Randoms, Vol. VII

Question: What will happen if you do any of the following things -
 a) wash your car (by hand)
 b) hang out your laundry (esp. if you have extra huge loads)
 c) water your grass for an hour

If you've guessed that IT WILL RAIN, you are 100% correct. 

I wonder about people in drought-filled areas - doing all of these things in the same morning will not only cause it to rain, but cause it to have torrential downpour flooding.

I only did two of those things, so I'm guessing we might only have an hour or seven of rain in about ten minutes.

Yay.

Peace, love and I love you, Murphy's Law!
Ms. Daisy

Sen. McCaskill is funded by big pharma and Monsatan - are you surprised?

Yesterday I wrote a letter to Senator Claire McCaskill.

I was very concerned about what her problem was for going off on a TV doctor (Dr. Oz) about recommending green coffee beans for weight loss while the world falls to pieces (Iraq, our baz-gillion dollar debt, the destruction of the middle class, health care, etc., etc, etc.).  I was bewildered why this would be her platform when in the whole scope of things this makes her look like candidate numero uno for the insane asylum.

Today I found out what her deal was.  

You'll be shocked (and awed). 

Homegirl McCask has homeboys in big pharma!  Whuuuuuuuuuuut!

Oh yeah, baby.  And not only that, but homegirl is sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g with everyone's favorite, most ethical, most popular, most murderous (oh wait) companies in the history of the whole freakin' world: Monsatan!

This girl is hopping up on her platform to protect her poor wittle fwiends who would just be out in the cold with nowhere to go, no place to lay their sweet little heads at night.  She is practically Mother Stinkin' Teresa.  

Dang.  I AM SO GLAD WE HAVE PEOPLE LIKE THIS IN OFFICE.  WHAT WOULD THE WORLD BE LIKE WITHOUT THEIR EXCELLENT SERVICE TO HUMANITY?!

Maybe we should find out.

McCaskill has received $146,000 from a combination of Express Scripts (one of the biggest peddlers of every pharmaceutical company's whimsical wares anywhere) and Monsatan. 

 Check it out: McCaskill gets phat dough from homeboys Monsanto and Big Pharma

 Do I hear a "recall" out there?

But what is beyond me is wondering what it would be like to be her. 

Can you imagine pillowing your head at night, knowing you're a puppet and mouthpiece for the destruction of the world?  You are on the wrong side of good.  You are on the bad guy's team, and you sold out your soul for some money and what you think is your ounce of power, when all you really are is a pusher for the sickos.  They own you. 

Betcha that's what she said when someone asked her as a little girl, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

 We've got news for ya, sista.  There ain't no future in yo' frontin'.

Peace, love and let's buy green coffee beans,
Ms. Daisy

Letter To Senator McCaskill: going after Dr. Oz for liking green coffee beans

Dear Senator McCaskill,

I've read recently about your confrontation with Dr. Oz regarding green coffee beans and I am very concerned, and I believe you should be, too.

I am not what I would call a "fan" of Dr. Oz (I've seen his show once), but for you, as a senator, to call him to a trial for suggesting that green coffee beans might help weight loss is alarming to me.  There are a few reasons why this is so.

First of all, it seems to me that there are about fifty (billion) other more pressing and dangerous issues at hand and you have chosen to waste my money (and that of others) to call out a TV doctor about a weight loss claim.  Are you aware of what is going on in Iraq?  Do you know that we are in a crippling state of debt and that foreign countries who back the dollar are feeling that we're probably not worth it anymore?  It seems to me that if these are important to you, perhaps you would be spending your energy doing something that matters instead of hunting down a quasi-celebrity for suggesting that a supplement might help some fatties.

Second of all, besides making you look very foolish for pursuing such things, it makes people question who backs you and your campaign.  Are you bff's with the drug companies that you have to climb onto your podium and defend them from a couple of fat people trying green coffee beans instead of their product?  Besides my first thought of thinking you have obviously nothing more important to do than chase Dr. Oz, my second was that you are either funded by Merck or GlaxoSmithKline or some other big drug conglomerate and you don't want anyone thinking that they could live without them.  Were you put up to this by them?  Or are you terrified that relatively cheap green coffee beans with no major side effects (blindness, liver failure, blood clots, etc.) might take away profit sharing from GSK?  It makes you look bad, to be perfectly honest.

