Steal of a Deal
2008.12.06 | Just a bunch of silliness, really | | 10 comments
I think we all remember that time when as a preteen boy we went back-to-school clothes shopping with our mom. She’d make us try on a pair of jeans and, in order to determine if the pants fit, would grab them at the waist and give them a little jiggle. She would do this because, as all sentient life forms know, the pants-jiggle is the quickest way to embarrass your preteen son in a crowded department store. She would give some excuse about wanting to make sure they fit, but we saw right through that. I think we also remember how this traumatizing experience left us with an intense hatred of shopping.
Fortunately for most of us we at some point or another overcame this fear and ventured once again into the consumer arena to spend our hard-earned allowance. I overcame my own issues (not all of them, just the shopping ones) with the help of a close friend named Matt who was dedicated to my recovery. Actually, I don’t know that Matt ever knew I had a problem (a shopping one, he knew about all the others), but nonetheless he showed me how shopping can be a worthwhile venture.
Matt comes from a large family. I lose track of the actual number of siblings he has but I’d say a close guess would be 47. On top of this he has a stay-at-home mom and a dad who has one of those make-a-difference-but-live-in-poverty type jobs. They always made things work, though. No, they didn’t go without deodorant or wash and reuse their disposable plastic forks… The secret to their success was deal shopping.
It may be that the ability to scope out a good deal was something they were forced to learn, but I always liked to think of it as one of the ways their family was blessed for the good way in which they lived their lives. Regardless of how they gained this skill, after I saw what this gift could do, I made it a point to learn it for myself. I now consider myself a deal shopper as good as any.
Seeing as our economy is in a slow-down, I present for your consideration the following rules of dealshopping:
Find Yourself a Deal Site – With the exception of clothes I buy almost everything online. There are plenty of sites that will compile the best deals around. My favorite is dealnews but some other notable ones are slickdeals and dealsucker. To consider yourself a true deal shopper you will check your deal site at least as often as you check out this blog (hourly at the least).
Stick to Your List – When scoping out good deals you’re going to find lots of awesome amazing items you’ll want to buy such as pizza forks and neckties for the absentminded. Be strong. Remember you’re doing this to save money.
Be Patient – Some items rarely go on sale or can be difficult to find. The longer you’re willing to wait, the better deal you can score. If you wait long enough someone may even save you the trouble and buy the item for you. You can’t beat free. In addition, I never buy anything I’m not 100% satisfied with. If it won’t do the job right or it’s not exactly what I’m looking for, I wait.
Do Your Research – Some items appear to be good deals when in reality they are simply poor quality items. Checkout websites where consumers rate their satisfaction with the items. Amazon and cnet are some good places to start.
Beware of Paper Cuts – When it comes to coupons, if you can do anything similar to what this woman does with them, go for it. Coupons aren’t something I’ve delved too deep into myself (I think they may detract from my manhood), but I’m still deciding (…on whether I should start using them, not my manhood).
Never Buy Clothes Without First Getting the Approval of a Woman – This one is more of a personal necessity because, sadly, I have no taste in clothes. Women can help you achieve that “hip” look you’re going for. Seeing as I’m 25 and yet unmarried, I am always looking for new girls to help me get that look…
Pant-jigglers need not apply.
The Cheese Curd Smile
2008.11.30 | A rare bit of seriousness | | 7 comments
This past Saturday I ventured to Logan with one of my roommates for a double date. I went out with a girl who calls herself “Gudger” (different, I know), while my anonymous roommate had a blind date with one of Gudger’s friends. We had fun bowling, making lunch together, and touring around Logan by way of tandem bicycles (this was only made possible the fact that Logan’s 9-month-long winter had been delayed, likely due to the current rate of world piracy). Good times were had by all, but despite my joking beforehand to my roommate when I asked him, “Are you ready to meet the love of your life?”, I don’t think it was the love connection he might have been hoping for. Great girl, there was just no spark.
After dropping off the girls, us guys headed to Gossner’s dairy to buy some legendary Cache Valley cheese. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the expression of pure glee I saw on my roommate’s face as he walked out with four bags of cheese curds; he was like a little kid on Christmas morning.
I think we all deserve to end up with someone who brings the “cheese curd smile” to our faces. Granted not all relationships start out with that euphoria, and each relationship has its ups and downs, but if it doesn’t bring a smile to your face when you spend time with that special someone, or if you don’t feel even a bit of happy anticipation upon receiving an e-mail or text from him or her, it’s probably a sign that “someone” isn’t so special.
Enjoy your cheese curds, roomie. May we soon find that smile once more upon your face due to reasons completely unrelated to having eaten fine dairy products.
