half off

So...

if you've spoken to me at all in the past year, you know that my New Year's resolution #1 is to Get A (New) Job. In that effort on Sunday afternoon I curled up on the couch under a blanket with a Diet Coke and the Sunday Washington Post.

Because I am concerned with the environmental hypocrisy involved in not reading the GIGANTIC Sunday paper (see resolution #2, reduce environmental footprint) and because the Want Ads scare me with their inherent frustration and fury and causation of general feelings of inadequacy and desperation, I stalled a little by reading the other sections of the paper first. Including the Magazine and the comics and all of the stuff in the shiny blue wrapper in the middle, which is where I made the most amazing discovery.

Coupons!

I vaguely remember my mother clipping coupons, back in the day. I am not sure why this trait did not pass itself on to me, unless it was like football in that it was such an integral part of my childhood that I repressed (repulsed?) it and avoided it entirely until I was roughly 25. Maybe I secretly associated coupon-clipping with trailers and pink velcro curlers and aprons and other affectations of white-trash housewifery (how many people did I just offend? Six? Eight? Moving on.) Whatever the reason, I've never paid much attention to coupons unless they were of the "banana republic sale" variety. So imagine my surprise when, rifling through the two coupon sections of the Post, I found page after page of discounts on items I BUY EVERY WEEK!!!

I mean really. Fifty cents off of Lean Cuisines! A dollar off of my favorite toothpaste! Two dishwasher detergent packages for the price of one! People, you can SAVE MONEY if you just cut out these little pieces of paper!

Completely distracted from the Get A (New) Job mission, I eagerly and diligently cut out coupon after coupon (only, of course, for products that I already buy. I'm no dummy), arranged them in order of my grocery store aisles, and promptly forgot about them when I got up to go grocery shopping. I'm still new at this.

What I really want now is one of those little accordion-style coupon wallets. Does anyone know where I can find one of these? And, also, some pink velcro hair curlers?

breathe easy

I really really really want to join the ranks of the righteous and be one of those people who disdains material Christmas gifts, choosing instead to dedicate their resources towards bettering the world around them. They shun the shallow and the selfish, the consumer-driven greed-fest that Christmas has become in so many ways. And I agree wholeheartedly with the principle and I want, badly, to act on it. There are two reasons, however, that I still actively participate in the present-fest.

First and foremost, I’ve tried it. People seemed unimpressed. And I’m so desperate for positive feedback and avoiding the WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME middle-school flashbacks that I can’t go through that again.

Second, my Christmas presents this year so significantly improved my quality of life I’m not sure I can express in words how cool they are. For all-time greatest present, it is not, as you might suspect, my awesome new video ipod (I can watch TV! On the metro! Working out! Whenever I want! My life is complete!) or the warm winter coat (brr, baby, it’s FINALLY cold outside, but not inside my toasty new parka with the pocket and earphone vent for my awesome new ipod). Instead, it’s this random little eye pillow with the um, herbs and such in it.

It doesn’t seem like much—a silk pillow filled with beads? seeds? hulls? I do not know, and aromatic, pungent even, with the scents of peppermint, eucalyptus, spearmint, and other odd things you would think wouldn’t be very soothing. I cannot believe I have gone my entire life without this. You see, I am allergic to cats. And I have two. Well, three, currently. I keep the allergies under control with Zyrtec, but every night in that hour between when my Zyrtec wears off and I take the next one, I get sniffly and stuffy and my eyes get all watery and I have a little trouble breathing just at the time I want to get to bed.

So every time this has happened since Christmas, I have stretched out in bed and laid this little eye pillow over my face and suddenly, I can breathe. The sniffles and the stuffy and the watery is all gone, and everything clears up. I love it. It is a lifesaver.
Remember that new identity I was talking about? How I don’t know what or who I’ll be in a year? I mentioned vegan and lobbyist and student and really, the possibilities are endless. But I tell you, this eye pillow thing is really tilting the scales in favor of naturopathic, incense-burning, charm-wearing hippie.

An Open Letter to Banana Republic

Dear BR,

I love you. I do. Your website is not only bookmarked in my Explorer, it's the first thing that comes up when I type in "b" in the search bar. I long ago dropped the "Republic" and now affectionately refer to you as "Banana," as if we were old friends. And we are, we are old friends--I still have shirts from you that saw me through more than one frat party (remember that time I put a glowstick in my bra and pulled on the soft black turtleneck sweater over it? everyone couldn't stop staring at my chest. and i did that on PURPOSE. i thought it was FUNNY. man, was i DRUNK). Everything I'm wearing right now is from Banana, in fact, except my shoes.

The thing is, though, old pal, that the reason that I'm able to dress in head-to-toe Banana is because my mother bought me this sweater, the jeans were on sale, and I got the necklace at the outlet. Like many, many twenty-somethings in the DC Metro area who pay $20K a year in rent and $8 a bag for grapes at the grocery store, I cannot just stroll into your retail store and plunk down $100 for a sweater. It's not in my nature and it's not in my budget, and I hate you for this. You are overpriced, and you are a tease, and you have forgotten your roots.

You used to be affordable and friendly. You used to be no better than your preppy-basics relative Gap. Remember that? Don't lie. I know it's almost as embarrassing as my glowstick bra, but it's part of your past and there are those of us who remember where you came from, before you got a couple mentions in Vogue and InStyle and got all overpriced and wannabe-couture.

I have reached my limit of frustration with you. I am tired of searching your sale page and finding that I can't even afford your half-price leftovers. Yesterday I fell in love with a wool knit slouchy handbag on the sale page. I love that bag. I want to marry it. I want to put my whole life in it and carry it around everywhere I go, even in the summer, even to the gym; I want to still have that bag when I'm eighty and I need it to carry around my spare teeth and my calcium pills. But this bag is sale priced at $120 and OH MY GOD that's reduced from $278. Almost THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS for a bag that isn't even leather. It is KNIT. What is woven into this bag--antioxidants? The pope's hair? Does it rub your back when you are tired? Does it block telemarketers? I do not understand. How can a purse cost three hundred dollars from a store that used to have a fake Cuban guy in a straw hat greeting shoppers and handing out coupons at the door?

I cheat on you with unabashed, shameless abandon now. Most of my clothes come from Old Navy or H&M. But I miss you, Banana. I want you to come back to me. If you started making clothes I could afford again, I'd even put a glowstick in my bra. Just for you.

Kisses and couture,
Kate