Overheard In January 2015

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I was at Costco last week. It seems that I am always there even though I only shop there once or twice a month. I overheard the following and could not help but write it down:

“Every day when I get home I take the garbage out. But now, that is impossible. What will happen to the garbage?”

Now I want to know. What will happen to the garbage?

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When my husband and I have a date night planned we will eat very inexpensive lunches together all week so that we can really splurge on our date night. It is actually fun. He makes the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We also like to eat at a certain fast food restaurant where we can get a Iarge unsweetened iced tea for a $1. I own stock in that fast food restaurant so I do not think it is appropriate to mention it here. Anyway my husband was running incredibly late for work after we stopped at the joint for lunch and I noticed after he went to work that he had left his iced tea on the night stand and I knew he would be so sad when he realized it.

In fact, an hour later he got to work and I received the following text:

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Later that night he was still lamenting his loss and we had the following conversation:

“I didn’t drink my iced tea in unison,” I told him.

“You mean in solidarity,” he corrected.

“No. I mean in unison,” I stubbornly insisted.

“You can’t not do something in unison. You have to be doing something to do it in unison,” he was getting frustrated.

“I was doing something at the same time as you. Not drinking an iced tea… In unison,” I said.

“You can’t say that,” he laughed.

“I just did.”

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I was in the alcohol section of the grocery store. A little girl of about four years old was skipping down the aisle behind her mother.

“Today is the funnest day!” She giggled.

“I thought you said Christmas was the funnest day,” the mom said.

“Well… every new day is fun,” the little girl said in a flabbergasted way. I wish I had that little girl’s spirit.

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I was at a little grocery store. I was buying milk.

The young cashier held up the milk carton and laughed. He said, “I had a dream last night that I was craving milk. In my dream I started chugging it from the carton and it started spilling everywhere. And then I woke up.”

“Did you ever get any milk?”

“Oh yeah. I got up in the middle of the night and drank some. It was so good.”

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My son said to me earlier this week, “Since there is extra small and extra large is there extra medium?”

“No,” I told him. “I never thought of that. It would be a good idea.”

“Yes. But since it could go either way there should be a small S on one side of the M and a small L on the other side and whichever it is should be in italics.” I think he might be on to something. I would love that.

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I heard a preteen girl say to her father in a haughty voice, “Well then, you don’t sleep with the dead dog.”

And he did not correct her!

And now I want to know about the dead dog. And the bed.

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I was at a park and I overheard a little girl say to her father, “Papa, I need you to smell something.”

He ignored her.

“Come on. I dare you. I dare you.”

Finally, he was worn down. He smelled what she was taunting him with. It was her hoodie. He looked up at her in confusion after smelling it.

She was waiting for that reaction. “Ha ha! It doesn’t smell like anything!”

I was amazed the dad actually smelled the hoodie. Any time anyone asks me to smell anything, I hold my breath and pretend to smell their item. You never know. Someone might be sleeping with their dead dog. Or not taking out the trash. Or drinking a gluttonous amount of milk. The possibilities make me shudder. Did you overhear anything good this month? Please share!

Dreaming: Grandma’s Gift

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Something was chasing me. It was fast, but not quite fast enough to catch me. It was probably some sort of zombie creature if I were to guess, because zombies are the things that make my blood run cold. The atmosphere was grey. What were once tall and majestic buildings were now piles of crumbling rubble. The gravel of the desolate city crunched beneath my boots.

I turned the corner and saw a lone structure still standing in the midst of the ruined city. It appeared to be a form of catacombs.

I ducked into the entrance to catch my breath. My heart was pounding. My pursuers were near.

Someone grabbed my arm.

I turned to scream, but it gurgled in my throat in recognition of the person who stood before me.

It was my grandmother, whom in life had passed away two years prior. I began to frantically ask her questions. “What was she doing here? Was she okay? What was I supposed to do?”

But she shook her head in response. She put her finger to her lips to summon me to be quiet.

Then she grabbed my elbow and began leading me further down into the catacombs. My head felt dizzy with exhilaration at seeing her again. The zombie creatures were almost forgotten.

We came to a dead end. A huge unyielding stone wall blocked our escape. I began to panic at the thought of being stuck down here trapped by the creatures who were surely on our trail. But again, my grandma shook her head. She inserted a key into a keyhole that I could not see into the wall. It twisted and turned and a small doorway opened. My grandmother gestured for me to go through the door.