Please stop wasting everyone's time and money and please use your time in office for important things.  Go fight for things that matter.  Even if the media are on your side, I can tell you that the public is raising their eyebrows at you - at the very least thinking your pursuit unimportant and at most, thinking you are engaged in total buffoonery and ought to be relieved of your office to make way for someone who will pursue things that actually matter.

If you're so concerned about obesity, perhaps you should call Jamie Oliver to revamp the school food systems.  Or maybe you could make a motion to stop subsidizing genetically modified corn (that is used to make high fructose corn syrup, which encourages weight gain).  Perhaps you could support people growing their own fresh food instead of gobbling up Big Macs.

No?  Or just go after Dr. Oz.  

Yeah, that makes sense.  

Have a great day.

Ms. Daisy



 

Ginger Beer: Explosively Good

Hello and welcome to the kitchen of Ms. Daisy.  Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to get drenched in a liter of your own homemade exploding ginger beer?  Have you ever had a desperate longing to dodge glass shrapnel in your own house?  Did you miss out on the era of Drano bombs and you have deep regrets?  Have you ever wanted to scrub every surface, every crack, corner, nook and cranny of your basement?  Well, have a seat, and you can vicariously live through my fun afternoon. Follow these simple steps and you, too, can have the fantastically sticky and memorable experience you've always dreamed of.

It all started about ten days ago when I got the itch to brew up some homemade ginger beer.  I have done this before (but not with such explosive results) and the taste of ginger beer on a hot, summer day is the stuff dreams are made of.  So I got out my trusty Nourishing Traditions cookbook and flipped to the back of the book where lies many fabulous beverage concoctions.  (Kombucha included.)  

Some people do it differently, but with NT, you make a ginger bug by adding 2 teaspoons of ginger (dried) and 2 teaspoons of sugar (organic) daily to 1.5 cups of filtered water for 7 days.  On the 7th day, you pour off the liquid of the bubbly bug and add water, sugar and lemon juice and then bottle that baby up for 14 days.

I bottled on June 9 (today is the 12th).  I filled up each one so carefully not to spill a single drop (as this whole process takes at least 3 weeks - and it is so good, you don't want to miss any - and you know you're going to want to drink every single bottle on day 1 and have to start right over again and wait another 3 weeks for another sip).  I placed them in a row in the dungeon basement.  Weren't they so cute?  Yes, they were.

Until today.

We went out to Costco for some organic spring mix and bananas (but epic fail, this Costco is ghetto and doesn't carry organic ones) and then over to the favorite health food store to stock up on vitamins.

Upon returning home, I instructed one of the littles to whip up a batch of dog food (this entails soaking her $50 dog food in pancreatic enzymes that are crushed with a mortar and pestle in tepid water for an hour).  This little is a dramatic little.  Upon approaching the area where the dog food is prepared, screaming ensued.  "Emergency!  Emergency!  Help, Mom, help!!!"  

Now if any of you have dramatic littles, you know that this could mean any number of things.  It could mean that there is a spider on the ground; it could mean that laundry is on the floor in the wrong spot (this little is very particular, I might add); it could mean that the computer is smoking and shooting out laser rays into onlooker's eyeballs, blinding them for life; or it could mean there is broken glass.  I skipped through the others and flat out asked, "What?  Is it broken glass?"

Which bottle would you like to drink out of?

If you have a house filled with females, perhaps this is not the first thing that you think of.  If you have a house filled with boys, you know that you will bag up one broken item of glass at an average of twice a month and it is somewhat of a standard issue.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner - broken glass it is.

With a twist.

"And, Mom!  There's ginger beer all over everything!  Everything is all wet!"

Oh goodie.

