Saturday Steals: Haggling (the basics)

by Camille Posted on April 23, 2010

Welcome to Saturday Steals! I’m so glad you could join me on this money-saving venture. Below is my own Saturday Steal (a bit different than my usual formula), and below that is the link list for your own posts. Please feel free to take part in the stealing conversation!

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When I was in high school, my grandpa imparted on me this profound piece of advice:

“Camille,” he said, “CASH TALKS. Having cash is a great bargaining tool. Say, for example, you go into a store to buy a dress and it costs $50. If you buy it with a credit card, you just have to pay $50 and whatever interest you accrue until you pay it off. BUT, if you have cash, you can tell the salesgirl that you’ll pay $30 CASH for the dress right then and there, and she’ll accept your offer every time. Cash talks.”

My grandpa was a smart man, to be certain, but I think shopping had changed since the fifties. I never did try to take a handful of one dollar bills into the Gap and see if they would give me a discount just because I had the cash—I somehow assumed that wouldn’t really fly with Old Man Gap.

Still, despite the fact that haggling in 2004 had changed since he was a young whippersnapper, my grandpa did have a good point. In the case of bigger purchases, like vehicles or real estate or home improvement tradespeople, cash does talk.

And in such cases, when it is appropriate to bargain, let it be known that I AM NOT AFRAID TO HAGGLE.

I was born and conditioned to haggle (hello—my mother was the daughter of a man who thought taking cash to the mall would get you deals). We are a haggling bunch. I haggle anywhere it seems even mildly acceptable, from yard sales to car lots. I’m not scared. According to my grandma (the wife of the man who thought taking cash to the mall would save him money), haggling is really like earning money. How fast can you make a hundred dollars, she asks. The worst thing they can do is say no, and with any luck, they’ll say yes. HOW FAST CAN YOU MAKE A HUNDRED DOLLARS?

That’s my mentality.

(Kyle, on the other hand, REFUSES to haggle. He HATES it. He thinks it’s tacky and rude and embarrassing and awkward. How we ever ended up married the world will never know.)

Case in point: the posted asking price of our Jetta ended in $500. I, being well-versed in the art of buying and selling used vehicles, know very well that the $500 tacked on to the back of the main number is really a bargaining tool for car sellers. It says to all the savvy business people out there: HEY, BUDDY, THIS FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS IS NEGOTIABLE. They only tack it onto the back on the chance that some sucker—like my poor shy husband, Kyle—will come along and be too afraid to offer five hundred dollars lower, in which case, bonus for the seller, because they totally would have taken less.

At any rate, when the time came to make an offer on our Jetta, I gave my husband a pep talk: Okay, honey, you can do this. It’s easy. Just offer him what we talked about. Worst-case scenario, he’ll say no and make a counter offer. Best case, he’ll accept it and we will have saved ourselves a month’s payment! It’s not like he’ll be so offended by our offer that he’ll say, “No I WON’T accept it, and you hurt my feelings so bad that I won’t even sell it to you for ANY price now!” That’s not how it works. C’mon, babe—how fast can you make five hundred dollars? [Grandma would be proud.] YOU CAN DO IT!

(Just in case you’re wondering why I didn’t make the offer myself, it’s because I sometimes have to be gentle with Kyle’s tender little ego. That’s all; I’m sure you understand.)

Anyway, he made the offer and the seller accepted it without hesitation, confirming my theory that he never really expected to get that extra five hundred bucks in the first place.

Let this be a lesson to you: haggling, in the right time and under the right circumstances (by the way, I don’t like haggling in third world countries because if I can’t pay $5.00 for a pair of leather flip flops when that vendor could subsist on $5.00 for several days, then I shouldn’t be buying flip flops [but if you haggle in such situations, I won’t judge; I, the queen of misers, know how tempting it can be]), is definitely a worthwhile habit to develop, and can lead to a lifetime of amazing steals.

Just do it.

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Now it’s your turn! Publish your own steals and add the link to your post  (not your entire blog, but the specific post of your steal) in the list below. It doesn’t have to be a steal you stole recently—it can be a recollection of an ancient steal or an anticipation of a future deal. You could even do like me and share your favourite tips for steals. The possibilities are endless!

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Posted in Saturday Steals | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

So long, Smeagol!

by Camille Posted on April 22, 2010

Are you watching American Idol this season?

Kyle and I oscillate; the first entire season either of us had ever watched was when David Archuleta won, and we were smitten. But then the next season Kyle was gone a lot and I started school, so we never made the time to watch even one episode.

This year, though, we’ve gotten into a better routine that has allowed us to maximize our time together, and you’d better believe that one way we maximize said time is to watch downloaded episodes of American Idol.