I hurriedly did so. She followed me and locked the door behind us. The wall melted in upon itself and became whole once more. We were safe.

In fact, we were more than safe. We were in a new area. A new dream.

It was a dome-like structure covered in glass. It was bright and sunny although I could not see the sky nor anything outside of the dome. It raised above my head about thirty stories tall. There were no buildings inside of it. Just a giant tree that raised almost to the ceiling. I had a feeling that the dome grew tall as the tree did, so that the tree itself would never reach its top. I could hear birds chirping in its massive branches. The air was calm and cool.

I turned to my grandma.

She smiled at me. She led me to the edge of the grass and placed her hand at the small of my back. And then she pushed me gently.

I started to fall forward but instead of falling, I was caught in the air. Inside the dome I could fly. I wobbled at first, but soon I was taking experimental turns ten feet off of the ground. My grandmother’s face beamed up at me in delight. I soared higher, skimming the tree’s outstretched branches with my fingertips. The freedom and happiness bubbled up inside of me as I glided round and round inside of the dome.

The gift that she gave me in the dream was beautiful. The gift of the dream, itself, was even better.

Winner Of The Blog Giveaway and Cravings Similarities

Congratulations mintpearls for winning the $25 e-Gift Card to Sephora! I hope you get something good! My mom just sent me a care package from Sephora with two packages of my favorite facial wipes that I use every night on my face. Thank you Mom! I swear by these. I think my skin has been so much better since I started using the wipes almost two years ago. And she sent me Bumble and Bumble Surfspray for my hair, because I was lusting after the bottle in the gift I had given her for Christmas. Does anyone use this? How do you apply it? Do you have any tips?

I enjoyed reading everyone’s responses to the giveaway question. The love for your friends, family and even bosses and/or co-workers was beautiful to read. It made me think of all of the people in my own life who are amazing individuals. Thank you for participating and making me smile!

January is a tough time for me shopping wise. I am usually burnt out from Christmas shopping, so I don’t like to buy anything. On the other hand, there are always the best sales in January and I have gift cards burning a hole in my pocket. So far, I have scored some amazing popbacks with my gift cards, but have only purchased one thing out of pocket. It was this jersey dress from Free People in seaspray because my size had been sold out in that color for months and when one popped back I snatched it up. I also bought a headband and Feather Hair Picks to get free shipping.

So, cravings. Hmmmmm. Mmmmmmm. Oooooga. Boooga. I am not in love with any new thing that has come out this month. Like, yes. Love, no. It seems like everything that is coming out has been done before. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially if you missed it the first time around.

Instead of cravings because I honestly don’t have any right now, I thought I would show some pieces from the past in my closet whose twins seem to be making an appearance in case you liked the items but they sold out before you could acquire them. I think this is a case of fashion repeating oneself and a true indication that I have too many clothes. Just don’t tell my husband that:

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I loved this Ikat top when I scored it last year on a huge sale (blog post here). Anthropologie has a very similar top out right now. It is pretty, too. It is called The Palamba Top.

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I just realized I have never done an outfit post with my Puella Swing dress from last year. I need to fix that! I do have this sad little pic from a dressing room review post (here). The Semitone Swing Dress this year looks very similar in a different color, but with no elbow patches. Sigh. I love the elbow patches.

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The Horizon Lines Skirt (more pictures here) is easy and comfortable. This Sketched Stripe Maxi Skirt looks very similar.

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I love my denim overalls (blog post here). I was worried the trend was over until I saw the Paige Sierra Overalls on the Anthropologie site.

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The Deva Printed Henley reminds me of my Charleston Henley that I also just realized I have never shown here. My closet is a black hole, my friends. I like to wear it with extreme bell bottoms (also never shown here. I am a bad blogger).

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The Patchworked Panel Dress reminds me of my Free People Sunshine Dress I bought many years ago. I could have sworn that I had shown this dress on my blog before, but I can not find any pictures so I must have been mistaken. Need to remedy that ASAP. I love the blue color of the Patchedwork Dress. I own the Sunshine Dress in purple, but I showed it in blue for a true comparison.

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The Tallulah Shift Dress is a really cool red. It is very similar to my vegan leather shift from 2013. I posted about it here.

