Sunday, June 09, 2013

All Good Things

I have good news and I have bad news.

The bad news (which isn't really) is that I am giving up the ghost.

I am retiring this blog. 

Retiring it, I must add, after...wait for it...EIGHT-AND-A-HALF YEARS. Eight is a lot of years, Invisible Internet Friends.

And you know that everything in my life is so far, and so different, from where it was when I began this crazy blog-thing. Writing about being huddled over my laptop shirtless, slurping soup, before another internet date. (Shirtless because I didn't want to get soup stains on my date-night shirt; soup because it was literally the only thing in my entire apartment that could come close to qualifying as "dinner material.")

It's not like I have my act together now. It's just packaged differently. Not SF; Napa. Not single; married. Not bored at work; overworked. And there are kids somewhere around here, probably using permanent marker to draw "pirates" on "your fings, mama." And yet in soooo many ways? My messy, crazy, full-of-silly-spills life is exactly the same. It just has totally different wrapping paper.

And so, I decided, so should my blog.

I've launched Napa Candy. It's just me, except with different wrapping paper.

Friday, May 03, 2013

"You Sound Like A Horrible Parent"

Here's an email I got a couple days ago: 
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "The Top 10 Weirdest Things On "Yo Gabba Gabba"":  
This whole post was stupid . I highly doubt little kids see anything sexual about the show. They are KIDS not idiot adults . I also don't see why it's a big deal that god is black and just because he's cheerful that makes him gay. You sound like a horrible parent . 
DJ Lance Rock

Which is really awesome, because of all the insights.  

So to respond:  

First of all, OF COURSE I am a horrible parent. I am a blogger.

Secondly, I KNOW my kids don't see anything sexual about the show. That's why I think ALL children's shows should feature characters that look like sex toys and/or sex organs. Then they will be prepared for later in life, for the day when a friend convinces them to go shopping at Good Vibrations in San Francisco, and instead of blushing or panicking they can be all, "Oh hey! Relax! That thing looks just like Hoobie The Space Goat* from my favorite show when I was little!" and then everyone will marvel at how sex-positive and comfortable my children have become. It's a good plan. 

Next, well, I can't believe you played the race card but you know what? In my (albeit limited) experience, we're led to believe that God looks less like DJ Lance Rock and more like Dumbledore. Is this fair? Probably not. But please direct me to the nearest book or movie or church or house of worship where God is depicted as a young, hip, dancing black man in an orange track suit. Then I will reconsider.

Lastly, it's not because he's cheerful that I say he's gay. It's because he's just like Dumbledore. Who is gay.  

And there you have it, folks. Fighting insights with insights.

*Hoobie The Space Goat should definitely be a thing

Sunday, April 14, 2013

That Time My Chins And I Were In The Paper

There's an article about me in today's Napa Valley Register, along with a photo. These are wonderful* things!


(Except of course except.)

I hate the picture. Haaaaaate. It isn't flattering in the least. And the worst part about it is that everyone** I know has insisted that I "look beautiful" in it. Which means that's what everyone thinks my "beautiful" is. Which is terrifying to me because no, actually, it is not. Objectively, it is not beautiful.

But instead of getting into a long-winded post about THAT ONE TIME I WEIGHED SO MUCH LESS AND WAS SO MUCH PRETTIER, I'm just going to give it to you in pictures.







*The article is great and the photograph is great, I just can't believe that's what I look like.

**Except my sister Sam who thankfully laughed at it for 5 minutes straight.

Thursday, January 03, 2013

2012 In Bullets & Pictures & Bug Spray

I'm currently huddled over the kitchen table, trying to work. I'm wearing a tent-like smock dress because it's one of the few remaining (clean) items I own that I can still fit into post- "holiday gluttony." I shoved leggings on under the dress because it's like 35 degrees out and also let's not discuss the leg hair situation. (Oops. Too late.) I have a "for emergencies" (because it's horribly unflattering) sweater on on top of the smock dress and a scarf wrapped around my neck. My hair isn't totally dry from my shower this morning (a rare luxury, showering in the morning) and so it's piled onto my head in some sort of tangly mess, whatever. The point is, I'm next to the OPEN sliding glass door in the kitchen, letting a freezing cold draft in, wearing a sweater and boots and scarf with pseudo-wet hair while my laptop is precariously situated on the kitchen table (beside marker stains and a glop of kid-yogurt from this morning) because I can't sit in my office because of the spraying. I don't want to pass out from poison gas.

