Hi guys.

No Saturday Steal this weekend.

Sorry for the inconvenience to the four of you who might have participated. We’ll be back to our regular schedule next week.

Happy long weekend!

I don’t know, I just can’t seem to stop saying Hip, hip! these days. Something about it has been exactly the perfect exclamation for me lately. I’m sure it has stemmed from my recent adoption of Reagan’s “hooray!”—I can’t think “hooray!” without turning it into “hip, hip, hooray!” and then shortening it to “hip, hip!” I’m not sure why…it just feels right. (I’m profound sometimes.)

Need to celebrate with your sister about her husband losing 18 pounds on Weight Watchers?

Hip, hip!

Happy about your spouse getting home from work early?

Hip, hip!

Finally contributed money to the household income after a three-year dry spell?

Car went 1,000 kms on its most recent tank of diesel?

One more chilled DDP in the fridge when you thought you were all out?

Hip, hips all around!

I’ve said it at least eight times just today, and I’ll say it once more: Hip, hip!

I’ve got an especially good reason to say it now, though, and the reason is this.

Read it. I think maybe you won’t be disappointed.

I have been thinking a lot about poverty lately.

Some months ago, Poor Kyle and I took a leap of faith.

Our leap, like that memorable portrayal in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, seemed like sheer lunacy at the time. To step off the ledge of security and stability into the vast unknown of self-employment requires equal parts courage and stupidity. Luckily, we had both.

But you know what I’ve learned about leaps of faith?

Sometimes it takes a lot longer to land than Indy would have us believe.

In his last crusade, Indiana Jones steps directly from one ledge to the other; he only feels sheer terror for about a second before he gets to heave a massive sigh of relief.

But when Poor Kyle and I leaped off our cozy, stable Ledge of Financial Security, we jumped feet-first into the longest free-fall of our lives. We had discussed leaping for many months before we actually did it, and we felt fairly prepared…but all it takes is one ounce of confidence for the Fates to zero in on your head and dump a bucket of crap on it.

We went for six weeks basically without a paycheque amidst the months of property taxes, summer school tuition, an ill-timed trip to New York, mortgage payments doubling, and various other financial goblins popping out from underneath rocks to give us mini-heart attacks every other day or so.

It was a frightening time. As in, I felt fright in my soul. I never considered ourselves the living-from-paycheque-to-paycheque kind of family, but I also never considered that we really only had to wait fifteen days for more money to magically appear in our bank account.

Let me tell you what, right around week four and a half, I started to lose sleep—a lot of sleep.

Interestingly, though, during that poorest time of our lives, Poor Kyle and I argued the least about money—what’s the point in arguing about something that doesn’t exist, you know?

And even more interesting is that as soon as we finally did get a paycheque, it was less than twenty-four hours before I thought we needed to open up a separate savings account for taxes, and Poor Kyle thought that was stupid and that we should just leave it all in our chequing account (And not spend it? Yeah right.), and before long we were slamming doors and hanging up without saying goodbye again. Just like the old days.

So what I mean to say is this:

A lot of good can come from the terror of destitution. Fewer arguments, malnutrition weight loss, et cetera. It was only when I stopped buying groceries so we could pay our mortgage that I decided I should maybe start teaching piano lessons and proofreading/editing and applying for jobs and dropping some classes and foregoing salon appointments and so forth. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say—or in my case, poverty is the mother of Getting a Life.

I write this post like the story is over—like we’ve reached our final destination—because people like to read happy endings. But in truth, it’s still a long way from finished. I haven’t quite got a life yet, we haven’t quite built up the savings we need, I can’t quite look back on it and laugh. We’re breathing easier right now, yes. But I will never forget the six most troubling weeks of my life.

And I think that’s probably a good thing.

My friend Niki is starting a new club—a weekly run-down of fashion—entitled What are You Wearing Wednesday. Inasmuch as she blatantly proclaimed that my Saturday Steals inspired this event (an admission which made me blush—thanks, Niki!), I thought it was only right that I join in the fun.

Now. Even on my most fashionable of days, I’m not very good at fashion. I’m not good at following trends. I’m certainly not good at starting trends (although I used to try back in junior high, but I quit the day I realised that wearing paper clips for earrings probably would never catch on). I mostly just wear clothes that are comfortable and clean. (I always wash my jeans after exactly thirteen wears because I know that cleanliness is next to godliness. You should, too, if you know what’s good for you.)

Really, my participation in this event is kind of laughable.