Thanks-taking
2008.11.26 | Just a bunch of silliness, really | | 4 comments
As the citizens of the U.S. gather this upcoming Thursday to gorge themselves on turkey and football, they’ll also unite to give thanks for all that they are grateful for. That is a lot of thanks-giving and begs the question, “what is the square root of 35?”… no, really, “who is taking all this thanks?” I mean, when someone gives something, isn’t there supposed to be someone on the receiving end too? We wouldn’t want all that thanks to go to waste. In light of this long overlooked oversight (you can’t expect the pilgrims to have thought of everything… they were wearing buckles on their heads… BUCKLES, people!), I have elected myself to this humble role.
I’m sure this will go over well when I crash my friend’s family’s Thanksgiving gathering. Her family loves me. They love me so much, in fact, that when she and I stopped at her grandparents’ house on the way back from a trip this summer, they wanted me to be a part of the family so bad that they just assumed we were seriously dating and started announcing this to all of the extended family. Yeah, she had some cleaning up to do after that. Anyway, I’m hoping granny and gramps show up to offer me their thanks. I’d love to spread a few more rumors.
Why am I not spending Thanksgiving with family, you ask? Simple… it’s the “off year”. All of my local siblings will be spending Thanksgiving with their inlaws. How they all managed to get on the same schedule where they can spend the odd-numbered years with my family, and the even-numbered with the in-laws family is beyond me. I feel like if I were to accidentally marry a girl (it could happen) whose family had the opposite schedule, the world would implode upon itself. I’ll have to add that to my list of questions to ask the girl before I get married, right in between “How do you feel about immunizing your children?” and ” What does square root mean, anyway?”
After I learned I was without local family to spend the holiday with I was planning on celebrating Thanksgiving alone (don’t feel bad for me. I was going to order pizza… AND crazy bread), but fearing my mother might hunt me down if she found out I chose to spend Thanksgiving alone I decided to accept my friend’s invite.
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. Enjoy that turkey. Treat yourself to a nice afternoon nap. And don’t forget, in taking your thanks, I accept Visa, Mastercard,
…and crazybread.
Win? Who Wants to Win?
2008.11.20 | Updates in the life | | 5 comments
Yesterday my Frisbee team, the Corybantics, played in the championship game of upper division BYU Intramurals. We played wild, we played hard, yet at the end of the match we ended up losing, like the French in any war where they weren’t led by a woman. In this moment of defeat I am given cause to reflect… who wants to win, anyway? Who wants to be number one? After all, one IS the loneliest number. What satisfaction can come from knowing you are better than everyone else that you have met on the field of battle? Who wants a lousy t-shirt, prize money, spoils of war, or bragging rights?
*sigh*
I do. I like spoils. I want bragging rights… :( but under the circumstances I’ll take pity. Spoils got nothin’ on pity.
Good season, ‘Bantics. We’ll get ‘em next year. Relish the pity.
All Grown Up
2008.11.17 | Just a bunch of silliness, really | | 8 comments
I’m an adult. I’ve just decided. Granted some would say this phenomenon occurred years ago when, say, I turned 18 or even 21, but those people would be wrong. Here, now, at age 25 it’s official. Why this sudden coming of age, you ask? It all started with…
The Cotsco card. No, I don’t mean Costco card. “Cotsco” is one of a few select words it is more entertaining to mispronounce or jumble up. Say it… once you’ve started you won’t be able to stop. Others of these words include “the internets”, an alternative “the interweb”, and “m e m’s” (in place of m&m’s). How does a Cotsco card make you an adult? I see it as a sign you are financially responsible. Just today I spent $1.90 for gas. $1.90! I can’t even remember the last time I remember seeing gas under $2.00. All the other gas stations had prices of at least $1.99… suckers. Besides, where else can you buy Ling Ling Potstickers or the world famous Cotsco muffins?
Then there are the stocks. Granted I have technically owned stocks since I was 17, but it hasn’t been until recently that I started investing regularly. It’s my new hobby. Granted I haven’t made a dime off the stock market yet, I still feel it is a better place for my money than that savings account which last I checked was gaining 2.75% interest, even if I have an unsettling curse in that whenever I buy stocks they start their way on a continuous downward spiral. It also gives me an excuse to bail when the guys at work invite me to come play poker. All I have to say is “No thanks, I lose all my money in the stock market.”
Finally, there is the third leg upon which my adultdom stands: the paper shredder.
I rest my case.
The Magic Words of Dating
2008.11.08 | Just a bunch of silliness, really | | 9 comments
Every so often there comes a word, a magic word of such power it can get you whatever you want. For Ali Baba it was “sesame”. Back in the 60′s in the Midwest it was “jazzed”. If you said the word “jazzed” in Cleveland in the late 60′s you owned that town. Fortunately for our generation a new magic word has been discovered: “hypothetically”.