Well, no. The guy said I wouldn't. He said, "You know, it'll just make you dizzy for a while. It won't kill you." OH OKAY THEN.

Let me start again.

Happy New Year!

About 30 millionteen things have happened since I used to blog regularly (REMEMBER HOW I AM A BLOGGER?), although when I go to summarize it, it doesn't sound that impressive. Here's what happened last year (please see corresponding photos below):
  1. I worked a lot. Like, a LOT a lot. Like, regularly going 3 days without showering/eating lunch standing over the sink in under 10 minutes between calls/scheduling simple visits with friends 3 weeks in advance a lot.
  2. Ish got a new job and also worked a lot. (But he totally showered every day.)
  3. The kids got a year older and a year cuter, per Facebook & Instagram evidence.
  4. I decided to go platinum blond with a big, bright "Suburban mom trying too hard" streak in my hair. Because why the hell not? And I like to quote my haters.
  5. Eve started preschool.
  6. Ish and I went to Chicago for a weekend with our old friends Ben & Emily, and brought Ish's sister along for the ride. We had a great time, and packed a whole lot into two days.
  7. Um.
  8. In October, my sister, Samantha, drove across the country with her new boyfriend and they moved in with us, along with their dog. Surprise!
  9. In December, we all went to Disneyworld. ("We all" = 15 of us and it's a long story.)
  10. Christmas!
  11. Then it rained a lot and now we have fleas. Which is why the guy sprayed our house. (And I thought I was all prepared -- the animals are safely outside and the kids and my husband and sister are out of the house. Except OOPS. I forgot to make arrangements for myself. Thus, here we are. Me, a little dizzy. Probably actually will die.)

But otherwise I think you're pretty much caught up with the Sammis Highlight Reel from 2012. Pete and I took an overnight trip to SF for a Giants game once, and then later they won the World Series and that was neat. I attended a funeral last August and blogged about it. My cousins had a baby in November.

Personally, I'm great! Sort of!

I am happy with work although the stress has been, at times, totally overwhelming. I do my best to always spend quality time with my kids every day.

I don't do a lot of "me" stuff, though, other than zone out after the kids are in bed, which has increasingly meant drinking wine after 8 p.m. and snacking even later, and oh hey! I've gained 15 pounds over the last nine months. THESE THINGS MAY BE RELATED.

Still, at this point it's probably noteworthy that since I started this blog SEVEN YEARS AGO to chronicle my weight-loss efforts, the only thing that has remained constant is that I (basically) haven't lost weight.  The good news is that I truly, genuinely find this funny.

Can you tell me YOUR 2012 in bullets? I'll be here.

Photos for just because:
1. I had to add a tiara to my "professional" headshot.
2. Ish at Frog's Leap Winery (highly recommended! go visit!)

3a. Eve, January 2012
3b. Eve, January 2013

3c. Towns, December 2011
3d. Towns, December 2012

4. Pink Streak, March

5. First day of preschool

6a. Chicago
6b. Chicago, Ish's sister

6c. Also on the river in Chicago. Ben is being...Ben. And Emily is laughing at his ridiculousness. And yes, his shirt says, "Am I supposed to have a boner right now?

6d. Chicago, from our boat on the river

8a. I tracked Sam's trip across the country using Google Latitude. There she is!
8b. Sam and the kids do selfies
9. Disney - Breakfast with the characters, and pure bliss
10. Our "Christmas" card photo which became our "New Year's" card because we mailed them out on January 7.


Above: My cousin, Matt, and I at Christmastime in Connecticut.
Below: Matt's son and my daughter, at Christmastime in California.
Two impromptu shots, 36 years apart.
(Only after I took the one below did I remember I had the one above.)

