Thursday, October 1, 2015

Oh That's Just My Thirty Year Collection of Boots Monthly

"Ya know, Janet,  if we'd just ordered those coffee mugs shaped like pit bulls, we wouldn't have to whittle our own out of this dead tree.

Afternoon Readers,

Obligatory countdown: I'm now thirty four weeks and pretty much ready for the baby to be here yesterday.

Moving on.

I've noticed, lately, that time has a strange quality of speeding up or slowing down at will. For instance, the time it takes to feed the children dinner and get them to bed is, roughly, three thousand hours. But since moving in to the new house last December, the months have pretty much flown by. I blinked, and it's been almost a year.

Things that have changed:

No more wallpaper
Fireplace painted white
Trimmed back trees before we re-created the scene from Poltergeist where all the branches punch through the windows and try to kill everyone

Things that haven't changed:

Vinyl flooring in kitchen is still peeling at the edges, giving us special hiding places for any extra retirement money.
Gutters need to be cleansed of leaves. Per the rain last week, I'm almost sure we have no drainage off the roof, but watching the kitchen window turn into a miniature Niagara Falls was compelling on both an emotional and aesthetic level.
We're still receiving eight hundred magazines a day for the former occupants.

The last item on that list bears addressing, mainly because it's one of the most fascinating phenomena I've ever witnessed. Let's examine.

January 10, 2015

Me:  Wow, did you see this? The mailbox was packed. There must be magazines from twenty different companies here.

Husband: Ehh, I'm sure they'll change their forwarding address pretty soon. And I think that's more like fifty different magazines. Wait ...does that one say it's for train enthusiasts over sixty?

Me: Knock yourself out.

Present Day

Absolutely nothing has changed.  As far as I can tell, the former and only owners of this house spent most of the last three decades subscribing to every magazine, catalog, and glossy insert they could get their hands on. The previous ten months have been a veritable parade of tchotchkes, western wear, mugs, and those of us ready to aggressively pursue a life of leisure, dressed solely in matching wind suits and high rise orthopedics.

Did you know...

There are magazines for cats
Publications for floor mats
A twenty page bi-fold for Christmas hats

Some have shoes
And some only sell socks
I've gotten eighty issues from a place that strictly vends cuckoo clocks

Sweaters for dogs
And decorative fruit
If you buy two, you can get a free hazmat suit

Beach wear for skinny
Beach wear for fat
We know you got the one about Christmas wear, but don't forget about beach wear for cats

Ok, I'll stop there. And I promise no more poetry, ever. I blame my third cup of coffee before 11am. But still, things have gotten pretty ridiculous. Did I say ridiculous? I meant terrifying.

At first, everything headed to the recycle bin. Every day, two pounds of trees would head back into the great circle of life, and I felt like I was doing my part. But, slowly, I'd catch myself sipping coffee and looking over what not buying things on the internet had to offer. This pastime was merely a innocent hobby.

A catalog dedicated entirely to garden gnomes? Yeah, I'll bite.

Oh, so I can buy clogs wholesale and completely cut out the middleman? Interesting.

Hmm, but how does one structure fifty pages of product around sundials shaped like dachshunds? I'll just take a peek.

Without realizing it, I'd fallen down the rabbit hole of ordering by mail and guessing my size based on an attached chart the size of an index card glued to the centerfold.  Of course, that was when I wasn't scanning the quarterly issue of One Size Fits All! Christmas was coming. Mug Life Styles wanted to know if I was ready.

Husband walked in just as a small seed of panic set in. "Hey there."

I threw my copy of Collectible Curiosities at him. "I really need you to decide."

"On what?"

I thumbed back to page five. "If you'd like the floor mat of the cat saying, "Hang in there." or if the coffee pot shaped like bike handlebars is more your speed."

"Neither. Wait, what is all this stuff?"

Shrugging, I flipped to the book lover's section. "You know, the more I look at the selection, it's really quite charming. Did you know I can get my mom a set of twelve Edward Gorey place mats?  For fifty bucks, all of our extended family can have pepper grinders for Christmas."

" I don't thi-"

"I just have to decide whether to order the ones personalized with their last initial or the gold plated kind with Wayne Newton's face embossed on the front."

"Or we could throw this in the recycle and move in the direction of gift cards."

"Help me. Please."

It's a good thing I have Husband to intervene when I get certain ideas in my head. He's a constant voice of reason, especially when I'm ready to petition the Sears catalog for a slipper/robe set that matches the paint job on my van and a new set of plow mules. At any rate, I don't anticipate actually ordering anything from the plethora of publications which continue to bombard our new home ...but, if it does happen, would you guys rather have a plate shaped like a banana leaf or an angora jumpsuit for your cat?

Until Next Time, Readers!

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