Don’t judge us. It’s good for our relationship.

Anyway, this season, the minute I saw Siobhan, I thought to myself, “That girl’s haircut would look really cute on me.”

Just to clarify for those of you snobs who are above watching crummy reality TV, here’s what Siobhan’s haircut looks like:

And for some reason, when I saw it, I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head that I should try cutting my hair like that. Which is unusual for me, because I have always fought against short hair. For some reason, having hair that can’t fit into a ponytail has always seemed to me the ultimate risk—a risk I have never before been brave enough to take.

Before today, this is the shortest my hair has ever been:

(Which reminds me: sometimes I miss blonde hair.)

And even though I have always held out hopes and dreams for long, flowy, luscious hair, the fact of the matter remains that, when grown long, my thin Gollum hair gets droopy and saggy and limp when what I really want are tresses with perk and pizazz (a disappointing characteristic suspiciously similar to another part[s] of my body, unfortunately [I have a lot of problems]).

Case in point: Gollum. Or crack addict (but you can read more about that here and here).

For my thin little stringy strands of hair, length is never a good idea, try though I might to make it work.

So anyway, today at exactly 4 p.m. I thought to myself, “Before this day is through, I will get my hair cut.” I don’t know where it came from; I had no intentions of taking such a plunge when I woke up this morning. But two hours later, I found myself in my hair girl’s chair snapping one last farewell to Smeagol:

Surprisingly, I wasn’t sad or nervous. In fact, I have never felt more confident that a hairstyle would be good for me.

I don’t know where the inspiration came from or where the heck it’s been hiding all my life, but today, I felt absolutely certain, with 100% clarity like only probably the best of Tibetan monks can achieve (I’ve been doing yoga; that must be it) that Siobhan hair was what I needed in my life.

And I’m pretty sure my instinct was dead on.

I want to donate this ponytail to a good cause, and I’ve heard Locks of Love isn’t the best donation company. Any suggestions?

So, the results?

Well, see for yourself:

Those Tibetan monks must be on to something. I should do yoga more often.

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I have a different sort of post in the works for tomorrow’s Saturday Steals event, and I think you’re going to like it! Everybody remember to write your posts and come back later Friday evening (and all weekend long) to one, link yours up to the list, and two, see what other steals the internet has come up with this week!

And just for your information, it has been working out well the past few weeks for me to keep Saturday Steals open from Friday evening to Sunday at 11:59 p.m., so I’m going to stick with that formula, which gives you AMPLE time to post about a previous steal or even to get out there, locate a steal, steal it, and post about it. It’s really more of a weekend steals event, but Saturday Steals has a better ring to it. Anyway, there’s no good excuse for failing to participate, so DON’T BOTHER making one; just steal.

Posted in change, do what I say, It's All Good, self-actualisation, thisandthat | Tagged , , | 29 Comments

Mobile.

by Camille Posted on April 22, 2010

No, we didn’t buy a BMW. I test drove one, though.

It was nice, fancy; had all kind of tricks and baubles. Kyle was totally giddy at the thought of possibly buying a real, live BMW (his very favourite kind of car). He was out of town when I test drove it, and he was calling me every five minutes to see what the status was, how it felt, what it looked like, if I liked it.

Of course I liked it. It was a BMW. It had a beautiful interior, fancy buttons, and an in-dash navigation system. And a BMW insignia on the steering wheel:

I’ll admit, we were totally beguiled by that little blue-and-white checkered circle. There’s something so…California about the BMW insignia. So beachy. So trendy and cool and everything nobody really needs in life, but everyone secretly wants. At least, Kyle really wants.

In the end, though, we made what I think was a much better decision.

See, the BMW was five years old, with high-ish mileage, and after reading about that particular year and model combination online, (including posting it to my Dooce™ Community account [by the way, that is a very useful thing to have for such questions]) the general consensus was BMWs are one of life’s greatest gifts, but also one of a car owner’s greatest nightmares. We were advised to expect between two and three THOUSAND dollars in upkeep EVERY YEAR at its ripe “old” age, and I’m sorry, but I don’t even plan on spending that much money to upkeep my own OFFSPRING at the age of five. Milk and crackers, and an occasional drive-through car wash, that’s what any kid of mine can expect to get from me until he starts kindergarten. Children should be under warranty for at least that long, right? Heck, I’ll even spring for an extended warranty if I really end up loving the kid (when that expires, and not a day sooner, we can look at renegotiating terms of our parent-child contract).

But I digress.

Suffice it to say that the BMW, while certainly exciting and seductive, was not the right car for us. We decided we should stay away from high-end German repairs and maintenance, instead opting for lower-end German repairs and maintenance:

At $4,000 less than the asking price of the BMW, with more than two times better mileage, we opted to go with a used Jetta, which we test drove yesterday morning and purchased from our dentist (don’t you love small towns?) yesterday evening.

