Shopping

Acting on the blogvice (which is just regular advice, conveyed through a blog) of my college friend Lindsay, I decided to try out a new tactic with my grocery shopping. Generally, I shop on Friday evenings after I get paid, and I delight in wandering literally every single aisle of the grocery store, looking at this, poking that, sniffing the cheeses and inspecting the produce. I chat with the people in the bakery. I consider a new and exotic variety of dry goods and, when I see that it is good, I buy it.

But, I tend to spend about $50/week on groceries, and I just feel like that's silly for only two people. So, last week I sat down with a notebook and planned out every dinner we'll eat for the next five weeks. Yep, that's right. Every one. We tend to eat no more than toast or a banana for breakfast, and we both eat lunch at work, so dinner is the main meal we spend money on.

After I planned the meals, I wrote out exactly what I would need to buy each Friday in order to cook all those meals from that Friday night to the next Saturday. The lists were surprisingly short to me, which I felt was promising.

Now, I grant that this is a basic shopping list--dinner ingredients, plus bread, milk, eggs, and similar staples. If we run out of something like coffee or flour that we only buy once every few months, it's an extra expense, of course.

But, that being said, I've spent enough time at the grocery store to know within a dollar or so exactly what things are going to cost me if prices stay the same, and I was pretty confident I'd be able to pick most of them up for less than $40 and, several weeks, less than $30.

We put it to the test last Friday, sticking strictly (with one exception) to the shopping list. We did get coffee, too, which was $10. Counting that, our grocery bill was $38 and we have enough food to last us until this coming Friday.

And I feel good about that.

I feel less good about NaNoWriMo, because as soon as I said I'd start, our computer broke and wouldn't turn on for nearly two days, and then Dave and I both got sick, so of course I'm wildly behind and that saps my motivtion like woah. But I have started writing and I write a few pages by hand at work each day, which is a habit that's easy to get into--I speak from experience--and will be easy to continue, even if I don't make the end of November deadline. At least I'm writing.

Ha

Because apparently I don't have enough to do in my life already, I've started a new blog! I'll still write in this one, because this one is for personal stuff. The other one is meant to be public, and is about things that are easier to spread outward in an online sense--cooking, crafting, saving money, etc.

Of course, I'd love for you all who read this blog to read that one too.

Scrimpalicious

NaNo

Ok, well, I've been informed that it's a good idea to make this public because if nothing else will keep you in it, shame and/or encouragement from friends and family will. I know my mother-in-law reads this, and she already brings it up nearly every time we talk (may she be blessed; nobody else does, and that lets me hide most of the time).

I went and did something impetuous. I regret doing it, but it's done and I'm not going to back out.

I signed up for NaNoWriMo.

For those of you who don't know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. People from all over the world sign up to write a novel in 30 days. The website keeps track of your word count and lets you post excerpts, find writing buddies, and get in touch with other local people who are doing the project. There's a weekly writing group going on at Legacy Village, which is halfway between home and work for me.

It will probably be crap. I'm not even positive what novel I will start writing two days from now. But I've said I'll try, and try I will. It is helpful that I have the next week off from work completely because my employer is going out of town, so I will be sitting at home watching her dog and being bored. Or will I? No, I will not!

I will be sitting at home, watching my boss's dog, and embarking on any and every conceivable around-the-house project that I can find to keep from writing. And when I've done all those, I will be writing.

Listen, I'm just trying to be realistic here.

I've got two hours before work, because Friday is a late-start day, and I'm not sure what to do with it. Maybe a trip to the library, or JoAnn's? Maybe just hanging out at home with the kitties. We shall see.

Mornings

I'm madly in love with my husband all the time, but I think the time I feel most in love with him is i the morning before I leave for work. The alarm goes off and one of us hits snooze so that we can have nine minutes of half-asleep snuggling before I have to get up and get ready to go.

Once I've gotten dressed and washed my hair, if I have any time left (and I almost always do), I sit in bed with the laptop and read the news and get my mind in gear for the day. And while I'm doing that, Dave is fast asleep in the bed next to me, but even though he's asleep he'll reach out for me and scoot closer and sigh, and then all I want to do is put the computer away, turn off my phone, crawl back under the covers with him and hug him forever because I love him so much that it almost hurts my heart to feel it.

Oh sheet

I am afraid of the dark.

As a result, every time I go into our basement at night (where the overhead lights are all burned out), I am convinced that I am going to die. Our basement is a terrifying place, full of the carcasses of someone else's antique furniture and bicycles, multiple boilers and furnaces, eerie storage rooms where the darkness is so intense that it looks solid, and, for some reason, a toilet.

My terror at having to venture into the basement is my only excuse.

You see, I had to wash our sheets today. I've been meaning to do it all weekend and, with one thing and another, it just kept getting put off. I realized this afternoon that time was running out and I really had to get it done, so I stripped the bed, bundled up the sheets, and made my way downstairs, noticing only as I walked toward the door to the basement steps that it was already almost completely dark outside.

It's ok, I told myself reassuringly. There's a lamp plugged in next to the washing machine. Just get to the lamp and turn it on, and you'll be alright.

So I girded up my mental loins, clutched our sheets to my chest, held my breath, and walked down the stairs into the darkness.

There was just enough light coming in from the windows to cast bizarre shadows over the spot where the lamp had been. It wasn't our lamp, so I wasn't particularly worried about theft. I was, however, aghast to realize that I was in the basement, in the dark, with no way to turn on a light.