Random SF Giants Game! 

We went to Vegas for a weekend and got hair/makeup done just because.
(Kinda foxy, right?) 

OMG. Eve took a dance "class" and this was the big recital. She's dancing to "Firework" by Katy Perry.

Yep. This happened.

Sunday in Napa (@ Biale Winery)


One of the awesomest things that happened this year was that we grew closer to our friends in Napa.
This is Erin
I tried to start a meme and totally failed, but whatever.
Funny picture.

Saturday, October 06, 2012


Okay, hi.

Last weekend, we were desperately searching for something "new" for our kids to watch on television that wouldn't make us completely crazy. Because I can only see the same episodes of the same kids' shows so many times.

We picked, from "Free Movies" on Comcast, OKLAHOMA. A few minutes into the movie, we accidentally played the Gangnam Style song on one of our mobile devices. At which point we discovered that the synchronization was amazing. Like, Pink Floyd/Wizard of Oz amazing. Same beat. Cheesy dancing. Happy cowboys. IT'S LIKE THE SAME VIDEO.

 So we morphed them. (Not that I get how to do anything technical, so this could have been done better...) (and now I think you can see it on mobile devices?)

But if for some reason you aren't interested in the above (I DON'T GET YOU) and want to hear my darling daughter say a bad word that she attributes entirely to my husband, please feel free to watch the following video as well.


 And that pretty much sums up the last two months of my life.

Friday, August 31, 2012

D. Duck

I read something at a funeral today.

I'm here in a hotel room, just having come from this morning's services. We were at the beach. It was gorgeous. 

I'm unexpectedly in Connecticut, in the town where I grew up, sitting in a hotel like a stranger who doesn't belong. My sisters are off running errands and we'll regroup soon to drink wine and tell stories because that's how we do things. We make a party out of everything, and then eventually we start singing. If you're following me on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter, there will be photos. 

We'll laugh. We'll play games. 

But I'm sad in a deep and profound way. Ugly-cry, gut-punched, I don't want to acknowledge a world where I can't hear Tom laughing kind of way.

So I'll just do what I do. I'll share what I wrote. What I read today. It's more for me than for you, because sharing makes me feel better.

I wish you could have known Tom. So, well. Here it is:

My dad, left. Duck, right. Healy's wedding, 2002.
In some ways, I wish I had the perspective to be able to talk about Tom the way my parents, John and Linda, would have.

In some ways, I wish I could share any of the many, many, MANY stories they’d tell. From the fun, to the funny, to the downright completely inappropriate. Because, from the time my dad and Tom became friends in grade school until his passing all-too recently, my dad AND my mom spent so much time with Tom -- gatherings and parties, vacations and the just-stopping-bys, and oh...the late-late-late nights, whenever they were together.

Yep. There are a lot of stories my parents could tell. And, even if heavily laced in sarcasm and swear words, there are also so many sweet, wonderful things my parents would say about Tom.  

But I can’t tell you what my parents would say. Not really. Because I was a very little girl when I met Tom.

Tom. I don’t know if I’ve ever called him that in my whole life. The minute he tried to win a two-year-old Healy over with his Donald Duck impression, she dubbed him DEE DUCK, (“Donald” was too hard to say). And that moniker stuck. Even years later, on wedding invitations, he was Mister D. Duck.
At my wedding in 1999. At the bar.
(My mother would murder me for this picture if she could.)
And that’s exactly what makes this hard for me. For us. D Duck -- or the informal, “Duck” -- was always and forever the really fun guy who encouraged us to be kids. He was playful, and encouraged us to be playful. The night of my father’s services, 26 years after being given the name D Duck, he gave my sister a piggyback ride.

We were always kids around him. And that’s the lens that we will always see him through.

So I can’t tell you what my parents would say. Or even what my grown-up self would say if I’d only just met “Tom” a few years ago. Because I can’t even imagine that version of him. I can only really talk about the Duck we loved so much as kids -- because that’s the only Duck we ever knew.

