I'll probably only be happy if I'm naked and living in the forest at this point: A rant.

I've been trying to shop more ethically lately and to also stop wasting as much because the world is on fire and I can feel better about myself and my choices when I see that my face wash is "cruelty free" (which means that it doesn't test on animals, not that it doesn't perpetuate the idea that if I don't wash my face every goshdarn second of every goshdarn day, I might break out with a pimple OR GOD FORBID HAVE A WRINKLE) or that my clothing is made by single mothers in some far off country who are now empowered by their jobs (or so I'm told) and when whatever it is that I'm buying is also ALL ORGANIC then I am A FLIPPIN' HERO SHOPPER.

via GIPHY

Of course, it's hard when you're on a budget, so I end up doing a lot of this type of shopping at Walmart, which sort of neutralizes the mission a bit maybe? It's the lesser of two evils (lookin' at you, Amazon) in my mind. I mean, I support local and independent businesses in my community as much as possible, but this girl's got rent to pay.

Which is why I found myself rapidly pacing the beauty aisle at Walmart, furiously googling on my phone to find the most ethical beauty brands for sale that weren't owned by companies that are pure evil, and I quickly started to have the same levels of anxiety that I have at grocery stores. In fact, the anxiety got so bad that I started to have to pee really bad, but I didn't want to go to the bathroom at Walmart because it's Walmart, so instead I just danced around a bunch in the beauty aisle and waited for the moment to pass while I held my phone in one hand and four different facial cleansers in the other.  ALL I WANT IS A CLEAN FACE AND A CLEAN CONSCIENCE. WHY IS THAT SO HARD?

Finally, I settled on one that had bees on it and prepared to leave when I remembered that I needed yarn for a new crocheting project, so we headed over to the craft section, where I entered yet another dilemma because while I found the perfect looking and feeling yarn for less than three dollars a skein, I was confronted by all of the following thoughts:

-IS IT ORGANIC?

-IS IT ETHICALLY SOURCED?

-HOW WERE THE SHEEP RAISED WHO MADE THIS YARN?

-WHO IS EMPLOYED BY THIS COMPANY?

-IS IT MADE IN AMERICA? DO I CARE IF IT'S MADE IN AMERICA? WHY DOES THAT MATTER?

And all of this is good, but also exhausting because at the end of it all I end up feeling like nothing that I can buy is ever going to be good enough. In fact, it's gotten to such extremes that I'm starting to maybe go overboard?  For example, this conversation that I had last night with The Mr:

Me: So. I had an idea.

The Mr: ...uh oh.

Me: No, it's a good one!

The Mr: ...okay.

Me: So you know how the dog chewed a hole in this piece of clothing? *holds up clothing*

The Mr: ...yeah...

Me: WELL -- one might think that this piece of clothing is now ruined and should just be thrown away, but WHY ADD TO THE LANDFILLS when I also have EXHIBIT B!

I held up a pair of cotton leggings whose elastic had busted that were also in a to-be-tossed-or-donated pile.

The Mr: ...

Me: I'm going to cut up the leggings and patch up the hole that the dog made!

The Mr: ...those fabrics don't match.

Me: I CAN'T BE SO VAIN. THE PLANET IS AT STAKE HERE.

 

via GIPHY


Side note: while I was writing this, I found this episode of The Guilty Feminist podcast and it was ALL THE RELATABLE

 


What about you? Do you try and shop ethically? How do you manage it?


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Reflections on Romance... WITH KNIVES!

I think you can tell a lot about a couple from the way they shop for stuff in their home. You learn about who is practical and who is...not. I am very concerned with things looking cute.

Fiance is very concerned with things working properly and looking nice.

This is most evident in our selection of kitchen equipment. If there are faces on it, or cute animals involved (as long as they're not the meal itself), I am totally on board. Fun colors?! Count me in! In fact, before Fiance moved in with all of his fancy, functional stuff, almost everything in my home was brightly colored and had silly faces. My spatulas look like pigs. My knives are alarmingly bright. Fiance's are all dull and silver. Well, they're actually not dull at all. His knives are frighteningly sharp, but you know what I mean. They don't make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, which I guess is a good thing if we were to be robbed. The last thing you want is for someone to break into your home and then you pull a knife out to defend yourself and the intruder is all "Aw, well that's just adorable." Then again, maybe you do. Maybe this is how we can find peace in the world. Through cute knives.

Fiance? He's all "Well, sure, the knives do all look like cartoon farm animals, but do they cut stuff?"

WHO CARES, FIANCE! LOOK AT HOW HAPPY THEY ARE! They double as knives AND PUPPETS!

And that's how I get things taken away from me and quietly escorted out of stores...

 

So yes, I think you can tell a lot about a couple from the way they shop for stuff in their home, but I think what's even more interesting is that the Fiance and I are completely inverted when it comes to our selection in romantic partners. After all, I picked the practical one, and he picked the cartoon character with googley eyes...

And we're both equally dangerous.

That's it. NO MORE PANTS.

It's official: The entire Pants population is against me. Allow me to explain.

A few weeks ago, I discovered that my favorite pair of jeans had a hole near another hole, thus making them slightly inappropriate to wear in public. This happened soon after I had already declared that I needed new pants to wear to work.

So I went shopping for pants. <Please imagine your montage music here>

First stop: The Thrift Store: The thrift store had pants. Many, many pants. None of these pants fit. Eh, what are you gonna do? Thrift stores are always hit or miss. Moving on!

Next up, The Consignment Shop: Alright, here we go, nice pre-owned pants. Wait, why are they all so wide-legged? Seriously, I have a tiny waist and these all fit around the hips, but MY LEGS ARE NOT TREE TRUNKS, PEOPLE. Is this the fashion now? Are we hiding our legs behind giant flowy curtains? I do not approve. I trip easily and this is not going to help me.

