I just took a hot shower. Not because I needed one, but just to warm up. I was so cold earlier, my fingers were numb and tingling. And I was indoors!

Now, I’m wearing two pairs of pajamas and sweater socks. Even though my hair is still wet, I am finally warm.

I am grateful that Northern Indiana hasn’t gotten the 3 feet of snow that the East Coast has gotten. However, I am still going to bitch about the foot of snow I’m supposed to wake up to tomorrow.

Do you ever feel unmotivated to do things that you enjoy? I like to crochet, and not only do I have a paid order to complete, I’d like to make myself a pair of fingerless gloves. But I keep doing other crap instead: clipping coupons, cleaning, looking at cute kitten videos on YouTube… Why can’t I find the motivation to do what I want?

I know it’s getting close to Fat Tuesday when my thoughts are filled with dancing paczki. Mmmm, raspberry.

Living without a microwave is not something I planned on.

Growing up, my mom bought a microwave as soon as they were reasonable priced. The behemoth took up half the kitchen counter, but it saved her lots of time.

One of the first joint purchases Michael and I made was a small microwave for our tiny apartment galley kitchen. When it started failing, we replaced it with a $10 microwave from Goodwill.

About two months ago, I used it in the morning to heat water for tea. At lunchtime, I went to nuke some soup. I was surprised that the light came on and the timer counted down, but it didn’t heat.

I asked my friend, Candace, to keep an eye out for one when thrifting. Michael and I have come across a few on subsequent thrifting trips, but they are either too expensive – why pay $30 used when a new one is $40 – or too old – if it has faux wood grain sides, it’s ancient.

While I have missed having a microwave, I’ve learned to live without it. It improves my memory by having to remember to take meat out of the freezer to thaw the night before I need it. It also helps me cultivate patience since it takes more than a minute to make a cup of tea.

I’m not saying I’ll never buy a microwave again, but for now I’m happy relying on my stove and toaster oven.

There are a few reasons I don’t really enjoy eating out anymore.

I worry about the cleanliness of the establishment, servers and cooks.

Most restaurants don’t serve anything I can’t make at home. I would never order spaghetti, meatloaf, lasagna, sandwiches, fried chicken, steak, eggs, pancakes, mashed potatoes, pork chops or pot roast because I can make those things at home.

When I look at a menu I automatically start calculating prices. “How much does this actually cost to make?”

Today I went on a family outing to a Greek-owned breakfast and lunch diner. The food is good and plentiful.

I started out my meal with a cup of coffee. That was $1.45 with unlimited refills. I pay less than $3.00 for a can of coffee that lasts for months. Although I looked at the breakfast choices and lunch entrees, I decided that the soup and salad combo was the cheapest and most appealing option. “Almost six bucks for soup and salad? That’s nuts! I could make a whole pot of soup and a sinkful of salad for six bucks!” My traditional Sunday Greek soup was cream of chicken with rice or avgolemono (egg lemon). Restaurants in this area leave out an important ingredient to appeal to the masses, so I asked for lemon wedges to squeeze into the soup. My salad was iceberg and romaine, cucumber, tomato, red onion, and cheddar cheese with ranch dressing. Thankfully, the “bread basket” was sanitary wrapped packets of crackers. (We all know that restaurants recycle bread baskets.)

The service was great, the hostess and manager friendly and accommodating. The restaurant seemed clean and well-maintained. Although my soup was tasty and my salad full of satiating fiber, it was not worth $5.50.

I just kept thinking, “How much food could I buy with that money? How much soup and salad could I prepare with that amount?”

Understandably, dining out is a social experience, but one I gladly forsake for the monetary savings.

The ignorant people who patronize Big Box Mart say things like, “I don’t want to buy this package of chicken. It has blood in it.” Um, duh, chickens are animals and animals contain blood. “This watermelon has a funny yellow spot on it. I don’t want it.” That would be the spot where the melon lay in the dirt as it grew, you idiot. People no longer understand how things grow or how an item gets from farm (or factory) to store.

To celebrate the evils of modern “food”, I have decided to make my own (better) slogans for foods I despise.

“Lunchables: Because Your Mom Doesn’t Love You Enough to Pack You a Real Lunch”

“Pediasure: Making Sure That Children Learn to Like Chocolate More Than Fruits and Vegetables Since 1992″

“Fizzix: Because Your Children Aren’t Rotting Their Teeth Fast Enough”

“Refrigerated Cookie Dough: When You Don’t Give a Crap if it’s Homemade or Not” (One brand of dry “just add oil/egg” cookie mix, says “Homemade in just 10 minutes”. Um, no.)

