tea latte girl for a long, long time.  Still am, in a bind, or when someone else is paying.  But with these tough economic times, a girl has to find the most efficient source for everything:  shoes (endless.com and Marshall's), bags (Target), food (emergency person's refrigerator), exercise (yoga classes at gym vs. private studio) and caffeine.  Since making my own coffee is like making my own lunch, or vacuuming my own floor, and will never really be something that I find rewarding to do with my time, a place to get coffee is pretty much essential to my well being.  So today I would like to salute the good people at Dunkin Donuts, 1) since I've been there twice today for my iced coffee fix and 2) the gal at the first location I visited today gave me the police discount because clearly I was so disheveled she took pity on me.  That was cool of her. I would have written her manager about her awesomeness but somehow I feel like the unspoken appreciation of my smiling face got the point across to this girl that she made my day.  I love that place.

There are numerous reasons for this obsession.  First, I used to rely solely on tea for a little boost.  I never got into coffee, nicotine, anything like that.  I found coffee to be for me what crack is for the kids on the streets.  That's still the case, but since crack presents a small legal issue, Dunkin it is.

Second, it's like a cult.  I'm already a fan of Mac, American Express, Google everything and electronic banking.  It was time to join the fun.  On the day that the first Dunkin Donuts opened in Las Vegas last year, there was a line around the corner.  Coworkers found new routes to the office that included a DD, and my emergency person basically frowned if I showed up with a Starbucks Cappuccino (which costs the same as TWO ICED COFFEES!!!) in the morning instead of a DD cup o' joe.

Third, it's soooooo East coast.  When I visit my family in New Jersey, I love how I don't have to even ask to stop at Dunkin Donuts.  It just happens.  My older brother, a father and personal trainer, likes to start his day off with a TURBO coffee from DD.  I don't know how his head doesn't explode, but hey, whatever floats your boat!

Last... in hindsight, I would have been way more productive in college if I drank coffee.  I would have likely been a little less stressed out and way more fun to be around.  Same with drinking, as a matter of fact.  If I had made friends with the vodka earlier in life, methinks I would have dropped a full point in my GPA but gained so much more in the form of good stories to tell coworkers at the bar after work about "this one time at the sorority house..." that it would have been worth it to skip yet another paper about the Great Gatsby.  Not that I don't love me some Nick Carraway...

Seriously -- Dunkin Donuts is one of the last legal drugs.  A friend of a friend actually WORKS for DD -- which is completely fantastic.  And every time I go to Starbucks, I want to point out to the people there that a) the music is fucking depressing in that place and b) I could have filled up my tank for what I just paid for a round of coffees.  Further, I look around at a Dunkin Donuts and see ALL WALKS OF LIFE.  It's like when you find a really awesome dry cleaner and you see the totally snooty wife of some executive at your company there with some kind of sleezy animal print dress that you secretly want but then you'd have to be her to have it AND some hard working dude you know is dry cleaning his only suit ...in the same place.  I think to myself, does it get more American than this?  No.  No it doesn't.  OK maybe at Fenway.

So, while I am still in the process of converting to Red Sox nation, I have been and will continue to be embracing the Dunkin Donuts coffee.

No, I Don't Want An Angels Card.

I've often admitted to having a sometimes unhealthy retail problem.  The trailers for the shopaholic film are a little over-the-top, but there are moments in them that seem eerily familiar.  So I'll admit I followed the Holiday Sales Blog on wallstreetjournal.com, I get weekly emails on sale items from my favorite stores, and though I've tried to limit splurges to necessities and fabulous, classic pieces that will ultimately add to my wardrobe in the long term, every once in a while I go crazy, buy a bunch of stuff I don't need and then I look at my bank account (I'm living a cash only lifestyle right now) and I get kinda nervous.

The economic downturn has, however, yielded a bit of a buyer's market.  Home prices are plummeting, stores that NEVER had good sales are starting to discount items, etc.  So, even given my limited budget, I am beginning to consider navigating the sales to be my long-lost talent.  That said, I also think this should be a time where retailers start to pull it together consider streamlining efficiency and, as my mother says, if a customer has chosen to shop your brand/your store, make it easy for them and treat them nicely.

