The Junk Drawer

My husband hit the jackpot when he married me. Not because I’m a knockout (I’m not), and not because I can cook (I can’t). And certainly not because I need to keep up with the Joneses (that’s a race that never ends).

The reason he hit the jackpot is because I’m extremely low-maintenance. I’m a no-frills, simple girl who doesn’t need to have all the latest designer fashions, jewelry or expensive home interiors.

Which is why it makes no sense to me that it took three weeks, hours of online searching and nine stores to find a simple pair of black shoes. The kind of simple shoe that kindergartners would draw when asked to draw a shoe. The process shouldn’t have been so hard, it wasn’t fair and I’ve begun to think there’s a conspiracy against me.

It starts out with the day I discovered the heel separating from the right shoe of a pair that I loved. The shoe went from perfectly normal to crap in about a week. I can’t understand why. Both my legs are the same length, I do not have a limp, and I never ran the New York Marathon in them. Its partner is just fine. Righty has issues.

Just when I thought I should enter it into Ripley’s Believe It or Not as the Freak Shoe of a Freak-Footed Woman, I was relieved to read I’m not the only one with inexplicable clothing disintegration issues. My friend Jeff has a peculiar problem with wearing out only the left knee of his jeans. We are two peas in a pod. Abnormal, anatomically-disadvantaged peas in a pod.

Soon after my shoe started falling apart, I began my search for a replacement pair. Naturally, I thought I could just go online: Punch in Croft & Barrow. Click. Add to Cart. Click. Done. Then I remembered nothing is that easy for me. Not furniture or lamp or cake shopping. What made me think shoe shopping would be any different?

I’m not a total moron. I understand that shoe styles change from year to year, and that if you find a pair you really love, you should buy every single one in the store. Otherwise, you’ll never find them again. I’ve done that in the past with other shoes, but never in my wildest nightmares did I imagine I’d have such trouble finding a pair of plain black, lace-up shoes with a rubber sole. The store I bought them from doesn’t carry this style anymore. Shame on you, Kohl’s. You sold me a shoe I loved and then you took it away.

Here’s my opinion about the state of shoes today. Stores should always carry a base supply of regular shoes that have no buckles, snaps, clasps or adornment of any kind. After that, designers are perfectly welcome to go ahead, take their LSD and make shoes like these. When I did a general online search for "black lace-up shoes," these were among the selections: 

I did not type in Frankenstein, Dominatrix or Elton John. I typed black, lace-up shoes. Period. I fast ran out of patience browsing the 1,001 ridiculous ones and concluded it was unwise to order unfamiliar shoes online anyway. I wear shoes between a size 7 1/2 and 9, depending on the brand. It was best to try them on.

The week before Christmas, I stopped and browsed at six different shoe or department stores. Nothing. I would come home each night shoeless, and Dave would give me a "You’ll do better tomorrow" hug and hope a simple black shoe would magically make itself known to me.

After four days of striking out, I awoke one morning to find Dave had left this note for me on the fridge. Funny guy.

I gave up searching for a while, then the day after New Year’s, we traveled around town hitting up all the stores I hadn’t been to before. I thought I’d get lucky at a new upscale outdoor mall nearby. According to their website, they had ten shoe stores. Ten! This HAD to be the place.

I hit up L.L. Bean first and thought I had a winner. I picked out a black, lace-up shoe I marginally liked, and stood there waiting for a sales person to help me. At least three other women stood around with a single shoe in their hands waiting for someone to assist them, too.  I could see never getting waited on, so I gave up and put the shoe back on the shelf. Strike one.

We sought out the rest of the stores at the mall. Turns out, of the nine remaining stores, one sold only sneakers, one was a men’s store, three weren’t even in business yet and the other four only sold dress shoes. I hate you, 10-shoe-store mall! Strike two.

We soldiered on to the one remaining place to get shoes: a crowded, high-traffic mall that I never shop at unless I’m desperate. I hit up a JC Penney’s first and while perusing their selections, I overheard a woman complaining to a salesman: "I bought my favorite pair here last year, and you keep changing the styles. I can’t find them anywhere now!" I turned around to her and said "It’s a conspiracy." The salesman, wearing a pair of nice, plain black shoes, looked at us weird and offered up nothing. We ladies just shook our heads and walked away. Strike three. I’m out.

Wait…. maybe not.

There was one other department store in the mall I hadn’t checked — Boscov’s. This time, Dave didn’t come into the store with me, since he was tiring of our strike-outs. Better to just sit in the car, avoid my madness, and pray to himself that when I emerge from the store, I would be carrying a bounty of shoe boxes and we could get on with our lives, full to the brim with simple black shoes.

I hit a home run. Right out of the park!

Boscov’s had a simple black pair of shoes I loved. Not even lace-up! I almost kissed the salesman when he brought me this pair of shoes and they fit perfectly! Hello, Clark’s "Music"! My only disappointment was that they had just one pair in my size. No matter. I can order more from them online, knowing the brand and size. My prayers were finally answered.

