This Midwestern life goes to Pat Catan's

We love you! Take us with you! Our dead eyes will keep you awake at night!

Pat Catan's is the Michael's Arts & Crafts of Ohio. It is also a whole lot bigger and cheaper. I don't care how many stores Michael's operates, they pale in comparison to Pat Catan's. There is more random crap to delight the senses at Pat Catan's than even the best Michael's store can offer. I'm talking barn stars, mini-cornhole boards, and gigantic coffee mugs. Sure they have the basic crafting supplies like beads and glue but why get that boring stuff when you can get kissing salt & pepper shakers in the shape of chihuahuas!

I've stopped going to Michael's. Their pathetic 40% coupons that are never valid on the good stuff. Like this tub o' buttons I picked up the other day. I found it almost immediately at Pat Catan's and didn't have to ask some bored college kid for help. When I got home I set my precious tub o' buttons on the table and marveled at it. Then I shook it like a rattle, held it up to the light like a kaleidoscope, and as the buttons happily clicked against each other I wondered who is the person that decides what types of buttons go into a tub o' buttons? Is this person a button designer? What kind of quality control does this company have for their buttons? I shook my tub some more and said "Pat Catan's" repeatedly in an excited whisper because it has such a nice ring to it. Don't you think?

Eff you, Jack Frost

Today I "locked" myself out of the house. I say "locked" because I was stuck outside without the means to get back in. But really it was because we had an icy little storm last night that coated the push-button mechanism on the back screen door with rain that then froze rendering it inoperable. Normally, I don't even set foot past the porch step without my keys and cell phone but something told me that today was a great day to live dangerously.

I went out to drag in the trashcan that probably wasn't even collected because it was also frozen shut. (Oh great, here comes the trash truck having no trouble with the cans. Damn.) I gripped the icy metal bar of the trashcan, carefully picking my way up the driveway, almost slipping with every step. The warmth from my hand (I also went out without gloves like some idiot from California) was melting the ice and I feared it was going to stick to the bar faster than Flick's tongue to the flag pole after a triple-dog dare. After a successful haul with no sticking I went for the screen door and that's when I realized I was doomed. Doomed to stay out on that back porch step for all eternity. I frantically clawed at the door trying to wrap my tiny little hands around the handle to melt the ice. I fell to my knees and cursed the day I left my homeland for Hoth.

Actually, I popped over to the neighbor's for hot water to dump on the handle because that's the kind of thing Midwesterners do. If she hadn't been home I would have gone to the next house and if they weren't home I would have knocked on every door, even the people I don't know, to get water. No Buckeye worth their road salt would have turned me away because we are all in this winter together. If this was So-Cal they would have told me they "don't speak English" and tried to shut the door and then I would have cussed them out in Spanish.

The hot water did the trick so I handed the cup off and went in to the test the front door. It wasn't frozen so had I been in possession of my keys I would have been able to get in. The back door will probably freeze again so I might have to let David in when he gets home. He had a good laugh when I called him at work to warn him. Just like he laughed when the garage door froze to the garage floor, a few months ago, and I had to use a gardening trowel to un-stick it. Maybe I won't let him in when gets home. Let him frantically pound on the back door as the sweat slowly freezes to his body. Pfft. Who I am kidding? David has never sweated the small stuff. He'll calmly come in through the front, tracking snow all over the carpet and ask, "What's for dinner?" Must be nice. Real nice.

You Can't Sell Books Again

It has been two years since I've had a paying job. I've done a lot of poking around since then. Poking at getting another job, going to school, or just staying put as some sort of a housewife/bookworm/layabout. Friends often ask how David feels about my lack of employment. Honestly, he doesn't care if I work or not. He just wants me to do what I think is best. If only I could figure that out.

What kind of job can a person get when they have no real skills and everything they enjoy is antiquated? I think about my hobbies and abilities and I have two options:

1. Go back to retail
2. Go to school for a degree in...?

Option #1: Though it's been some time since I stood on my feet for eight hours assisting people who wasted my time, left trash everywhere, and destroyed my work everyday I could easily go back. A clothing store, department store, specialty shop or even back to Stables & Grand Booksellers. At least, I could have gone back to S&G before their core competencies shifted from actual books to e-readers. I know, in my heart, I can never work at S&G ever again. If I had really wanted to stay with them I would have moved up the management ladder when I had the chance instead of staying a glorified book waitress. So that leaves some other store.