Now, it should be noted that Kyle owned a Jetta when I married him, a much nicer one than this, in fact. But we sold it a year into our marriage when he got a work truck and our two-person family became a four-car family. Ridiculous. The Jetta was much more expensive than the Camry (R.I.P. Tamra), so it was the obvious candidate. We made out well, though, selling it for much more than we owed, and driving the Camry until that fateful day when she met her demise. Then, for a year, we enjoyed the life free of car payments, with me instead driving Kyle’s monstrous truck in which he has made out with every single girlfriend he has ever had (my theory, not a verified fact) and let me tell you, it has not been the best year for me. I can still smell their perfumes—all of them.

Anyway, the real motivator to get a new vehicle was the fact that Kyle’s back driving truck again, and with a diesel Jetta I can practically drive to the moon and back on one tank of fuel, which means I am free to explore this country to my heart’s content while my husband is gone for days at a time.

You can’t put a price on that kind of freedom. (Actually, you can, to the tune of $xx,000, but who’s really counting?)

Kyle’s kicking himself for selling his first Jetta when in the end we just went back to a cheaper model of the same thing, but I don’t regret it. We had a nice year of no payments, even if that beast of a truck did take a hefty chunk out of the ozone in the process.

But I’m glad to have a vehicle with a dependability radius of wider than 25 miles again. It’s been a long, long time.

So? Road trip? Arizona? You ready for this?

ETA: Second week in May.

Be there or be not there.

p.s. Just a tidbit of random information: I’m not naming this Jetta. I’ve been over the naming of inanimate objects for a long time, and I always knew that once Tamra Camry was done for, I wouldn’t keep up the practice. It makes me too attached to STUFF, and I don’t like that mentality much anymore. For me, anyway, it’s become kind of silly.

Posted in It's All Good, on the road again | Tagged | 17 Comments

Let this be a lesson to me.

by Camille Posted on April 19, 2010

Oh, my friends.

Have you ever known somebody who died well before her time?

It’s a most unfortunate experience.

I can say that because, as of last weekend, I know how it feels.

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Memories.

She had an infectious laugh.

I was eight when I met her after moving across the street from her family. We played together all the time. She had a pool, which made her house the favourite for our childhood escapades. We would pick up big rocks from the side of the house and hold them in our laps, letting them sink us to the bottom of the deep end for as long as we could last—we liked how it helped us stay down there longer than we ever could on our own. Her dad hated it, told us to stop, so we did. Her older brothers were scary, (maybe just intimidating), so we stayed away from them.

Together, we buried a time capsule two inches beneath the earth in the dry empty lot at the end of our cul-de-sac, and dug it up the next day because we couldn’t stand the suspense.

We were disappointed that nothing had changed, that time was moving so slowly, things were taking so long to happen. Silly.

One time after Achievement Day (it’s like Girl Scouts for Mormons), while she was still inside, I played a silly trick on her, moving her bike from the Achievement Day leader’s house to the driveway of her parents’ house down the street, making her think it got stolen. Then we were all going to have a good laugh together when I told her where it was. Only it really did get stolen during the ten minutes it took me to reveal the prank. I never had cruel intentions, but I was stupid. I don’t remember if I had to pay for it or not.

We were ten or eleven. I always felt bad about it.

Later, when I went to Junior High, “playing” stopped being the thing to do. We went to different schools…were in different grades. Without playing, the common bond was broken.

Our time capsule anxiety had paid off; things were happening so quickly nobody could keep up.

I always liked her, though. I suppose she always liked me back. We weren’t close, but we were still friends.

One night when I was in eighth grade, we were awoken by a pounding on our front door—there she was, sobbing in an oversized t-shirt: their house was on fire, could we help? We couldn’t, not really, but we tried desperately. Someone scrounged up blankets. The whole neighborhood watched it burn, burn, burn. She was in tears, I gave her a hug. A pitiful offering.

High school, college, Canada, Belgium. Canada again, this time for good. I moved away, came back, and she was always there with a welcome home and a grin.

Of course she was always there—all the people we’ve always known are always supposed to be there. Always.

Until, one day, they’re not anymore.

And when that happens, it’s unsettling because their Facebook accounts are still active; in the days since her death, I have continued to get daily automated updates about how she discovered so-and-so as her friend of the day, and my first reaction is always, “Oh, good, a new friend,” but that only lasts for the split second before something—what is it?—triggers, reminding me that it’s not real, she’s not alive anymore, and those friends of the day are missing out on knowing a sweet person.