One of my ginger beers has exploded.  This means two things - I need to clean that up and second, what is the likelihood that several more are waiting to explode this very minute?  Let's go find out.

I want you to imagine that you love ginger beer.  And it is a good thing you do, because your basement will never NOT smell like it again.  

"Little, bring me the paper towels!" Little comes back with ONE paper towel.  Yeap, that's gonna do it.

After three towels and flamboyant use of paper towels, the place was cleaned up.  There is a sink there and I thought it would be a good idea to test out the other bottles inside of the sink and let off some pressure if they were also about to blast the basement to smithereens.

Let me ask you.  Have you ever wished you could be one of those baseball players who wins something or the NASCAR guys when they shake up a bottle of champagne and spray it all over your face?  If you always wondered what that was like, I can tell you.  It is sticky.

I EVER so slowly opened the cap to one of those bottles and Mt. Vesuvius erupted straight upward, all over the ceiling, all over the walls, all over the everything.  Do you know what happens when you try to use your hand to contain it?  That would be called your own Personal Ginger Beer Shower.  Great.  There are three inches of liquid left.  Good thing I was so freakin careful not to spill a drop three days ago, eh?

Where were those towels again?

The next bottles were opened out of doors.  I think the ants are happy.

Well, gotta go scrub off.  I'm sure ginger is good for your skin somehow.  After that, maybe I'll have a sip of ginger beer.  Or I could skip washing a cup and just start licking my arms.  Whatever.

Peace, love and bottoms up,
Ms. Daisy

Fire cider

Have you ever heard of fire cider?  Neither had I until something like last night.

I read the ingredients and thought, "Oh wow, that totally sounds like it tastes like dog butt!" (Pardon my French.)  And then my second thought was, "I am pretty sure that is the most powerful combination of germ killers in the entire natural world all in one place.  I am going to make it in case anyone gets sick."

So here I am.  I bought the horseradish root today along with some whole turmeric root, but besides that I had the rest of the ingredients.  I began my experimentation just an hour or so ago.

I had to step away from my culinary processes because my eyes were burning out and tears were involuntarily pouring from my face.  Am I making you want to try this?  I bet!

I think you probably have to have some serious uh...cojones...to try this thing.  I don't think I actually fall into that category, but since I want to, well, ain't no stoppin' me, baby.

So what the heck is in this stuff, you sit by and wonder in bewilderment?  Let me tell you what my version contained and then I'll link you over to the original (and perhaps traditional) recipe. Mountain Rose Herb's fire cider recipe.

I chopped up the following like a wild, sassy, sous chef:

1 insanely wild ginger root the size of my hand
1 long crazy turmeric root that looked like a smallish carrot
8 cloves of garlic (I minced these to near squoosh)
1.5 organic onions (I had a half of one left over, hey, why not toss it in?)
1 piece of horseradish root about 7 inches long and 1" in diameter on its wider side
2 lemons, juiced and then their rinds ripped apart like I was a T-Rex
several shakes of organic dried rosemary (I think of rosemary and instantly the words "woody stalk" come to mind.  Why? Probably the hair dye.)

That totally insane pile of anti-inflammatory, anti-viral, anti-biotic, anti-fungal, anti-bad germ anything all went into a glass jar.  Actually, two.  The jars were not so huge, so I thought it would be more appropriate to split them up.

Then, and only then, did I pour so much organic Braggs apple cider vinegar all over that stink pile that it came to the top.  I put a piece of parchment paper in between the liquid and the jar lid as I'm pretty sure that stuff could eat a hole in your sidewalk if left for enough time.  I shook it up and then took a picture of it.  I think this step is optional, but I bet most people do it.

Now, according to the directions, I'm supposed to shake it daily but keep it in a cool, dry place for a month.  At that point, you strain out the stuff (since the lady at Mountain Rose Herbs said it will start disintegrating) and keep the liquid.  You then pour a whole hot mess of local organic honey into it so that you don't die when you taste it.  Well, she didn't say that part, that was me.