“Banquet TV Dinners: Letting You Know That Mom Could Care Less About You (And More About Her Martini) Since 1952″

“Kraft Easy Mac: Because Mom’s too Busy Smoking Weed to Boil Water”

“Uncrustables: Because Assembling a PB&J Takes Time Away from Tweeting”

“Uncrustables: Now In ‘Grilled Cheez-Like Food Product Flavor!’ Because Making A Grilled Cheese Sandwich is Hard!”

A woman at work (late twenty-something, pregnant with her third child) does not know how to cook. At all. When her toddler requests a grilled cheese sandwich, she toasts two pieces of  bread, slaps a piece of cheese-food in between them and nukes until the cheese melts.

The above products are made for people like that.

Yeah, baby! Glow-in-the-dark chicks unite! (It will be easy to find one another.)

Yesterday. a woman came through the check-your-own-damn-self-out. She bought a box of Special K cereal and scanned a 25¢ off coupon. I walked out to verify the coupon and take it back to the podium where it’s filed in a zippered bag.

I nicely said, “I’ll take your coupon.”

She shrieked, “It’s a valid coupon! It doesn’t have an expiration date!”

“Okay”, I replied. “I’ll take your coupon.”

“It took it off. It’s a valid coupon.”

I pointed to the sign that said “please ask for assistance with coupons”. “Okay. I’ll take your coupon.”

“Where do I put the coupon? It’s good! It took it off!”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, woman! I’m not arguing with you. You are arguing with yourself. Give me the goddamned coupon and piss off!

When she finally relented and handed me the coupon, I saw why she was so worked up. It was a 25¢ off coupon clipped from a magazine. The ad on the back (dog food?) was copyright 1985. So she either clipped this out of a old mag or, more likely, bought the coupon on eBay and was feeling guilty or feared being busted for coupon fraud.

But there was no fraud. The truth was what she kept screaming: “It’s a valid coupon!” It was valid, she just had a guilty conscience.

I cannot go to a so-called dollar store without spending ten or twenty bucks. And now that I am constantly on the search for bento accessories, this place is my new nemesis.

The Strawberry Shortcake containers were each a dollar. The crescent shape is a silicone baking mold, but will make an excellent divider in a bento box. The monkey and tiger cups are from the infants section and were 2 for $1.00. They came with a spoon and will be perfect for yogurt or fruit.

(Not pictured: nacho cheese, “cheetos”, and TGIF potato skins. Nothing like cheap, unhealthy junk food.)

As we were standing in line, I remarked, “I just negated all the money I saved at Kroger!”

It was a busy college football gameday. All the idiots were out, trying to buy more beer than the state limit allows. I had only been working for a half hour when I was sent to the “check-your-own-damn-self-out” to cover a lunch break.

One of my first customers was an late 60-ish woman on a motorized scooter. She glared at me as she scanned her items and got visibly angry when the computerized voice told her to “please place the item in the bagging area. “What is her problem?” I thought. “If she doesn’t like these things, she should go to a register!”

She paid by check so I had to interact with her at the attendant station. She said something while wildly gesturing towards the ceiling. I thought I had misheard her. I  wanted to have misheard her. I asked her to repeat herself.

“Does this place use TV to persecute people?”

No, I had heard her correctly. And the theme of the day is “batshit crazy”.

By the way, you crazy bitch, it’s called surveillance and you mean prosecute!

I do not show skin. Like, ever. I don’t wear shorts, my bathing suit is a modest 80s boy bottom, I don’t wear skirts that go above the knee and I don’t show cleavage.

Today, at work, I was wearing a long sleeve button down with a pullover sweatshirt over it, an ankle length corduroy circle skirt and fuzzy boots. It’s a super comfy and warm outfit.

A Mennonite woman stopped and told me, “You’re dressed so lovely… And so modestly, too.”

I do pride myself on my strength of character. I don’t wear Daisy Dukes, I have never been seen in public in my pajamas, I do not yap about my personal life to strangers, I’ve never posted a video of me dancing on a bar on YouTube. (I’ve danced on a bar – there’s just no video of it.) However, I have tattoos that I am proud of and have plans to get more. I have had my navel pierced – twice. Until a few months ago, my hair was dyed bright cherry red (and it was not my choice to change it). I am fairly liberal. I believe in ghosts and aliens and past lives.

So is being called modest a compliment or a sign I am getting old and complacent?

I still love my corduroy skirt, though.