But I’m going to participate all the same, because I discovered this outfit a few weeks ago and I kind of haven’t stopped wearing it since. So I thought I’d share it with you:

Regular readers of this blog are probably thinking this image looks familiar, and they’d be right: I posted it last week to illustrate my new necklace.

But it’s more than just the necklace that I like about this outfit—it’s everything.

It all came about rather accidentally, to tell you the truth…

I bought these ill-fated skinny jeans in June at DownEast Basics (after months of searching) because I discovered they came in 36-inch inseam—just my size!

Too bad I ignored the part about how they are so low rise they make my muffin top look like it was fresh-baked at Costco.

Because of said muffin top dilemma, I have always had to wear these skinny jeans with looser tops, like this one:

But incidentally, on the very day I wore the shirt (above) with these skinny jeans, I had a wardrobe malfunction that compelled me to hightail it to the nearest clothing retailer, which just happened to be Ann Taylor Loft, where I skulked into the dressing room and changed out of my broken shirt into the white V-neck T-shirt you see in the first photo.

I ripped off the tag, took it to the cash register, and asked the lady to please ring me up. I thought the shirt didn’t look very good because it wasn’t as flowy as the tops I usually wear, but it was on clearance for $6.00 and I needed something that wouldn’t fall apart in front of famous people. So I bought it.

But then a funny thing happened: my friend Chelsie convinced me that she liked the shirt, and so, reassured, I kept wearing it. For days on end.

Before long, I’d become enamoured with my new white T-shirt and muffin top skinny jeans! As it happened, I bought the shirt in a size larger than I normally would, which allowed just enough breathing room to alleviate my spare tire anxieties. It’s such a simple outfit—”jeans and a T-shirt” in every sense—but for some reason it seems versatile enough to wear for date night or for a morning of errands. And I have worn it to both.

I’ve also worn it to the dentist, to school, on an airplane, and to parties (just kidding I don’t go to parties). I’d wear it to church if I thought I could get away with it.

It’s my new favourite outfit and I think every girl should have one.

Additional details:

Necklace from Bead for Life.

Sunglasses from my garage.

Flip flops from Marshall’s.

Watch from Fossil™ as an end-of-semester gift back in April.

Well, I didn’t get the job.

In preparing for the dreaded phone call, I was all set to say something snarky and flippant, like, “Oh, that’s too bad, you’re really missing out.” But when the interviewer called to give me the bad news, my passive aggressive heart couldn’t bear to cause any sort of confrontation, even with the voice of a woman I’d surely never see again. Instead, I just said, “Okay, thanks for telling me.”

Then she insisted on explaining why I didn’t get the job, even though I was ready for the conversation to be over approximately three seconds after it’d begun. Apparently one applicant had more online experience (unlikely), and one applicant had tutored previously. (Yes, I lost to TWO applicants—Lame’s my name, don’t wear it out.)

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have lately begun to embrace—truly embrace—the idea that I can try my hardest, and do my best, but in the end some things will still be out of my control.

What will be will be—I think that’s how it goes.

I can take my decisions to the Lord, and I can say, “Hey, God, I’d really like to land this job that pays over $20 an hour. I believe it is a righteous desire to make that much money; I think it would help our family. Here’s what I would do with that money if you could land me the job: Pay tithing. Pay taxes. Pay off George Jettson. Pay tuition. And then, if there’s anything left, I’m not gonna lie, God: I’d probably buy some new clothes…but I would buy them at the thrift store, does that help my case?”

[My prayers tend to drag out a little; sometimes I wonder if God saves them for his secretaries to muddle through.]

And after all that—after all those pleas and petitions, and after doing my best and getting to the interview early, with an ironed shirt and flossed teeth—if I still don’t get the job, I can safely assume that I wasn’t supposed to get it.

Because the only alternative is to believe that my life is one heaping sack of screwups and failures and might’ve-beens…and that’s no way to live.

Instead, I choose to believe that not getting this job is some sort of blessing. Like maybe I would’ve wrecked my car on my way to work some frigid December morning. Or maybe I would’ve gotten raped in the parking lot after work one night. Or maybe it would’ve put us into a higher tax bracket. Or maybe I just need to learn to live without money. (And if that’s the case, it’s gonna be a long, hard life I think.)

I don’t know the meaning behind it, but I do know this:

Disappointment is temporary.

And that helps me sleep at night.

(But it doesn’t do a dang thing for quelling my dreams of wealth untold.)

Hi, guys. We had another titillating weekend of steals—let’s take a look at what was showcased, shall we?