And then, if anyone threatens illness around you, you just grab a teaspoon and your handy dandy fire cider jar and follow after them and they will miraculously get better (either because they are terrified that you will make them sip it or because it will work on them).

So, what do you think?  Totally crazy?  I guess people swear by it.  I'll try anything...once.  Maybe more if it is good.  Check it out below, a famous herbalist who lives in the mountains is going to show you her version of it, if you'd like to see what your eyes couldn't believe someone would concoct in print - here it is on video.

On that note, gonna go shake my fire cider.

Peace, love and are you feeling well today?
Ms. Daisy

Oh my gosh, I got a Twitter account.

Horrifying, right?

I totally agree.

Okay, let me explain.  As you likely know, I left facebook quite a while ago and it was nearly the most liberating things I have done in my entire life.  So why am I picking up another stupid social media vice?

Honestly?  To argue with idiots, I think.

I know.  That's the same thing as facebook.  (But facebook has more pictures of people's breakfasts.)

Well, whatever.  Maybe in like two hours I'll decide it was too stupid to pursue.  Maybe the orange hair chemicals have seeped into my brain and have made my previously clean brain tainted beyond recognition.  Either way, it is what it is.

If you're on there and want to peek, you'll find me @daisyglitters.  If you don't have a Twitter account, I suppose I ought to say by all means, and for heaven's sake, don't start now.  

Peace, love and submit this as evidence not to dye your hair,
Ms. Daisy

 

I have orange hair. Organic hair color FAIL.

Think of your worst nightmare.  Is it that you have orange hair?  No, no, no.  I didn't say red, nor did I say auburn.  I said orange.  See the color of the blogger thingy?  Yeah.  Orange.

Well, that might not be your worst nightmare, but it is mine, and NOW, it is MY REALITY.

Yes.  I am Ronald McDonald's sister.  I am Carrot Top's cousin.  Except they have the complexion to pull it off and I have three colors I can never wear.  They are: orange, yellow and brown.

I can't wear my head.

What did I do?

Yes.  Really.  What did I do!

Well, it all started because blonde hair is so awesome.  You know how I am obsessed with blonde hair.  I love blonde hair.  I used to have blonde hair!  Well, that is, until it turned brown.  I let it all grow out because I was soooooooooo freaked out about the chemicals.  And then I had sad sad brown hair.  That sad brown hair I would pay $250 to get back right now.

But for the last two years I decided I had to give up and forget about blonde hair.  I let it all grow out to its natural state.  It was a sad state of very medium brown-ness with some auburn highlights.  But it was not good enough.  Who wants brown hair when you can have BLONDE!

I changed my mind when I started reading about organic hair color.  I was avoiding it all because of the ammonia, the dyes and the chemicals.  But if there was really an organic color that worked, DUDE SIGN ME UP RIGHT NOW.

I looked for a salon that was around that carried it.  I found one about 30 miles away. I got a babysitter.  I researched it.  I specifically asked the owner, "This works for brown hair to change it to blonde, right?  No orange, right?  I don't want orange.  I don't want strawberry blonde.  I don't want Ronald McDonald.  I want ASH.  Can it do this?"

"Yes."  said the liar.

I made the appointment.  I skipped out of the house just imagining how I would come back in, blonde flowing locks behind me, just ready for summer.  What a great day this would be.

Well, except for the dog barfing a pile of grass on the carpet.

I told lots of friends, "Next week I will be blonde!"

I texted a picture of myself to the hubby saying something along the lines of sayonara, brown hair!!!!!!

I went in to the salon.  The owner was going to personally do my hair.  Should be great.  Color blobbed on.  Under the dryer 30 minutes.

Ding!

Wash.  I say, "I'm really surprised.  Usually my hair takes about 1 hour and 40 minutes and that's with bleach, so this stuff must be really amazing."

Rinse.  Dry.  Hair is half of a shade lighter than its current self.  It is brown.

Um.  ?  Dude?  Please make my hair blonde.

Applies another color layer.  Sloshes it all over my head.  Wait 30 minutes under the dryer.  Ding!

