The quilting makes it kind of look like Chanel, right?

I've been on a spring buying binge lately, from flip-flops to clothes to bags. Most of my online sprees are at cheap stores like Victoria's Secret (no, for the polos!) and Old Navy. My most recent ON order came this week, and now I can verify firsthand that this bag is actually really cute and not cheap looking. And it's only 16 bucks! The stitching is even and not frayed, and the constructions seems pretty sturdy. So get one of these, and then take the money you save and spend it on a ridiculously spendy bag. $300 for two handbags isn't so bad!

I do love the payola.

We get some awesome stuff in the food "department." (As in, the features editor and myself.) Today, I was gifted a self-published book, "Quick and Healthy Meals from Trader Joe's." Right up my alley! Now I can validate the trip that was otherwise going to be just for the wine.


Some other gifts:

• Yesterday, we got a can of Emerald Cocoa Roast Almonds. They weren't sweet, like chocolate-coated would be, but more rich, with a dark-chocolate powder on them. The first one was a little jarring because you expect it to be sugary, but they're strangely addictive. Until other people start putting their hands in the can.
• Earlier this week, we got some soft candy from Baskin Robbins. There were two flavors: mint chocolate and strawberry. Most people were just disappointed that the tiny foil bags didn't have ice cream in them. Um, think about it.
• Last week, we got a package from Miller Beer that held a bottle and a can of Chill, beer with lime and salt (which the PR people coined as "chelada-style"). It's still sitting on my desk as an example of how cool my job is.

Next I'll be trying their beef tartare.

OK, what I'm about to tell you will no doubt cause you to judge me, and probably ruin my reputation as someone who knows a little about quality foods. But I'm only human!

Enough drama.

Yesterday I was at Wal-Mart, my new favorite store in Stockton, and I was drawn to the sushi counter. Last time I'd seen this new addition I'd gagged a little and walked right by. I mean, sushi at Wal-Mart? It's raw fish, something you don't discount. But this time I looked closely, and my curiosity got the best of me. I figured I'd buy it and save it for dinner, so that if I got sick at least I wouldn't be in the middle of a newsroom. And I'd only eat a few pieces.

The package had 16 small roll pieces in four varieties: tuna, salmon, shrimp and eel. The shrimp and eel were cooked but the eel had a weird sauce, so I started with the shrimp. The pieces all looked good, without that squishy texture old sushi sometimes gets. It smelled fine, not super fishy, and actually tasted ... pretty good. I'm a sucker for salmon rolls, and while these were hardly the best I'd ever had, for $5, I'm totally going back. Eek. I know, I'm sorry. I should hate Wal-Mart for reasons that have nothing to do with food, but I just can't help but be drawn back time and again. I justify it by reasoning that if I have to work in Stockton, I might as well get some cheap crap to offset the gas prices.

"Do you want a Happy Meal after your wax?"

When I was a preteen, my biggest concern was how to sneak Oreos into my room. My, how things have changed.

Philadelphia magazine recently ran a story exploring the trend of young girls getting beauty treatments like waxing and highlights. It talks about the moms who bring their preteen daughters into salons for ... wait for it ... bikini waxes. Eight-year-olds. As the author points out, there ain't much to wax at that age. But the larger problem seems to be the values that these moms are passing on: "You aren't OK the way you are," "The most important thing is how you look," etc. Even though I would've killed for my mom to acknowledge that I might be interested in wearing makeup in middle school, part of me is appreciative that she let me make my own choices about stuff like that. She never mandated that I be thinner or straighten my hair (though if she could've steered me toward an iron it would've saved me a lot of agony) or told me I wasn't pretty enough, which is probably the subconscious message these girls are receiving.

Barbecue cookies

Last weekend I was feeling very Martha and was on a mission to bake something. Specifically, Mesquite Chocolate Chip Cookies that I'd read about on the food blog "101 Cookbooks." The description was intriguing: a specialty flour that was a "superfood" that smelled and tasted like nothing else.

Well, sign me up.

And since I'm lucky to live close to a culinary capital, San Francisco, this flour was accessible. Apparently it's not popular yet, so it's only in a few places, or online. But I found it at Rainbow Grocery, a natural foods store in S.F. (Yes, I drove to San Francisco on a Sunday morning for the sole purpose of buying flour. I'm a nerd.)

So I got the stuff and brought it home (along with unrefined sugar and whole wheat flour) and set about making the most delicious chocolate chip cookies ever. They taste like a clovey, cinnamony, chewy oatmeal cookie that's not too sweet. I bought enough flour to make a couple more batches, so if you ask nicely, I might send you some.





(The original site took down the recipe because she's writing a book, but this guy still has it.)

The amazing disappearing centipede!

Do you see it? It blends into the hardwood floor, which makes it even worse.