And finally, I saw what I needed. Right across the street I saw - I kid you not - The Pants Store: Yes. That was the name of the store. The Pants Store. And it was a big store. This was good. They would have ALL THE PANTS. The Heavens had opened up and angels sang as I ignored all traffic and made my way across the road to enter this beautiful gift from God. I walked in and saw racks and racks and racks of shirts. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" I whisper-yelled. "WHERE ARE THE PANTS???" Finally I found them. Two small round racks of white-washed, pre-ripped capri-jeans.

So, I still have no new pants.

BUT, I do have some pants, so I'm not walking around Daffy-Duck style or anything, don't worry.

Except...

The other day, it was pretty cold here in Stars Hollow, Connecticut, so I decided to wear some leggings underneath the only pair of appropriate work pants I own. I only mention the leggings because I honestly blame them for giving me a false sense of security later on.

After work, Boyfriend and I headed to the grocery store, but first, of course, I needed to pee. So I did and then we left. We got out of the car in the parking lot of the grocery store and as we were walking in, well...

Me: What is happening?

Boyfriend: You okay?

Me: Yeah, I think - is my purse hoola-hooping itself down my body?

Boyfriend: Excuse me?

Me: I feel something - did the belt dislodge itself from my jack-- OH MY GOD MY PANTS ARE FALLING DOWN.

Yup. That happened. You know that cliche story about women who walk into the grocery store with their underwear static-clung to their pants or something?

THIS WAS NOT THAT. THIS WAS PANTS AROUND THE KNEES, PEOPLE.

Now, thank God I had the leggings on, right? WRONG. Had I not had the leggings on, I might not have felt so secure in my pants that in my haste to pee and then leave, I would have realized that they were not fastened and zipped properly. Or at all. Okay, fine, apparently I forgot to button and zip my pants when I left my bathroom. IT HAPPENS TO EVERYONE.

...right?

 

 

I'm Just Saying, I Wouldn't Mind Meeting a Husky Wearing a Fedora.

So, I had this plan, right? I was going to meet my best friend, marry him, and live happily ever after. All of this was supposed to happen by the age of 23. See, the original plan included me bumping into some handsome guy in a college class or in my dorm hall and we'd have some awkward interaction, followed by a series of coincidental meet-ups and hang outs, which then blossomed into something we both couldn't ignore:  Love and obvious sexual chemistry. Stop laughing.

In my defense, I have a family with an uncanny success rate when it comes to love. Two of my siblings married their high school sweethearts, the third sibling met her husband in grad school and never looked back, and my parents, who are still happily married after almost 35 years, were engaged after 5 weeks of knowing each other, despite the fact that they lived on different continents.

So... my expectations were skewed as a child.

Me? I'm in my mid-twenties and I live with my dog on 100 acres of forestry. No husband. No boyfriend to speak of.

You see, Duckies, it turns out that life has this way of kicking your plans in the balls and then walking away without a second thought.

That whole best friend for a husband thing didn't exactly work out, which is fine, because I actually kind of love my life right now. That being said, I'm not exactly hoping it stays exactly as it is. I mean, I still would like to meet SOMEONE.

So, what's a girl who lives in the middle of nowhere to do?

She's gonna fall down the rabbit hole of online dating, Duckies. And she's gonna drag her bestie, "John Hamm," right down with her.

That's right: We went boy shopping. Let's be honest, folks, that's what online dating really is. I sift through profiles like their on the clearance rack at Target: "Ugly... ugly... ugly... oh this is cute... oh, no... way too small*... Nice, but not my style..."

*I'm referring to his HEIGHT. Get your head out of the gutter. 

So last night, after some wine for me and lots of coffee for John Hamm (she's studying for law school finals), we ventured deep into the Internet... and this is what we found (and then shared on Facebook for all of our friends to see... - Hi Mom!):

 

John Hamm's Facebook Status: Late night coffee and helping Emelie boy shop on the Internet. I'm super high on caffeine and judging people.

The comments:

  • MeThere are so many unfortunate people on the Internet.
  • JH: 
  • "Pixie Stick": I mean, that's how I met mine. You'd better start posting hilarious quotes asap.
  • Me: Pixie Stick - so many dead fish.
  • Me"Oooooh.. he's cute. WAIT. 5'7". HARD PASS."
  • JH: "I'm just saying, if he uses the word 'loquacious' in his profile, he's probably a tool."
  • Me: "He owns his own clothing line and has a neck tattoo. Total winner."
  • PS: ... From now on, just assume that I "like" every quote you post. 
  • PS: Oh, I think I know that neck tat/clothing guy ..... wait, maybe there's more than one of them out there. God help us.
  • Me: "This guy started out seeming nerdy and sweet... now that I'm looking at his profile in more detail, I'm realizing he might be a murderer."
  • Me: "Okay, this guy seems like a tool, but he has a Husky and it's wearing a fedora... can I use this site to meet people's dogs?"
  • JH: I just found a guy who looks like a cross between Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaghey, it's like the cast of True Detective got together and had a baby."
  • Me: "LADIESMAN646 IS LOOKING AT MY PROFILE"
  • JH: I'm thinking about creating a fake profile and just calling it "Catfish" because this site keeps cock-blocking me.
  • Me: Whaaaat? This guy's favorite book is Mansfield Park?
    JH: No. False. No man's favorite book is Mansfield Park
  • Me: He's kind of cute. I mean... I wouldn't kick him out of bed...
    JH: Mostly because that's a rude thing to do.

He-owns-his-own-clothing