On the one hand I don’t even feel worthy to write this memory: it feels disrespectful to her family, to those who remained better friends with her throughout her life. Because really, we haven’t been close for years. I wasn’t the best friend I could have been. I’m antisocial on a good day, and that kind of personality does not lend itself to a great number of long-lasting friendships.

Excuses.

But on the other hand, if there were any way of letting her know how I feel about it all, I figure I ought to try. I don’t know…maybe they have blogs in heaven. If so, I hope they get to read them on Macs.

Jokes.

So now, I join the ranks of all the people who have written messages to her on her Facebook wall—well, not her wall, but this blog; either way, it’s a message she’ll never see, never read. That first day, I was so annoyed with those notes on her wall: “Really?” I asked.  “As if she is going to log in to Facebook in heaven? You should’ve said all that stuff while she was still here to read it.”

YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID ALL THAT STUFF WHILE SHE WAS STILL HERE TO READ IT.

I should have.

Defense mechanisms, self-loathing, call it what you will.

In subsequent years, I would regret my decision to quit playing.

Posted in introspection, looking back, sad things | Tagged | 16 Comments

Nope.

by Camille Posted on April 18, 2010

This weekend threw me for a loop. If my Facebook account is any indication, anyone who went to Westwood High School or grew up in the general vicinity knows why. It deserves a decent post, one I want to write, but I can’t deal with it right now, so just hold tight.

Plus my research papers crept right up on me.

And so have final exams.

So this is all there is for today.

Come back tomorrow for something better (hopefully [hopefully in the sense of, “I hope it’s better than this p.o.s.”]).

If you dare.

p.s. If you missed this weekend’s Saturday Steals (some of which trickled in through Sunday evening), go catch up—there’re some gooders.

p.p.s. Thanks to all who have continually (and newly) offered your support of Saturday Steals. I think it’s getting better every week. Thanks for giving me hope; I needed it.

Posted in failures, my edjumacation and me, sad things | 6 Comments

Saturday Steals: FREE Stuff for Your T.O.M. (who doesn’t appreciate free tampons?)

by Camille Posted on April 16, 2010

(Does anybody else out there refer to their monthly cycle as “Tom?” [As in, Time Of Month?] I do, regularly. Kyle knows that when Tom’s here, to be cautious.)

Weeks ago I read on an online deals forum that BeingGirl.ca was giving away free stuff. I didn’t even know what it would be, but I signed up to be on the list (because free stuff is free stuff, yo), and promptly forgot about it.

Then yesterday, I went to the Mayberry watering hole to pick up my mail, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a package just for me! Score.

I rushed home and tore it open like the animal I am when it comes to swag, and here’s what was inside:

A PERIOD KIT! I love period kits. Nothing makes me happier than free tampons, especially the fancy new kinds with all the bells and whistles that I don’t like to pay for (wow, that was such a weird sentence I just wrote).

Look at all the stuff I got:

Two tampons…

Two pantiliners…


An ultra thin pad WITH WINGS (bonus!)…


Another pad WITH a free bum wipe (deal!)…


A coupon for an entire (50 count!) package of FANCY pantiliners (the ones that can be adjusted to fit any kind of underwear you should find yourself in, though I myself wear only one kind, the granny kind, but REST ASSURED this coupon will be redeemed)…


Another coupon for $4.00 off my FAVOURITE kind of razor (well, back when I used to use razors, anyway…before I turned into a cavewoman). I bet if I wait long enough I can find a Venus Embrace marked down to $4 and then it will be free for me…


Stickers (apparently BeingGirl.ca thinks all its clients are teenyboppers, but I’m not offended; I’ll just give them to my nephew so he can plaster them all over my sister’s nice furniture)…

and last but not least…

…a PAMPHLET. I read pamphlets like the Pope reads the Bible, and this one was no exception.

Did you know that…

•having your period doesn’t have to be a drag?

•tampons are the only form of menstrual protection for swimmers??

•pantiliners keep non-menstrual vaginal discharge from making underwear wet or sticky???
Oh, you did? Me too. But I liked to re-learn it.
Anyway, that’s my steal of the week. All that stuff for free, free, FREE (plus they paid for shipping [I don’t know why, but I always feel so appreciative when I see how much money people pay to send me stuff]).
Thanks, BeingGirl.ca, for all the swag and free shipping! Do you want to be my sponsor? I would be a great candidate—I have my monthlies on a regular basis and I’m not afraid to write about ’em!
Now it’s your turn.
Once your post is written, simply come to the list at the bottom of this post, click “You’re next! Click here,” and follow the instructions you see to enter your link into this week’s Saturday Steals.

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Posted in Saturday Steals | Tagged | 11 Comments