I'm hesitant to apply to any store that upon seeing my retail experience will give me a managerial position. I never was a key holding, cash handling manager at S&G. That's what I loved about the job. I was simply a lead on the book floor. But let's talk about the real reason I haven't applied at any retail establishment since I moved: Retail sucks. Sure, it can have its merits: flexible schedule, good discounts, good for active/social types. But really, it sucks. At its best retail is tedious and unforgiving. Retail has become so unforgiving that some employers give an applicant an online personality test to screen them before granting an interview. On a whim, I applied for a job at a store (let's call it KDNickel) took their online personality test only to find myself failing it. I guess I wasn't "rah rah I love KDNickel!" enough for them. I guess having four years retail experience, being honest and hardworking isn't good enough for KDNickel. Nope, you might not be able to string a sentence together but if you shop exclusively at KDNickel you're in. I hate you retail.

Option #2: The thought of enrolling in any sort of institute of learning makes me want to scratch my eyes out. I don't want to do the paperwork, jump through the hoops, and part with the bags of cash. Furthermore, I don't want to graduate in 3 to 6 years with a degree that doesn't guarantee anything other than I can sit in a chair and turn assignments in on time. Yes, a degree might increase my chances of securing employment in a chosen field but it might not. Not to mention the fact that I don't even have a freakin' clue what to go to school to study. I'm not one of those people that can flit around campus trying this and trying that until I arrive at a major. When and if I go to school I am going to go, get it over with, and be done forever. I might be looking at school the wrong way. Maybe I should just suck it up and try it. You never know, I might like it. Or I might want to scream and hide in my house for a few years until I can mix with the general population without hissing.

There is still time for me to work it out. Soon we will start the costly and time consuming home searching/buying process. Not a search I want to start with a new job or full semester of school. Until then I will keep twiddling my thumbs and meditating on my next step.

The Mothership

David's Bridal is the largest retail chain of bridal wear in the United States. Their stores pop up in strip malls like baby's breath in a bride's bouquet. When I was searching for a wedding dress, almost two years ago, David's Bridal was not an option. However, it's the number one stop on most brides' journey and it's where my friend, Amy, has decided to get her gown. I went with Amy, her mom, and her grandma on a preliminary dress shopping trip over the weekend in an awful snowstorm.

Amy is just beginning her bridal journey. She has a dress in mind, but being a bit of a tomboy with scant knowledge of the terminology made the process overwhelming and awkward. She is such a tomboy she doesn't even own a "little black dress". David's Bridal is set-up to trick the eye into seeing a boutique with racks of dresses to browse. Every gown is encased in plastic and basically the same color. Even a champion browser, like me, could not wrap my head around these dresses. They just hang limp like fish on a line. Shiny and delicious, but devoid of shape. When it comes time to try on dresses the brides are on display to each other. Other customers were constantly walking in front of us obscuring our view of Amy. It created a competitive and catty atmosphere.

One girl swept by as someone in her viewing party spotted Amy in her gown and said, "Oh, look at that dress! What about that one?" and Prissy Snobinson came to a dead stop turned up her little nose and said, "Oh no, that's awful, not for me." A rude, backhanded, and uncalled for aside. I stared open mouthed at the girl. In retrospect, I should have stuck my boot out and sent her sprawling to the floor. I should always carry a cup of scalding coffee specifically to throw at girls like her. But, in reality, the girl is a stranger and of no importance to us. She's a bridezilla and confronting her would be stooping to her level. No one wants to be featured on the local news after getting into a cat fight at a bridal shop. If Prissy Snobinson could look at Amy and not see that there was a real-live girl wearing the dress then we should ignore the monster parading in front us wearing a girl's skin. I heard at least three other people walk by Amy and say, "That's a pretty dress," because it was. It was simple and understated in a classic way.

Amy was a blank canvas and the consultants had fun bringing accessories for her to try. She experimented with veils, ostentatious floral headbands, and jewelery. As sweet and open-faced as a toddler learning to walk, Amy navigated the world of brides. At her next fitting she'll be stronger; having learned to walk before she ran. Then she can choose the dress that shall become her armor against the world. When a girl begins the transition to bride she must decide what's important to her, to her family and for the wedding. Judging from what I saw at David's Bridal, where brides from all walks of life merge, some brides have their priorities straight and others need to be reminded what this whole wedding tradition is truly about. Or walked down an aisle straight to a guillotine.