* * * * * *
The first time Duck visited us at our house in Darien, my mother was beside herself with nerves. She wanted to make a good impression on this “old school buddy” of my father’s. She had no idea she was meeting someone who would become her own lifelong friend. (If only in large part because it takes a really special guy to put up with my father for so many God damned years.)

I don’t know how the night went in general, but I do know that when Duck went to leave, he couldn’t. Because his keys had disappeared.

Imagine if you will, a dinner party where you’re meeting your old friend and his new wife and kids for the first time, and you end the night by explaining that your keys have gone missing. Awkward. Except also true.

I don’t know how long they looked or what sort of uncomfortable conversations may have transpired before they gave up and woke both me and Healy (again, aged 2) up to ask if we had any idea where D-Duck’s keys were. Of course, I found this baffling, but Healy, in a dazed toddler stupor, said yep. She knew.

Now, Healy was a very shy and very particular kid, but took a shine to Duck immediately. I mean, who doesn’t? And in her enamored toddler state, decided that she would take his keys and put them in HER own purse. Because D-Duck’s keys were just that awesome. And then, before going to bed, she decided -- for reasons never entirely made clear to anyone -- to hide her purse at the bottom of the hall closet.

Well. For some people, this might have just been a strange end to a pleasant evening, end of story. But I think the Sammis family was sending Duck a message that I’m sure all of you have felt at some point in your lives: we love having you in our home, and we don’t want you to leave.

It was that way always. A visit from Duck meant my parents would be happy. It meant good times. It meant jokes. It meant silliness. It meant music and laughter. It meant fun.
OMG 80s. Big, curly hair. Miller Lite beers and Tab cans. 
Duck was the ultimate “fun uncle”. Especially because he always brought cool stuff to our house, including the most amazing thing that had ever been invented in the history of the world ever: the car that would talk to you. “Listen to her when I leave my door open!” he said smiling while his immaculate car idled in our dusty driveway. Your door is ajar. Your door is ajar. “I think I’m in love!” he exclaimed. More than once.

Duck was the only person who could stop by, unannounced, and not rattle my mom. Duck was comfortable; he accepted us all for who we were. Our metaphoric “dishes in the sink” never mattered to him. He was there for the company.

And we loved it.

Duck was a fixture in our household-- something of a Sammis family constant. He was there on random Sundays, and the day I learned to ride a two-wheeled bike. He was there for egg-dyeing and swimming and on our Prom Nights. We sometimes called our guest room “the Duck room.”

I know it wasn’t a Christmas Eve, or even any party at all, until Duck arrived.
At a Murder Mystery party my parents hosted. (I wasn't invited.) 
Even when my parents passed away, he managed to make us all feel better, just by virtue of being around, and being him.

He was everything charismatic. He was the guy you wanted to sit next to. He had the laugh you could pick out from everyone else’s -- maybe because it was so funny, but probably because it was so darn genuine, and infectious. He didn’t just like to have a good time, he BROUGHT a good time. He WAS a good time. He was our good time.

So...I’ll share something personal with you now. Despite how I think of Duck, I’m not ACTUALLY still a five-year-old, looking for Duck’s keys...I’m really a grown-up with young kids of my own. And every time we have friends over, and I watch them interacting with my kids... I catch myself thinking: “Is this friend of mine going to be their Duck? I hope we can find someone to be like our Duck.”

He set the standard for ultimate family friend, and he raised that bar awfully high.

D-Duck has been such a shining beacon of joy in our lives for so long and for so many occasions, in fact, I kept accidentally looking forward to seeing him today.

“How will we ever get through this?” my family has asked, too many times.

“Well, D-Duck will be there.”
Also he was a Captain in the army and was handsome, apparently.
My family has come to expect that Duck’s smiling face and joyous spirit will be there to get us through anything. I know in some ways, he still will.

But, now, it’s our turn to try to return the favor -- at least a little. To try to bring a little celebration to him -- as much as we can.

(Ask Healy & Sam to come up.)