My first impulse was to turn and run right back up the stairs, dirty sheets and all. But I knew Dave was expecting to come home to nice, crisp, clean sheets on our bed after work, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I made my way to the washing machine, holding up my cell phone in an attempt to light my way a little bit (it didn't really work).

There were strange noises coming from the other end of the basement, an area where I have never been, because it is always dark, even when lights are on. Things creaked and groaned, and something rustled in a way that makes me almost positive that there must have been some sort of animal there. I opened the washing machine, shoved everything blindly in, dumped in the last of our laundry soap, and started the cycle.

And then I ran. I mean it. I was out of that basement seconds later, and my heart didn't stop racing until I'd double-bolted the kitchen door and turned on every single light in the house.

This is my only excuse.

You see, normally I check the laundry very carefully as I put it into the machine. I look at each individual article to make sure that I'm not mixing things that shouldn't be mixed. Laundry is domesticated chemistry, after all, and anybody who's taken chemistry knows that you need to be careful about how you put things together.

But it was dark, and I was terrified and embarrassed that I was terrified, so I rushed. And besides, it was dark. Did I mention how dark it was? And the scary noises?

I thought about just not putting the sheets in the dryer till Dave got home to either do it for me or hold my hand while I went back down into the abyss, but I knew he was expecting clean, dry sheets when he got home. So, when his brother stopped by to pick something up, I asked him to come down in the basement with me and hold off any monster attacks while I transferred the laundry. Being a good brother-in-law, he agreed.

It was still really dark though, so I just blindly felt around in the machine for all the sheets/pillowcases/etc and moved them into the dryer.

When Dave did finally got home, there were no sheets on the bed. But, just as he walked in, the buzzer went for the dryer.

"It's dark in the basement. There's no light, and I was ascared," I said. Yes, I really did say 'ascared'. That should tell you how ascared I really was.

"Oh," he said. "Is there dinner?"

"Tell you what," said I. "I will make you some dinner if you go down into the horrible basement and get the sheets and make the bed.

We called it a deal and he went to get the sheets. When he came back up, he had a funny look on his face.

"Well," he said, "we have yellow sheets now."

I think I made a "bguh?" kind of noise as I turned to look. Alas! When I'd pulled the sheets off the bed, they'd fallen on the floor and gotten tangled up with a very pretty orange and red scarf that I recently bought. In the dark, of course, I didn't notice that it was there, so the scarf went into the washing machine on the hot/whites cycle with our formerly pristine white sheets.

Now, all's well that ends well, so I will say that the dye mixed very evenly with the sheets, and now it just looks like we've owned very pretty butter yellow sheets all along. We agreed that we'd both be more upset if the color wasn't so attractive.

Still, I really liked our sheets. They were an expensive wedding present, and I find white sheets to be a most delightful thing. I guess now I'll have to buy some new ones.

I just feel like an idiot, because it's such a typical, traditional kind of mistake for new wives and housekeepers to make, and I know that I ought to have known better. I feel like a character in a 1950's cautionary tale.

But it was so, so dark.

Markon '09

I can't imagine that I haven't mentioned in the past how totally awesome our wedding-stravaganza was. One of the awesome things about it was seeing all of our old school friends who we never get to see, and hanging out with them. Apparently, they felt the same way about it, because at our wedding some of them hatched a plan to get together again and hang out for a weekend.

One of them, Mark, decided that the perfect opportunity for this was his birthday. We all made plans over the summer, and this past weekend we got together for what was officially dubbed Markon '09. Mark knows Dave from the Order of St. George, a club they were in together in college (Dave was president for three years). So, all the old guard of the OSG group core (and their wives) rented out hotel rooms, road tripped, and met up on Friday night for some good times, old school style.

We carpooled down with Dave's brother and his iPod, which meant a rad rockin' in-the-car dance party that involved Dave and Matt singing along to ABBA's classic hit Dancing Queen. They knew all the words. I'm not sure how that happened.

Most of the weekend was given over to OSG's favorite activity of tabletop gaming. It's not something I've ever really done before, but I was willing to give it the old college try, so to speak, for the sake of Mark's birthday and Dave having a good time during the weekend. I'm not sure it's something I'd care to do all the time, but it was a lot of fun.

On Saturday night, everyone dressed up in 1920's-era costuming (more or less) and went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. To be honest, the restaurant wasn't anywhere near as exciting as it should have been for the price, but it was fun to get dressed up and go somewhere nice all the same.

Matt, Cody and I play ADVENTURE!

On Sunday, we wrapped up the gaming and then all went out to Primanti Brothers for lunch. Primanti Brothers is a Pittsburgh institution, known for their crazy sandwiches, which have cole slaw, cheese, and french fries on them. It is magical and delicious.

It was a great weekend. Even better, though, was coming back to the kitties and our own home.

Ahhh...

For once, and I do mean for once, our apartment manager actually got on the ball and dealt with something immediately (have I mentioned that our shower is still broken and the only actual shower I've had in the last month and a half was in a hotel? It was amazing, by the way. I almost cried). Dave called at 9pm and the manager showed up the next morning and got the pilot going on the furnace.

Happily, that did indeed prove to be the only issue with our heat, and things warmed up promptly and have stayed that way. At this point, the only radiator that still isn't working is the one in our bedroom, and since I have mentioned in the past that Dave is a human radiator once he falls asleep, that isn't too much of an issue.

So, our house is warm and cozy, my brother in law is staying with us for the week, which is rad because it means an extra person to hang out with, and things are good.

But, it's 10:30, and I am old, which means it's time to go to bed.