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Shesten, who is going back to school after a long hiatus (huzzah, Shesten!) found a book she needed for her class for only $2.55, and she got free shipping! (I never qualify for free shipping.)

Maureen caught the cooking bug and grilled up some gourmet-style green chile cheeseburgers, which she calculated cost her less than half what she’d've paid at a restaurant.

Leah got throw pillows for her awesome grey couch at a fraction of their original prices from the Pottery Barn outlet (I had no idea they had an outlet—I have been missing out, clearly).

Chloe got this adorable overnight bag for her birthday (gifted by her parents for her to use on her HONEYMOON, ooh la la).

Lindsay (private link, I’m sorry) got this “ugly as sin” (her words, not mine) rocking chair/recliner for only $12.50! While she admits that it is really very ugly, she has plans to slipcover it. Knowing her talents, I have no doubt she will make a boutique item out of it.

Chelsie got this copy of Mockingjay for $8.50, pre-ordered, plus free shipping. Add that to the many hours of delicious literary enjoyment I’m sure she squeezed out of it, and you’ve got the steal that keeps on giving.

(I haven’t read Mockingjay yet, but I’ve heard the ending leaves much to be desired. No spoilers, please, but what did you think of it? Was Chelsie’s steal really a steal after all, or was she, in fact, stolen from?)

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As for me, I would just like to announce that on this, the thirtieth day of August, 2010, my house was FIFTY-FIVE DEGREES when I woke up shivering this morning. The thermostat has gradually been reading lower and lower temperatures. I thought it was cold yesterday when it was sixty-six, and now I’ve got the heater SET to sixty-six to warm me up from fifty-five.

Yes, friends, you read it right: I turned my heater on. I tried so hard to hold out till September, but I am weak and undeserving. And my heater is on in August.

O, Canada…

Hello, and welcome to another rousing round of Saturday Steals!

To participate, simply:

1) Steal a steal.

2) Write a post about it on your blog, mentioning that you’re participating in Saturday Steals (you can steal the above image if you so desire), and

3) Add the link to said post to the list at the bottom of this post.

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‘Member how I told you I was lucky?

Well, it’s true. I’ve been having some really lucky luck lately, especially that of the postal persuasion. It seems like every time I go to the Mayberry Watering Hole these days, I leave it with a spring in my step and a glimmer in my eye.

I keep finding delightful packages waiting there for me—and what’s more, I get them for no deserving reason! I don’t know why this is happening to me—heaven knows I’m normally not so fortunate—but when the gods send you a blessing, you don’t ask why it was sent (thanks, Prince of Egypt, for that fine lesson of moral apathy—it will get me far in this world, I can feel it). That the Par Avion gods will continue to smile down on me is my daily supplication.

Dramatic? Yes, but the fact remains—

I delight in packages.

A few weeks ago I had the good fortune of finding one such present in my PO box. What it contained was this:

A delightful package bedecked with pink handwritten notes bearing good tidings of great joy. The purpose of this package? Why, to help me make it through summer school, of course.

Upon hacking it open like the parcel vulture that I am, I was blinded by the brightest, cheerfullest colours I’d seen since the last time I was chillin’ in Anaheim with Walt’s legacy.

And on further investigation, I discovered that my talented friend the Science Teacher had sewn me an apron!

And a lovely apron at that—with scalloped stitchery, two generous pockets and a candy-stripe ruffle, it was everything I ever wanted in an apron.

I vaguely recalled the Science Teacher emailing me for my address some weeks before, but—fuzzy-minded person that I am—the memory had long been lost in a sea of blog post ideas, research paper citations, random Harry Potter facts, and sundry tidbits that are wont to fill my squishy brain on any given day.

Which was lucky for me, because it meant this apron was a total surprise, and a welcome one at that.

I tried it on instantly, having always preferred the look of myself in an apron over any other outfit (all the better to hide the fat rolls with, that’s what I say), and was immediately enamoured:

Then I hung the apron on the hook in my kitchen and picked up my suitcase to start  my voyage to New York and came back and wrote a research paper and took a final exam and went on a brief excursion with Poor Kyle and never even thanked my benefactress for her benevolent deed.

Until now.

Thank you, Mrs. A, for the thoughtful, wonderful gift you made for me—specially for me—out of the goodness of that lovely lovely heart of yours.

It made my day and also my month.

And that’s my Saturday Steal.

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Now it’s your turn! Add your steal to the link list below. It will be open from now till Sunday at 11:59 p.m.