Music and singing has been part of our relationship with Duck since the beginning. And we wanted to honor that today, in a way that felt...authentic. That truly represented Tom, Duck, and how we knew him.

I was looking through old pictures, and suddenly had a vivid reminder of a New Year’s Eve party my parents once hosted. (I wasn’t invited, but I watched from the hallway), and I very clearly remember Duck singing this song.

My dad was at the piano, and Tom was singing with his disarmingly good voice -- at the top of his lungs and with gusto, the way he lived life.

Uh, a song we will humbly try to sing now.

To us -- as, I know, to many of you -- Tom (Duck) has meant love, and he’s meant family, and he’s meant home. He is what a happy home feels like.

And we hope he’s in a happy home now.

Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it went right to my head
Everywhere I roam
On land or sea or foam
You can always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home

At his memorial services today. Overlooking the ocean.

Monday, August 27, 2012

REPOSTED: What If Fat Doesn't Mean Miserable

I originally posted this on January 22, 2010. Many things have changed since then, but many things...haven't.  It was time to revisit. You can still read the original post here.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I am not fat because I am miserable. I love myself. But I don't like the way I look.

Those three sentences are the most important things I could ever write. I don't know who's reading this or who's in the same boat as I am, but nowhere, never, not once in my extensive and exhaustive research on weight issues have I ever EVER seen those three things addressed simultaneously. If at all.

Somewhere, somehow, the American psyche became convinced that either one of two things is true: either you are fat because you are miserable, or you've learned to LOVE! yourself the way you are. I don't know which is worse or further from my truth.

The latter, "Learned to LOVE! yourself the way that you are" infuriates me. I don't embrace my size. I deal with it, I just walk around with it. When I'm feeling up to it, I'll dress myself up and look my best. But I'm not fooling myself. I would look better ("better" by current general American standards, however they came to be such) if I weighed a lot less.

At NO point will I ever be happy with classifying myself as a "BBW." I am also not a "Diva." I am not "Large and In Charge." I am not "sassy." Yet these are the labels I get to choose from if I am going to go along with my larger size. I can't just passively accept it; I can't just exist as though I'm exactly the same as other women...just a few sizes bigger.

This is never made more painfully clear than when I'm out shopping. WHY do the styles have to be so entirely different for the plus-size shopper? Because, I guess, the moment I passed from size 14 to size 16, I suddenly became a "Glamazon!"

Ladies and gentleman, I am not a Glamazon! I'm not even a glamazon.

Yes, toned-down alternatives exist, but I am not appreciative of being called a "WOMAN," either; at least, not when that's what the plus-size area of a department store is calling me. And by the way: If I'm a WOMAN, what does that make those sized 14 and under? GIRLS? The implications of "bigger = woman" are humiliating for all parties involved.

Let's be clear. I don't disparage women who do, actually, like being big (or are at least comfortable with it), and I don't dismiss that there are men (and women) who love big women. I am just not one of them. We can blame my parents and the media, but I don't generally perceive overweight women as sexually attractive. Myself included.

Except I don't hate myself.

I don't wake up miserable every day.

No, I don't like the way I look, but:
1) That doesn't mean YOU can't like the way I look, and, more importantly;

So I don't like the way I look. Lots of people don't like things about themselves that they could change.

I've just put less emphasis on controlling my weight than on other things.

Other things, like my career, my financial stability, my emotional well-being, my family, and, you know, achieving my life goals. Oh, and speaking of life goals? "Being thin(ner)" is definitely on my's just below "finding love" "having a family" "career satisfaction" and "getting published."

Hey, I get that we all have different priorities. I firmly believe that everything's a trade-off. I simply cannot work as hard as I'm capable at health, weight, career, education, family, extra-curriculars and emotional well-being all at the same time. I can find a balance that works for me, though; I can find compromise. And that's precisely what I've done.

But why is that so hard to believe? I chose (directly and indirectly) not to have my weight be my top priority. NOT because I didn't have other priorities. Not because I didn't care, not because I don't have a life, not because I'm not a worthwhile human being.