So on Saturday, the boy and I were hanging out with a couple friends and we ended up going swimming in the girl's pool. Boy took off his shirts (layers) and left them on the ground near the pool. After, we scoop up the wet clothes and put 'em in a bag and take them home.

The next day, I'm doing laundry and throw his shirts in the pile. I'm pulling them apart when I see this THING on top of the underneath shirt. It's totally close to my finger, so I throw the shirts away from me, not realizing that that's the best way to let the thing loose. So after I stop shivering I realize I need to find it. (Mind you, that morning I had a spider walking on my arm when I was in bed. Bad day.) I start looking on the floor and can't find him. Start to panic, but then he skittles just enough to create contrast. So the first thing I do isn't smoosh (I don't really like to do that anyway, more a catch-and-release program), but take photos. As evidence, because I want boy to feel really bad that I put myself in harm's way to wash his skanky shirt. So I take a couple shots and just as I'm putting the camera away it runs toward the wall and squishes through a gap between the floor and the baseboard (high-quality construction).

Dammit.

So now I have no idea where he is, and I have to wear shoes in my apartment because if I crunch on anything in bare feet ... good lord.

Tread carefully.

When I went to get my tire fixed yesterday, it turned out the puncture was too close to the edge to be repaired, so it had to be replaced. I got the tires a while ago but they were under warranty, so it was free. And it occurred to me, why don't I just go stick a nail in my tire whenever it gets worn? I'm sure they'd catch on after a couple of times, but spread out over a few years ...

Did I run over a puppy and not notice?

I was having some bad luck yesterday. First, I noticed my tire was going flat when I was going to lunch. So I went to Wal-Mart to get it fixed (I know, duh). So I left it there and did some shopping while I waited. When I finished, I was walking up to the self-checkout line when some janky bitch walked RIGHT IN FRONT of me. Like, I was putting my stuff on the belt, and she stepped in and just scanned her Blow-Pops. I've learned better than to call people out in Stockton, especially at Wal-Mart, but seriously? And she didn't even look at me, say, "It'll just take me 2 seconds," nothing. But as irritated as I was, I really wasn't too surprised. And then she tries to pay with this torn-up $5 bill. Like, literally, it's in half, and she wonders why the machine won't take it. It's about a full minute before she sighs and grabs her f-ing suckers and walks away. And then the register is stuck because it wants its money. So I go to another line, and then the guy charging his stuff there can't figure out how to use a credit card! Seriously?!

But then I went to get the car, and it turns out the tire couldn't be fixed, so I had to go to Firestone and replace it. And the guy there was hot. So all's well that ends well.

My boobs are all in a knot.

Men, like giving birth and bikini waxing, this is one pain you will never understand:

I thought "You're such a bitch!" was the worst teacher abuse.

A story broke today that three third-graders had plotted to attack their teacher. They brought handcuffs, a knife and duct tape to class, and certain kids were appointed tasks, such as covering the windows and cleaning up afterward. These are 8-year-olds!! I was so fearful of authority at that age that I can't even imagine I would have yelled at a teacher, much less stabbed one. The plan was to knock the teacher unconscious with a paperweight, then tie her up and stab her.

Is it safe to even be at a school anymore? If you're a student, you can get shot in your dorm room or lecture hall. If you're a teacher, you better not piss off any kids, because they could totally take you out. That's insanity. The worst I had to fear was the little bitch who kept biting me.

When I was in elementary school, I did do something kind of bad. It wasn't violent, but for me and the other girls, it was WAY beyond the normal. We were coming back from our special gifted class (ironic) and someone decided to go graffiti in the bathroom. Stupid stuff about who's an ugly bitch and the like. Then someone was like, "Write 'shit here' above the toilet and put an arrow!'"

And I did. Shameful! I don't think I really ever even said "shit" back then. But at the time, it seemed so hilarious. I think we got caught like an hour later, when one of the girls cracked and we all got called into the principal's office. And the awesome thing is, my mom came to pick me up, and she just thought it was funny. I guess if that was the worst thing I did, as opposed to plotting to stab my teacher, I can see how she wouldn't freak.

"What does a green line mean? Sort of pregnant?"

I went to the Dollar Tree today to research a story on grocery shopping at discount stores. (Unfortunately, it wasn't my idea, I saw a wire story about the same thing, but I'm localizing it and the guy's in Kansas, so I figure it's kosher.) Anyway, they have some great stuff there! Lots of cleaning products and shampoo, not to mention the candy. And they had oyster crackers! My all time favorite snack. So I had to buy a bag.

Standing in the checkout line, I was looking around at the impulse purchases hanging by the register. Gum, batteries, disposable razors ... pregnancy test.

Right. That's a good idea. The ONE time you don't want to bargain shop, I'd say. The result's probably in Chinese characters.