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I adore my Striped Hem Pullover from 2013 (more photos here). It has a sweet bow in the back, too. This year Anthropologie came out with a grey version. It is called The Ruffle-back Pullover. I actually prefer the grey, but do not need another one.

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I went out on a date with my husband on Friday night and wore the outfit in the photo of me above. I am working on the post. The red embroidery is a conversation starter. Any time I wear this people will talk about the pretty embroidery to me. My dress is by Johnny Was via Nordstrom Rack many years ago. I like Anthropologie’s Embroidered Peasant Dress and think it looks like it was made in the same love-of-red-embroidery-vein.

Have you seen any similarities in your closet this season? Did you score anything great during Anthropologie’s 40% off sale sale? I ended up getting this vest on a popback with a gift card. I thought I would surely find some amazing popbacks during the sale, but only found the one thing. Sigh. I guess it’s back to shopping my closet. But that’s no fun at all.

The Puppy Dog Purse

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When I was a child, I was obsessed with the song, “How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?” And so when I was four, my parents happily rescued the cutest dog ever, Scruffy. Scruffy was with us for about a year before he ran away and never returned. Living in the country, this was the first of many reoccurring animal heartbreaks.

At Christmastime, my Great Aunt (although she was not truly my aunt. But that is a long story), would gift the children of my family a Christmas present until they reached the age of ten. Once they were ten, they were deemed too old for gifts. Being the oldest of the nieces and nephews by many years meant I reached that dreaded platform first and would watch with envy the other younger children receive their gifts. Whether this is true or not, in my mind, the gift was always the same. A brand new purse in the shape of a puppy dog’s head.

In kindergarten, I would take my purse to school with me. And whilst Scruffy was white and looked like a, well, scruffy sheepdog, my purse was soft and brown.

The thing was, I don’t even remember liking the purse that much.

It did not look like Scruffy.

But I knew it was special.

And so that is why, one day after school in kindergarten, I almost died for it.

My friend, Lizzie, and I were bus kids. And what that would mean, is that we would have to stay later than everyone else in kindergarten to ride the bus an hour and a half home. An hour and a half? We were mountain kids, too, this entailed that we wait to drop everyone in town off first before the bus could make its trek up the hill to our homes.

On the fateful day, I was loaded up with my backpack and my puppy dog purse, waiting in a clamoring line with Lizzie to get on the school bus. It was hot and everyone was pushing. Somehow, probably because I have always been graceful, I was pushed under the bus.

I remember laying under the bus, blood trickling, starting to well out of my knees, and sticking to my nylons. My hands were encrusted and embedded with gravel. I was sprawled there and when I looked up my puppy dog purse was laying beneath one of the bus’s wheels. I could almost reach it. So, because I was five, and because it was not in my head that this could be dangerous, I dragged myself so that I lay between the front tire and the back tire of the bus. And just as I grabbed my puppy dog purse, the bus started.

Yes, the kids had pushed me under the bus and then had gotten on the bus without a backwards glance.

The whole “thrown under the bus” saying has always had a special meaning in my heart. Meaning I never use that term.

I remember a brief moment of panic, but I was still too young to understand the danger I was in.

I was more afraid the bus was going to leave me. I was also overtaken with my first memories of pain as my hands and knees had begun to sting from the injuries that had occurred.

I could hear Lizzie screaming, “Jenni is under the bus! Jenni is under the bus!”

The bus continued to idle but I heard the bus doors open.

And then a white-faced bus driver was peering down at me. I cannot imagine what that woman must have been thinking. I do remember her berating me as she pulled me out from under the cavernous vehicle, but I was crying too hard to hear the words that her brusque mouth was making.

I clutched my puppy dog purse all of the way home.

That was not the worst of it.

Do you know what happens when you bleed into tights and the wound sits there for an hour and a half?

It scabs.

Over the tights.

So, when I got home, I faced a whole new ordeal.

They had to peel the crusted tights off of my bloody knees.

I remember my grandfather very sternly telling me that he had to do this, there was no other way and I just had to be brave.

I probably wasn’t.

I hated tights after that.

I hated the bus.

And I loathed that puppy dog purse.

Rather than blaming the children who had pushed me, or recognizing that the incident was an accident, I put all of the blame for the mishap on that purse. That adorable. Sweet. Fluffy. Deadly. Purse. It was innocent, but so was I. There was no one to blame. No guilty party. But the purse took the fall, literally.

And it, and its subsequent Christmas descendants, were never used again.