I keep thinking of Jillian on The Biggest Loser, screaming at contestants until they break and finally reveal the emotional scars that led them to their 400-pound selves. And of course, for some people, that's just it. They eat because they're unhappy. They try to fill an emotional void with food. They put other people first and don't take care of themselves.

Well, okay, fair enough. But what about the rest of us?

Because that's not my story at all. That's not my life at all. I feel like if I had Jillian yelling in my face, asking me why I've "done this to myself" I would have to yell back, "Done what? Let myself gain weight? Oh, well, sorry! I was busy trying to make myself a fulfilled human being!"

(I might ALSO be tempted to yell back, "Why are YOU so AFRAID of fat?" but that's neither here nor there and probably why I'll never be on tv.)

I care. I do care. I don't want to be this size, and I am not happy with my size. But with me overall? Well, my weight has taken a back seat to other, worthy priorities...priorities that make me feel like a whole person, and that make me feel confident with myself. My self-esteem is pretty well intact.

My self-esteem is not dependent on my size.

Correlated, yes. I would feel better about myself if I were thinner. But I would feel a lot worse about myself if the rest of my life were in shambles. (Trust me, I speak from experience.)

I just constantly feel like people who see me, people who meet me but don't really know me, wonder what's wrong with me that I am this size. Surely deep down I must be unhappy with myself. I think it's really hard for people who (subconsciously or consciously) link their self-worth with their weight to understand that not everyone does.

That I couldn't possibly love myself if I look like this.

Except I do. if I want to lose weight?

How do I find motivation to lose weight if I'm not coming from a place of broken? 

Most motivational advice I see/read/hear is based on the premise that fat = lazy, fat = uninformed, fat = unhappy. I need to find something better than this. I look to shows like Biggest Loser to inspire me, but the message I come away with is "If I just figure out why I hate myself so much, I will let go and start taking better care of me."

But that doesn't fit me and so I have no model. I'm not overweight because I'm lazy, because I have nothing better to do, because I'm unhappy. I'm not angry at the world, I'm not failing at life. I haven't let myself be held back by my weight. 

Instead, it's just the opposite. I have so much else going on, I just don't know how to make weight-loss a priority without giving up something else. Like, by virtue of math, I have to do less of something in order to do more of something else. 

I know people talk about making "lifestyle changes" but they always seem to just say that "eating well" has to be a priority and "eating crap" has to, well, not be a priority. They say that now you need to make time to go to the gym as though you were previously spending that extra hour or two sitting around twiddling your thumbs. As though it's apples to apples.

It's not.

I look at my life now and it is full-to-the-brim busy. I have two young children and a start-up. I spend practically every waking moment wrangling a child or wrangling an overflowing inbox, save for the occasional conversation with my husband. I have to schedule showers.

I know I need to reconfigure to give weight-loss a new, prominent position in my life. But.

But losing weight is hard. It's hard to stay motivated in general, but it's REALLY hard to stay motivated when being overweight doesn't bring you abject misery.

So I ask: What about those of you who DO work, who have active social lives, who do 8 billion other things with your bad selves and LIKE it that way and so can't quite figure out how to make "weight loss" one of your priorities? 

Is it because you are secretly miserable? Or is it because you're just...not?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

1. Absolutely no antagonism is intended toward those who are thin, who are in good shape, who care about their size, who are athletic, who enjoy working out, etc. I think that's awesome! I want to be more like you! 

2. It IS possible to prioritize working out and still balance millions of other things. However, *I* have not, PERSONALLY, been able to find that balance yet; not since I became a grown-up with a full-time job and certainly not since I had kids and started a company. This is MY cross to bear and to explain. 

3. For the record, I have NOT always been fat and I HAVE been in great physical shape -- just not since graduating college and getting a job.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Fun With Fridays, The Olympics, And The Word Penis!

I have so much fun stuff for you today! In fact, let's make a list.

1. Opening Ceremonies Bingo Cards!

This amazeballoons blogger created lovely Bingo Cards for tonight's opening ceremonies. You should print them out and play, especially if you have friends over and want to keep them (and kids) entertained.