Rinse.  Dry.  I HAVE ORANGE HAIR.

"Dude.  I am panicking.  Do SOMETHING.  I said NO ORANGE."

The dude says, "Oooh!  You want blonde!!!!!!  Oh!  You need bleach then!"

Me: "No.  You said your product would work.  I am Ronald McDonald right now.  Fix it.  I can't do this."

Dude puts bleach highlights on my orange hair.

Sooooo much better!  I now have orange and yellow hair!  WOW!  SO GOOD.  I HAVE STRIPES!  Thank goodness.  This is so much better.  False.

Tomorrow I'm getting brown hair again.

Moral of the story: Live with your horrifyingly stupid brown hair.  It may be totally ugly and boring, but at least you don't look like a GMO clown.

Peace, love and the helpful little told me to shave my head,
Ms. Daisy

Amazing Errors

Having a slight obsession with grammar, I am always on the lookout for fun and entertaining spelling, punctuation, or grammatical errors.  When I find such a thing, I document it (if possible).  

Why, just last week I nearly drove off of the road for such a thing.  It was garbage day in the neighborhood I was driving through.  People had their garbage bins all lined up along the side of the road (a moderately busy road, mind you).  In this area, you must distinguish your general run-of-the-mill garbage from your compost on the outside of your bin.  This is usually done by painting the word "compost" or some such thing on the outside of the bin so the guys know which to bother with at the time.

But this day I was to see such a sight that has never been seen (by me, anyway).  A sight that would forever be burned into the minds of those who had beheld it - a wonder of wonders.  I saw a garbage bin with large yellow lettering that said, 

"YARD WAIST".

Are there ever TRULY any words to express what goes through one's mind when such a thing is witnessed?  My 8 year-old asked me, "What does that even mean?"  Usually for me it is something along the lines of, "Oh wonder of wonders, they did NOT just do that.  That is AMAZING!  Children, LOOK!  Look at the horror!!  We're drivivng too fast to take a picture!  Shall we turn around?"  And then I feel the pressing urge to knock on their door just to get a glance at what kind of special person they are so that my mind can conceive the depths of how this would be possible.  I want to ask if they are one of the people who were educated in the illustrious Detroit public schools (and therefore have a 50% chance of being illiterate).

Well.  It's not just on garbage cans, love.  Yesterday there was a storm and the sirens were going off so I flicked on the tube to see if we were having a run of the mill storm or a tornado.  After they reported that we were just indeed having a severe storm, they had a piece about how Magic Johnson was criticizing Donald Sterling (you know, the guy who they are going to force to sell his NBA team for making private comments to his girlfriend in his own home?) for his opinion on HIV/AIDS (now I like Magic - he went to the best college in the nation and everything, but the fact is that he got HIV from sleeping around with so many women while playing in the NBA: not a very upstanding background).  The caption read,

"Magic Johnson cricizes Sterling".

He whats?

I couldn't decide - do I take a picture of it?  If I run to the other room to get a camera, will the caption be gone?  Should I just keep reading it aloud and staring at the wonder?  I was frozen as if in front of an accident.  The caption cleared off of the screen and I ran to do what I usually do in such a situation.  Write an email.

Dear _______ (news people),

Perhaps you are unaware, but during your piece about Magic, the caption contained a misspelling of the word "criticize".

Not to criticize... ;)
Ms. Daisy

Response:

Of course there are many hard-working writers and producers scrambling to write an incredible amount of news each day.  Having produces newscasts for nearly 25 years, I know each strives to be letter perfect.

Believe me, no one is more aghast at any misspellings than the one who made the typo.

Sincerely,
Mr. Producer*

Me:  Did he just write "having produces"?  Should I correct that?  Putting bets on Mr. Producer* as the editor of captions...  I never knew news could be so entertaining!

(* Names have been changed to protect the reputation of Detroit public schools.)

Keep your eyes open and your brain clear of pesticides!

Peace, love and entertainment,
Ms. Daisy

PR-ing your run: 5k strategy

Hey peeps!  How goeth it?