I’ve just ordered two extra pairs, and as long as my feet don’t suddenly get fat, I’m golden. I’ll be in plain black shoes for years to come. Like everything else in my shopping life, this was an ordeal that tells me I’m being punished for something. I just don’t know for what.

Imagine if I was high-maintenance……

I have characterized The Junk Drawer as cheap therapy because it’s where people can come to unload and unwind. Rants are more than welcome here. I have them, I support them and I listen to them because I feel other people’s pain. I believe ranting is how we survive our days.

This is why my sister, Ann, felt it entirely appropriate to call me up today without so much as a Hello, and rant thusly:

Me:  Hello?

Ann:  I’m never going back to Wal-mart as long as I live. Do you HEAR me???

Me:  What happened?

Ann:  I left a freaking bag over there and now I have to battle traffic to go get it!!! I got home and was looking for all my shampoos and stuff and I realized I left it there!!!

Me:  Mm-hmm.

Ann:  You know what the problem is?

Me:  What?

Ann:  I’ll tell you what it is. It’s those stupid bag carousel things that the cashier puts your crap in and when they spin that freaking thing, your bags are out of sight and you don’t know how many you have to take and they put like only two things in each bag trying to match up similar items.

And then you have like seven bags to carry and God, I wouldn’t care if they put a turkey in a bag with my lipstick! Just put it all in one bag and I’ll throw it over my shoulder like Santa Claus and hightail it out of there!!!!

Me:  Breeeeathe. Release. Breeeeeathe. Release.

Ann:  Why do they even have those things? What ever happened to just throwing the bags on a flat bin thing like every other store has? Huh? Then you could see all your bags and not forget any. God!!! I can’t believe I have to go back there! You know how bad their parking lot is!!! I wanted to come home, relax, eat and lay on the couch. But nooooo! I have to go out in this freezing cold wind and battle through all the people to get to my stupid bag. I’m never going there again. Do you HEAR me?

For the record, my sister is a kind and reasonable woman who is only rattled by forgotten, loosely-filled bags.

Oh, now wait a minute. Ann just called back with an update. This next rant is worse than the first and I have to hold the phone a foot from my ear because there’s a TNT explosion coming out of it.

Ann:  Do you freaking believe this!??! They didn’t have my bag!!! They told me to go to the stupid Returns counter behind a line of people. I’m not making a return! I’m picking something up! I flagged down a lady and begged her to check for a bag that I just called about. She brings a bag over, I look inside and IT’S NOT MY STUFF!!! It’s somebody’s else’s shampoo! It’s Pantene! And mine had Sunsilk! And there’s other junk in there that’s not mine. Oh my God! Why are there two forgotten bags with shampoo in them? Why is this happening to me?

Me:  Because it’s Thursday?

Ann:  So they say they don’t have my bag, but they told me I could go run around the store and get the items I’m missing and then go get rung up again. Are you freaking kidding me? Oh my God! I just did that 20 minutes ago. I don’t even KNOW what I DON’T have! By this point I look like Elaine [from Seinfeld fame] in that episode where she’s trying to drive her stupid houseguest to the airport. Remember that? My hair’s all over the place and I’m just standing there, like in a bubble. I couldn’t hear anything around me anymore. I thought everything was gonna go dark. All I was thinking is that I had to get home to meet Regan from school!!

Me:  What’d ya do?

Ann:  I left!!!

Me:  So you still don’t have your stuff?

Ann: No! I’m going to call them again and ask them to look again.

CLICK.

Ten minutes later………

Ann:  They have my bag. Wanna know where it was?

Me: Where?

Ann:  Right freaking next to the other person’s shampoo bag with a note on it that read "Ann FakeLastName. Customer forgot in store. Will pick up."

Me:  What are you going to do?

Ann:  Pick it up at 3AM when there’s no people there except for employees!!!! As God is my witness, I’ll never shop there again!! Do you HEAR me? Thanks for listening. I feel better now.

Me:  That’s what I’m here for.

CLICK.

————

So you see. If you’re spending too much on therapy that’s getting you nowhere, just stop by The Junk Drawer. I will never make fun of you for a rant, I will never tell you to lighten up and I will ALWAYS listen.

Got anything to rant about? The doctor is in.

I’m a big fan of trivia and quick-read books. Both loves are satisfied with the Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader series. It helps if you envision me reading them outside the bathroom. Promise me you’ll do that.

The Uncle John book series offers speedy stories covering a number of topics including science, history, pop culture, geography, biographical accounts and general stuff you were too lazy to look up and learn more about. Most articles are three pages or less, for readers "on the go," as the authors put it. For a really quick read, you can stick to what they call "runners" at the bottom of each page: one-sentence trivia nuggets that are fun, curious and sometimes stupefying.