Opening Ceremonies Bingo Game

2. Opening Ceremonies Drinking Game!

Perhaps even better (YES I KNOW IT'S ALL ABOUT PREFERENCE), I found this amazing drinking game for tonight's ceremonies and it wins.

Olympics Opening Ceremonies Drinking Game
Image from
Indeed, what London lacks in precision group drumming it will make up for with nods to British culture: British music, British literature, royal figures, and crumpets -- all of the crumpets! It will be either a grand tribute to England as the Games begin, or a hilarious Frankenstein of cultural history ("No, no, no! The 40-foot Voldemort is supposed to come out to the Sex Pistols' cover of 'God Save the Queen'! Don't cue 'Hey Jude' until the 30 Mary Poppinses start descending from the sky.") Regardless, the event calls for a drinking game.

3. Here is a video of the US Olympic Swim Team singing "Call Me Maybe":

4. What did my favorite Chinese Wholesaler send to my inbox this week? 

Another women's bag.

Was it gorgeous? Beautiful? Useful, even?

No. It was just decent.

5. Last but not least? The word PENIS. 

Once a million years ago, my a cappella group was at karaoke and Roe who is awesome drew a picture of the word penis for absolutely no reason. I thought it was "artistic" I had another friend upload it and color it in and here it is. I don't know. Happy Friday.


Sunday, July 22, 2012

Hipster Toddler With BONUS! Sad Chinese Bag Girl

I don't totally understand where or how memes get started, but I'm pretty sure it's not from people taking pictures of their kids and then putting them on MemeGenerator and then blogging about it. Then again, maybe that's exactly how memes start.

Funny thing, this internet.

Anyway. I took the requisite* photo of toddler-wearing-oversized-sunglasses...


and then laughed at the result because she looked like such an over it hipster. So I decided to start this meme thing.

Hipster Toddler Digs Tacos

Hipster Toddler Is Over Your Tweets

You can create your own versions of Hipster Toddler here, if you're so inclined (if you do, let me know). Or go ahead and make your own! It's a fun thing to do when you're supposed to be watching your children.

This one is my favorite: 

Hipster Toddler Should Run Your Social Media
Because it's in direct response to a widely circulated, laughably stupid post by a recent college graduate called, "Why Ever Social Media Manager Should Be Under 25." 


I got my Chinese Wholesaler email on Friday. Below was my favorite image... somewhere between "duckface" and abject misery.

Pretty Asian Girl Hates This Bag
"New Arrival Rivet Embellished Black Big Bag For Women"

Pretty and chic Chinese girl will buy your bag. But she won't like it.

*It's in the Parental Handbook. See also: Santa's Lap, Asleep In Carseat, Running Through Garden Hose

Monday, July 16, 2012

My Poor English & Shower Boobs

It all started with Pinterest, as so many internet adventures do.

I saw some totally cool item someone had Pinned, and I decided I should get it for my sister-in-law, Whitney, for Christmas.

In case you're wondering, this sells for the totally guessable price of $23.58.

Now, in an online-Christmas-present-buying frenzy, I didn't really pay attention to where this item was coming from. But at some point when I was going through my list of items purchased, I realized I never even received an order confirmation from this place.

I opened an account and issued a help ticket. The content of my inquiry was exactly as follows:
I Haven't Received Shipping Confirmation or Order Tracking info. I just want to be sure I receive this shipment in time for Christmas. Can you please update me on my order status?
And I awaited a reply, hoping that I hadn't given out my credit card to a fraudulent website, and also that the item from this Chinese Wholesaler wasn't actually being shipped from China. Two weeks before Christmas.

About a day later, I logged in and saw there was a reply waiting for me! Oh, happy day!
For you choose Flat Rate Shipping ,it will need 10-30 days to your can't receive track information,but you can only know the send out time .The midway track information is blank.If you want get track information and want get it in time ,please choose DHL .bue you must pay us Additional postage. 
My English is poor ,so I can’t express myself well , if has grammar mistake , hoping you can forgive , thanks. 
Waiting your reply. 
Well alright then.