This is where the good people at Victoria's Secret fail...miserably.  Besides the fact that if you have a large set of tatas, their push up bras have your nipples hitting your chin while walking...and even if you don't need the pushing up, you get it from nearly every decent-looking bra they produce (not to mention the fact that they don't sell anything smaller or larger than average), when you walk in the store, about 4-6 different employees offer you a carrier for your items (or items you've yet to select) while offering you their Angel Card and all its perks.  Meanwhile, when you're in the dressing room and the item doesn't fit, not only are the employees not really around, but they aren't up to speed on the product selection and availability (and it is not a place where you want to shout you need a smaller/larger size...really).  Further, no one ever offers to order the item for you if your size is not available (and if you suggest it, they stare at you as if this is a new concept) and quite frankly, maybe one employee in the store actually has a clue about women's undergarments and the complications and frustrations and sizing challenges therein.

Then you get to the cash/wrap.  On most occasions, I'm again offered the Angels card but on a recent trip, I waited in a long line while one manager rudely lectured a clearly new hire on how to handle a return while another manager gathered the rest of the employees on the floor around for a huddle and assigned them tasks (two of the people were assigned to give out carriers/peddle the Angels card).  There were over 8 customers with me in the line waiting to check out and the manager is sending people out to the rest of the store with carriers while one gal is there to assist with checkout but she's being lectured by the manager on returns (and she isn't completing a return).  It's no wonder their stock sells for $8 per share since they overstaff the floor with flaky, taskless nitwits and somehow expect people to buy things. 

Victoria's Secret has a comfortable monopoly in their industry, but if you ever wander into a department store lingerie department (at all ranges, from JCPenney to Nordstrom to Saks),  the service (and the selection in some) is 100% better.  You get the credit card offer once, you get help with sizing, you are left alone if you want to be and there is always someone there that will be more than HAPPY to take your cash in exchange for the undies.  No problem.  Thank you for shopping, come again.

Looking outside lingerie and going to, for example, JCrew.  You can return catalog items to the store (which I've learned is not an option at VS), you can pick up a "red phone" and call other stores to find an item in your size or from the catalog, and the staff has some semblance of an idea about their product line.  I am biased toward JCrew (save for their absurd price points on lower quality items), so forgive me if I often cite them as an example for all to follow.  

Every time I walk into a Victoria's Secret I want to say, "FOR THE LOVE OF RETAIL PULL IT TOGETHER YOU MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!"  A friend of mine once ranted to the gal peddling the Angels store credit card that offering those cards to the young women barely out of high school (if at all) in the PINK (read: Sexy Stuff For Teens) section of the store is outright criminal and captures everything wrong with this country and the message we're sending to kids (i.e. "Buy this thong with a credit card so you can look sexy while making really bad decisions that used to be saved for your 20s but are now apparently OK at 14.").  They might as well give the girls a condom with every slutted up-thong with a pink puppy on it.  

It makes me want to hurl.  (Note: They don't sell slips either.  That is, a traditional, classic undergarment that apparently aids in preventing skirt/stocking clings is not available at VS - but I wouldn't know that because I live in the desert and haven't purchased one in years - a friend discovered this.  However, you can get a thong with puppies on it for your 14 year old sister/daughter/niece/etc.)

That said, I had a nice experience at VS this weekend with some girlfriends, but this was mostly due to the awesomeness of shopping for underthings with friends who dare you to go a little bit whorier than you are used to and was in NO PART due to the unhelpful staff and inefficient lack of connection between store and catalog/Internet.  Seriously, sometimes I think Victoria's true secret is that the bitch somehow cornered the market while not really making the shopping experience a good one.  A competitor needs to pop up.  And you're darn right I don't want an Angels Card.  Paying any kind of interest or getting coupons for a product that costs me at least 20 unnecessary minutes of my life I won't get back is the last thing I need to do (besides purchasing thongs for girls who haven't had algebra yet).