What a weekend.  I had a 5K run on Saturday and then we had the non-holiday here called "Mother's Day" (LOL) in the U.S. of A., where you get to still correct your children all day long, do the dishes, make the meals and pretty much do everything you have to do every single other day of the year.  It's great.  Mostly it serves to make mothers irritated because they wish that they could have a day off (and they secretly hope that Mother's Day would be it), however, year after year, it is still just another epic fail.

So, happy freakin' Mother's Day out there to all of you mothers, but a toast of pink moscato with frozen organic berries in slushie form to all of you who had to do the stinkin dishes anyway.

Moving on.

Back to the race.  I was sort of training for the 5K, but not as much as I usually do for such things.  I enjoy making a thing of it and forcing myself to run about 4-5 times a week but this time I kinda failed at that and prior to the run on Saturday, I had run once about 8 days before.  Someone at the pool suggested that I was tapering.

Yes.  Tapering.

More like my cousin's secret trick for triathlons - he calls his training "non-training".

It works for him.

I was running about once or twice a week from January on - the weather was not really cooperative this year and I don't have clothing that works for -30F temps.  I mean, I could go running in my snow pants, but it's kind of bulky and the whole running with snow boots on is a workout I don't really enjoy.  Because of this, I did not feel very exceptionally prepared, but somehow, glory to God, it worked out anyway.

My usual practice runs for distances of around 3-5 miles have an average pace of about 7:45 min/mile.  I can run much quicker on adrenaline, however.  My first mile of the half marathon I did clocked in at 7:00 even and I figured I should chill it out a bit since I had only 12.1 miles left to go.  (At mile 12 I wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap.)  My usual 5k time lands usually somewhere in the 23 minute range.

Before I did the race on Saturday, I read an article on Friday about an experiment that was done with some college women runners.  They got a baseline pace and then started their first mile at 6% faster, 3% faster, and 0% faster to compare their results. They found that half of the runners did better at a 6% increase and the other half did better at a 3% increase - some of them even PR'ed with this method (average around mid twenty minute results).  

If you're a runner, you always ALWAYS hear about negative splitting your miles.  I read the research and decided to try the positive split method.  Basically, you pull a crazy first mile and then hang on to your pace for the last two.  You know with a 5K being such a short race that your torture will be over shortly - and on the flip side, if you think about it, you really can't make up a minute or whatever somewhere else in the race.

I put myself up near the front (it wasn't an enormous race - no Kenyans) of about 500 racers and psyched myself up.  The ipod was pumping, the intimidation vibes were being sent out to any females nearby with my stretching and jumping around maneuvers (yeah, well, not really, but whatever, it helps me somewhow to think so).  The countdown began - 5, runners, 4, 3, on your marks, 2, 1 go!  I blasted off, adrenaline extending to my fingernails, heart pumping out of my ribcage, mouth drier than dirt (I actually was moving my tongue all over to try to see if it was going to dry up and fall out - this was a good distraction for a moment).  I kept my eyes up and tailed those seven guys in front of me (well, except for #1 who was 25 years old, about 7 feet tall and weighed something like 124 pounds and had those special arm sleeves and leg thingies - he was out of sight of everyone in about 4 minutes).  

Mile one came.  Check the watch.  6:30.  Woah.  Yeah, I guess that's faster than normal.  Is it too fast?  I'll find out.

Here came the out and back turnaround - I looked at my watch at that point and then the adrenaline in my brain made me promptly forget all about it (very useful).  Starting to get tired.  Dizzy.

Mile 2.  Really?  Oh man.  Okay, come on.  I can hear the people on the opposite side cheering for me...sort of...the music in the ipod was loud.  I was focusing on not passing out - stuff was getting fuzzy in the vision.

Am I at mile 3 yet?  Breathe.  Don't pass out. It would be embarassing.

Distraction #2: Is that pee going down my leg?  Please tell me I'm not starting my period right now.  Oooh, that would also be embarassing.  Then I pictured myself running and thinking of that thought - then what other people would be thinking.  Should I nonchalantly grab a leaf from the ground and find a way to keep running and use it if necessary?  It would be organic...