No, I don’t mean that a new word has hypothetically been discovered. The new word is hypothetically. Why is this such a powerful word, you ask? One word: dating loophole. A dating loophole is a way to remove all chance of rejection when asking a girl out (even if that means she doesn’t KNOW she’s being asked out). Before the discovery of “hypothetically”, there were only two known dating loopholes: “hanging out” (Elder Oaks would be ashamed) and the “purposely lost bet”. Hanging out needs no explaining but the purposely lost bet comes from an episode of Seinfeld where a man, Todd Gak, makes a bet with Elaine he knows he is going to lose with the precondition that the loser buys the winner dinner. This way he gets a date without having to ask her out, thus negating any possibility of rejection.
Where does “hypothetically” fit into all this, you ask? Like the purposely lost bet, it’s a genius way to remove all possibilities of rejection. You first hypothetically ask a girl out, and if that goes well, then you can really ask her out. Say the girl you’d like to ask out (Suzie) lived in a different town (Springdell). Your conversation might go as follows:
<you> “So, Suzie, hypothetically if I were to find myself in Springdell this weekend, would you be interested in doing something?”
<Suzie> “That would be fun!” (she’d definitely use an exclamation point here because women speak EXCLUSIVELY using exclamation points; it’s their punctuation of choice)
<you> (now undettered as you got such a postive response to your hypothetical) “Not so hypothetically, I’ll be in Springdell this weekend, wanna go out?”
I think you’ll be impressed with the results. As long as your name isn’t Michael Scott, you’re destined for success. This even applies to the world outside of dating (I’ve heard legend of such a world but have yet to experience it myself). Say you want to propose to your significant other but aren’t sure if she’ll say yes. Simple: hypothetically ask her first. Unsure how your boss would respond if you asked him for a raise? You know what to do.
In short this word can be used anytime you’d like to ask a question that might have a negative result. Be free. Ask what you want. You won’t get in trouble…
Hypothetically, that is.
Wooing Women with Science
2008.10.30 | Just a bunch of silliness, really | | 5 comments
It’s that time of year again: the time when we bachelors of the world conclude we can’t do it on our own and resort to some new desperate scheme to get women. This year’s saving grace: Science.
For years man has been looking to science to answer important life questions—the kind that keep you up at night—like “What happens when you microwave a grape?” and “How can I create x-rays using scotch tape?” Thankfully science has stepped in once again to save the day, this time by teaching us about women in these landmark studies:
Warming her up to you – Word on the scientific street is that there is a link between physical and emotional warmth. In a recent study people who held a warm drink responded warmly to complete strangers. Likewise, people who were holding cold drinks had colder responses. What this means: Besides the fact that I think my ice cream and smoothie dates are over, I’m going to make a fortune investing in Stephen’s hot chocolate.
Love at first smell – Scientists have discovered that women like men who smell good (Surprise!). The tricky part is that different men smell good to different women, but it’s more about their natural smell then the cologne they wear. To make it all more complicated, women seem to prefer men who smell like their own dads (and I thought I had problems). I guess this means if she says “take a shower” she’s really saying “take a hike”
The Heights of Attraction – In this study men were asked to fill out a questionnaire by an attractive female they met either on a high rickety 450-foot-long suspension walkway or on a lower solid bridge. Upon completion of the questionnaire the woman gave her name and phone number to the male participants so that, if interested, they could call her for more information on her study. 50% of the men from the high rickety bridge ended up calling her later while only 15% of the men from the short solid bridge ended up calling. The high bridge men thought they were attracted to the female interviewer when really they were just in a heightened state of arousal because of the scary bridge. What does this mean to the would-be wooer of women? Give your date a bit of a scare, whether on a rollercoaster, at the top of some skyscraper, or doing some crazy stunts rock climbing… but if that doesn’t work out I’m sure she’ll be impressed with your ability to give yourself an x-ray. Just don’t forget the scotch tape.
Mr. Mole Man
2008.10.30 | Updates in the life | | 4 comments
I remember as a kid my favorite movie was “Condorman”. In that fine cinemetographic masterpiece the main character, a comic book artist, is recruited by the FBI to help catch some criminals. He agrees, but only on the conditions that he can become Condorman, his comic book creation, and defeat the thugs using the extravagant methods outlined in his comic books. He then goes around with elaborate gadgets and vehicles, all the while dressed up in his Condorman outfit (complete with wings and the requisite skin-tight superhero spandex). I wanted to be just like Condorman, but alas my calling is elsewhere in life: Call me Mr. Mole Man because *gasp* I’ve got moles.
These past few weeks I’ve made trips to the dermatologist, optometrist, and dentist. I saw the dermatologist so he could take a look at this itty bitty suspicious mole I noticed, but apparently it got busy and had puppies while I was sleeping because he found *nervous cough* 19 of them. He gave his reasoning for wanting to remove them… something about potential cancer or something like that but all I heard was “by you coming in every other week for the next three months I’ll be able to buy that boat I’ve always wanted”. I’ve already got three divots in my back from his first attack.