On this second day of 2008, I’m a little late to the game on reviewing 2007.  I thought it might be fun to revisit some of my favorite posts from the year, as they relate to some of the Uncle John’s trivia nuggets found in the Curiously Compelling edition. Here we go!

1.  How about you? 54% of American kids ride the bus to school. I was in that other 46%, at least in grade school — or hell, as I like to call it. Read it and weep.

2.  The main cluster of riders in a bicycle race is called a peloton. I was once in a bike race with my sister. Down a hill. Fast. One of us made it to the bottom a bloodied, battered mess. And all because of a tasty snack treat.

3. What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention: Aprosexia is the inability to concentrate. I have it and it’s made worse because I’m plagued by annoying little noises that no one else can hear.

4. Good news for teenagers: There is no evidence that eating chocolate makes acne worse. But seeing hairy chocolates is guaranteed to make you sick.

5.  It is illegal to board a plane while it’s in flight. It should also be illegal to subject passengers to coach if they started out in first-class.

6.  The diameter of the universe is estimated to be 620.000,000,000,000,000,000,000 miles. And I can’t even navigate two tenths of a mile of it.

7.  Animals that give birth to live young are viviparous. Animals who dispense tech tips from their butts are called awesome.

8.  Odds that a sports injury will involve a wrist and hand: 25%. Odds I would do it while sledding on ice: 100%.

9.  If your cat snores, or rolls over on his back to expose his belly, it means he trusts you. If your cat is about to bite the head off a praying mantis, it means you should RUN!!!

10. How about you? A 1,200 -pound horse eats about seven times its own weight a year. So do I.

Happy New Year to all my faithful readers! Thank you for making blogging some of the most fun I’ve had in my life. I appreciate all your support and friendship. Cheers, and all the best to you in 2008!

I’m a good driver. Really, I am. I just can’t handle getting my car in and out of the garage. They never teach you that in driver’s education. Apparently I needed a special class for driving at .2 MPH.

Getting out:

There was the time I was in such a hurry to get to a hair appointment, I failed to wait long enough for the door to go up before I started backing out. The door scraped the entire length of my car’s trunk before I realized my mistake. It was a costly one: $500 to replace the whole hood.

Getting in:

Today when I returned from an errand, I decided to back my car into the garage. But I did it from the opposite direction that I’m used to doing it. I cut it way too close to the edge of the garage and my side view mirror ripped off half the garage frame’s molding. Nice.

The vinyl strip came down and wedged itself between the mirror and the driver’s side door. If I put the car in reverse, I’d pull more off the frame. If I pulled ahead, I’d scrape my car door. So I just sat there for a second or two.

Luckily I had my cell phone.

Ring… ring… ring…

"Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I got in an accident."

"You OK? Where are you?"

"Um. The garage. Can you come help me?"

Click.

Dave gets to the garage and studies things for a moment, while I’m trapped in my car long enough to feel my stupidity weighing heavily on me. He shakes his head and figures out he can pull the molding down from under the mirror without too much more damage, but it has to come off the garage frame. Fine. Do what ya gotta do.

The molding can be tapped back onto the frame, but it won’t ever be right again. It’s all mangled and sad-looking. And I did scratch my car. I doubt it can be buffed out, and so now I’ll always be reminded of the degree of dumbness I possess. I’m really glad I’m not into the fancy, expensive car thing.

OK, folks.  Time for you to share your dumb driving experiences. You didn’t think I posted this for your benefit, did you? I’m looking for the dumb, stupid, idiotic stuff. Make me feel better.

Ready, set, go!

Until now I had only considered my cat Shadow’s butt to be a weapon of mass destruction. Last month I wrote about how she mortified me by dropping a fart grenade in front of my plumber.

Today I’m happy to report that Shadow can use her butt powers for good, as well. It dispenses tech tips.

Here’s how it happened:  My husband Dave was doing some online shopping when Shadow decided the keyboard would be a fine place to get comfortable. She laid down across the whole keyboard and her butt landed hard enough on some keys to screw up the screen Dave was viewing while he was scrolling with the mouse.

The screen content went from normal size to gigantic with that little trick of hers. Once he shooed her away from the desk, Dave had to figure out which key caused the screen text to enlarge so much. After some fiddling around, he discovered it was the CTRL key. It seems if you press CTRL while scrolling up or down, the screen’s text size enlarges or minimizes as you scroll.

In almost ten years of working in the computing industry, I have never known about this little tip. And I can really use it now, since my eyes are not what they used to be. The beauty part is it’s not just for web browsers. The technique works in programs like Microsoft Word, where the view is enlarged, but your font size stays where you want it.

What makes this technique better than other text enlarging maneuvers is that you don’t have click around menus inside each program to find what does the job. That’s what I used to do — for years. Now it’s just a simple CTRL and scroll!

Thanks, Shadow, for sharing your buttalicious talents. See how much better it is to use your powers for good?