Yes, the thoughts of runners are a bit bewildering.  I'm just keepin' it real.

Then I saw it.  On the ground - a bouncy, flippy ponytail shadow coming my way.  NO!!!  Distraction #3 was on the way.  Mile 3 - high school cross country runner is trying to pass me.  No,  no, no, no, no.  I am in 1st place for women...no, no, no, no...  Don't want to give it up.

Aaaaaaaaaand Miss 85 pound teenager bounds past, ponytail cheerfully bouncing.  I stare at her hamstrings.  Holy cow, her leg is the size of my arm.  She is a running skeleton.  Holy cow.  Look at that thing.  It's sticking OUT of the back of her leg every time she lands.  Mesmerizing.  Now hypnotized by the hamstring.

Around the curve - the finish line is in sight.  

I remind myself to push to finish.  Um, I can't.  I am.  Ugh!  GO!

I cross the line - chip calls me 21:59, gun calls me 22:01.  2nd place women's overall, 10th to finish overall.  I figure it is a good time to lay on the soft cement now.

Yay.  It's over.  Poo, she beat me.  Yay, I cleared my best time ever.

The positive split worked.

Next time, I'll start out fast again.  And maybe I'll practice running in Depends.

Peace, love and yes, I do know 2nd place is the first loser, but it got me a medal anyway, 
(and seriously - I wish I could show you the freakish vision of hamstrings burned on my mind - it was ALIEN, I tell you, alien!)
Ms. Daisy 

Hippie Diva at Plato's Closet

I have just discovered for myself...Plato's Closet.  Yes, yes, all of you out there the world over know and have been one MILLION times, but I just went for the first time this week.

If you're wondering what on earth Plato's Closet is, let me summarize it for you this way: someone smart realized that teenagers cannot bear to wear the same clothes more than five times, so they made up a retail store that only accepts higher end clothing, with a surprising amount of clothing with the original tags still on them.  

(You were originally thinking it had something to do with Aristotle, Archimedes and Homer, but alas, no, you were a teense off.  Oh wait, never mind, that is what first sprung to my mind.  Not really.)  But I did wonder where they got the idea of Plato. Maybe because he was so dang smart and so are they?

But I digress.  

But seriously.  I am fairly certain I have been wearing the same jeans (outside of pregnancy) for the last six years.  Maybe longer.  My 22 inches of closet space contain amazing fashions circa 2007.  Now, I don't really care and I make it work anyway, but for $4.00, yes, I will take that glittery tag-still-on-it tank top from some place I would not even dream of shopping since I could get an entire 25 pound bag of wheat berries for the same price, thankyouverymuch.  Priorities, peeps, priorities.  

My hubby asked me, "Are you a diva or a hippie?"  I wondered why I couldn't be both at the same time. Mostly, the frugal hippie side takes over because it is making the most logical sense, but living happily beside Ms. Long Skirt is Ms. Pink Glitter Everything Who Would Dye Her Hair So Platinum Blond With A Pink Stripe In It In Two Seconds If It Weren't For All Of Those Chemicals.  Instead, here I am, hair looking healthy and brain cells intact, but weeping secretly inside everytime I see a fantastic blond color that would look totally amazing on my head.


Why, WHY did I ever read about the poisonous danger that is hair dye?  Blasted!!!  (This right here, my friends, is the ONLY down side I can see to being health educated.  I said it.)

But meanwhile, back to the Batcave of Plato's Closet.  It is a sad thing in one way - it shows the wastefulness of our society and speaks to that issue on a very tangible level.  But yet, it is a totally SCORE thing for me since hello - they have shirts there with glittering sequins.  Which begs the question, "What kind of people are these who don't want glittering shirts?"  Yeah, I know.  Now we have two things to ponder regarding the sad aspects of our society.

Well, I'm going to go think about that while I go score some more glittering deals.

Peace, love and you could probably empty your change purse and get something good,
Ms. Daisy