But thats not the only thing plaguing Mr. Mole Man. My trip to the dentist was equally eventful. I decided to be frankly honest right from the start so I told the hygienist I don’t floss… at all. She braced herself and went to work. I think she made it her personal mission to convince me to floss, something no hygienist or dentist or girlfriend for that matter has been able to persuade me to do in 25 years. This woman was definitely a pro… she used a whole score of persuasive strategems like delivering her stump speech while she had sharp instruments in my mouth so I couldn’t respond, and using scare tactics complete with words like “gingivitis” and “gum disease”. I even think I caught a “pull your teeth out” in there.
Fortunately I survived this brutal onslaught. Join us next year when our hero rises once again to face the future villains of ingrown toenails and rheumatoid arthritis. I think I’ll pass on making myself a Mole Man costume, however… I don’t think I could pull off the tights.
People, Projects, and Possessions
2008.10.26 | A rare bit of seriousness | | 3 comments
“Never let a problem to be solved be more important than a person to be loved” ~Thomas S. Monson, Ensign, Nov 2008
I have a knack for looking beyond the mark. Between work, church responsibilities, sporting events and other activities, it’s easy to lose focus and look past those things which are most important, or which should be most important in my life: people. A friend of mine once summed it up by saying “People are more important than projects”. Unsurprisingly, putting people first is not an easy thing to do. It means sacrifices must be made and projects sometimes need to be left unfinished. As I think of those individuals who have influenced my life however, they have all had this one thing in common; they have all focused on individuals rather than themselves and all that they had to accomplish.
Recently I’ve experienced that this principle is not limited to projects. Back in July my dad was kind enough to sell me his car. As everyone around him knows, he loved his car. He took good care of it and as a result it was in great shape and he would regularly receive offers from individuals who wanted to purchase it from him. When he hinted one day he might be getting rid of it to buy something newer I jumped at the chance and offered to buy it from him. Before we completed the sale I got the impression he was having second thoughts. When I expressed that I didn’t want to buy his car unless he wanted to get rid of it he exclaimed that it was just a possession, and that possessions are not worth getting attached to. He taught me that not only are people more important than projects, but they are more important than possessions as well.
I’m grateful for friends and family who have taught me by example to put people first. When we have eyes to see, I think it will become quite obvious to us that life is really all about relationships and that “people are more important than projects and possessions.”
Living the American Dream
2008.10.22 | Just a bunch of silliness, really | | 7 comments
I think every girl in America must have her dream home, complete with wraparound porch and a white picket fence. Thats all fine and good, and I hope one day to make such a dream come true for the woman of my life, but until then, I’ve got a dream home of my own. I’ve secretly always wanted to live in… a tuffshed.
The sad thing is you probably think I’m kidding. I’m really not sure how this idea came about but I should probably clarify: I am not referring to one of those standard 5X7 tuffsheds (I’m no cheapskate); I’d need at least the 150 square feet Thoreau had in his shack down by Walden Pond in order to get by. They make tuffsheds the size of 2 or 3 car garages and I think those would do splendidly.
I see I have some convincing to do. As I learned in my highschool history class (thanks Val!), in making an argument you need at least three good points to back you up. With that in mind, here is my reasoning for wanting to live in a tuffshed: 1) It would help you live a simpler life 2) You’d save boatloads of money, and 3) I really really want to.
Honestly though, I think our culture is too materialistic. Granted, I am a self-proclaimed deal shopper and I enjoy my little gadgets just as much as your local neighborhood geek. At the same time, though, I already feel like I have too much “stuff” and living in such small quarters would encourage me to only keep what was really necessary. It’s all about living simply.
The concept of a 30-year mortgage is ridiculous to me. Whatever happened to the good ol’ days of our pioneer ancestors when they’d erect a house in the course of a day? Tuffsheds are prefabricated and assembly can be done in no time. Granted, it would take some more time to insulate, drywall, and add lighting, heating, and piping, but the general concept is the same. Also, seeing as that big earthquake is inevitable sooner than later here in Utah, there is all that added insurance to worry about with a nice expensive house. I’ll take the tuffshed 7 year warranty and be on my way, thank you very much…
For reasons that are beyond me I have yet to find another individual who agrees with me that living in a tuffshed is a good idea. While this saddens me and though it would be difficult to part with this dream of mine I have come up with some backup plans, just in case:
Live in a van, preferrably somewhere in the Brittish Isles
Live in an underground home (read: hobbit hole)
Stowaway on a ship (preferrably of the “cruise” variety… those people eat good)
Live in a home that fits in a parkingspot
Have an Outdoor office like this or this (its got a fancy website so it’s gotta be a good idea)
I guess if all else fails I could just move back into my parents basement. When it comes down to it, I’m pretty sure that is my mom’s American Dream anyway.