I realized three things:

  1. Yeah. It was coming from China.
  2. No. It wouldn't be arriving in time for Christmas.
  3. Fantastic customer service, all things considered. And hey. They opened the door on this one, so I was going to pursue it...even though I knew no good could come of it.
I never received this reply via email. My email address is: kristysf@[].  Yes, I would like to use DHL and pay additional shipping costs. Can you let me know what to do?

I anxiously awaited the reply.
Dear , sorry to tell you your order is shipped out 09/12/2011 .Tracking Number: [redacted] you can't receive track information,but you can only know the send out time .The midway track information is blank . if it get in time is ok ,and if it get out of time ,you can choose to refuse it and it will return to us . and you must tell me you refuse it ,when we received it ,we will give you refund . Sorry to tell you  that  My English is poor ,so I can’t express myself well , if has grammar mistake and misunderstanding , hoping you can forgive , thank you for your understanding and your patience. Mandy
I don't actually think her name is Mandy. Also, when I realized the "sorry about my grammar" sentence was cut-and-pasted, I felt way less special. I pushed on, though.

I just have one more question:   What is the midway tracking? What does it mean? Will I be notified when the product has reached the midway track point? 

Thank you so much, Mandy!
Mandy's response didn't disappoint.
For my poor english i can't express myself well , and don't know how to express ,it's so hard for me to explain , it means when it on the way , the express information will few and sometimes you will get no informations about it until you get it .  Can you understand?and can you tell me how to express in a word?
Of all the customer service experiences in my life, this had swiftly become my favorite. And you know what? It's really hard to get mad at someone who tells you "sometimes you will get no informations about it until you get it."

I replied saying thank you, I think I understand. And then Mandy sent the best answer of all.
It doesn't matter,your welcome  haha

Well, it's no matter and probably you're wondering about the boobs. So let me get there.

Not only did I eventually get the phone charger (first week of January), I also got added to the email list of And now I get weekly updates on Friday, and they are spectacular. In addition to selling the most random assortment of electronics stuff on the cheap, their Americanized advertisements are cultural vignettes unto themselves.

For instance, here was their Mother's Day promotional email banner:

I think -- think? -- whoever used this stock photo perceived the blond on the left to be the daughter of the man and woman on the right. Except um, no.

I think actually she is just the hotter neighbor-friend, and she's about to get some red wine in the face by this man's wife (who looks really, really pissed off).

On the upside, if you're ever at a loss for how to define "FAMILY"? Now you know.

I also had the opportunity to earn 8% off (???) by participating in a questionnaire, where I contributed to their further business life:

And yet none of this is anywhere near as amazing as what was in this last Friday's email.

Among Chinese-made tablets and cell phones and headsets, this set of product images...uh...stood out.

Popluar Shower Gel Sexy Breast Automatic Foam Soap Dispenser

You guys. Are you not amazed at the Gel Sexy Breast? And its foaming soap?

Well, before you purchase one (for the totally not-made-up price of $24.84), allow me to explain to you its many, many features, which I am not making up (although my commentary is in italics).

Main Features: 

  • Rubber breast attaches to flat surface with suction cups 
    Because you wouldn't want anything gaudy in your shower, like a hook. 
  • Novel foam soap dispenser 
    Yes. Novel. So very, very novel.
  • Sexy breast in the bathroom can make you shower more interesing
  • This is a pure soap security device 
    I was unaware that soap required security measures, but I don't know anything. "Quick! Hide the soap! Someplace they'll never look!" 
  • It is very creamy texture and soft touch 
    Can we agree at this point we're just talking about a sex device? 
  • Moderate size, it will not feel squeeze up a little uncomfortable 
    I have no idea what we're talking about anymore.
  • Can be hung in the toilet and the kitchen most of the place very easy
    YES! IN THE KITCHEN! For dispensing...soap? Or like, ketchup? Maybe mayo? 

So now I can't wait for Friday's emails. And if you're on my Christmas list? LOOKOUT.