Don’t tell Him you Got Fishing Gear at Walmart and Not Cabela’s

My Almost New Waders for Fly Fishing

“You can’t tell anyone,” Jon said to me after leaving the store.

“Haha! Why?”  I clutched the bag to my chest like a little girl who just got the newest Barbie—Adventure Barbie equipped with hydro pack, walking stick, and head lamp.

“It’s just disappointing.”  He looked like he had just caught the biggest trout in the river and before he could snap a picture to prove it, the line snapped. (Yes, that disappointed.)

“It” refers to the fact that we couldn’t find fishing waders for me at his favorite store, Cabela’s, when we had traveled almost two hours to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan Canada to do so.  We ended up walking across the street and purchasing them at Walmart.

I could somewhat share his disappointment. I’m not a fan of Walmart either. I usually try to avoid it at all cost unless I need an oil change.  What don’t I like about it? I think it is the same for many:

• cart tires smashing into the back of your heels from the huge crowds that treat the aisles like freeways

• empty fountain drink containers left on shelves where you are shopping for fruit

• the fact that you can’t just go in and buy what you need (Yes, this is more my problem than Walmart.)

So, why did we choose Walmart? No, it wasn’t because it was cheaper even though it was. It’s because of my abnormally big feet in comparison with my height. This is why I told Jon he shouldn’t be so hard on Cabela’s. When you are 5’ 5’’ with 9 ½ feet (sometimes 10 depending on the day, depending on the shoe, depending on what I just ate), trying to find an item that fits both at the same time, is like trying to find Adventure Barbie dressed in Patagonia gear; it just doesn’t happen.

Cabela’s fishing waders were pretty much picked over when we arrived. There were only a couple women sizes left, and these women were all centers for the WNBA, not me.  The only one that fit me height-wise was “young adult.”  Yes, I’m wearing a little kid’s pair of waders.  I know they look like they fit in the photo: I’m smiling, looking like I’m having a great time, but in reality, I’m in pain, well, my feet are. I may have the body of a young adult, but my sasquatch feet were screaming for release.

I did find release and at Walmart of all places.  I guess dodging carts, ignoring garbage, and avoiding the “stuff” can make miracles happen: This weekend I, Jodie Liedke, will for the first time go fly fishing in a pair of waders that don’t suck the life out of my toes or stretch up over my head.

I will let you know if I catch that big fish.  Perhaps that will perk Jon up and give me an excuse to buy more fishing gear because that doesn’t count as clothing, right?

After Hours Shopping Spree Winner!

This Could Have Been Me

Amber called me yesterday.

Reader: Who is Amber?

Amber is a sales associate at Maurcies here in La Crosse.

Reader: You can’t shop? You didn’t buy the boots? Why was she calling you?

You’re right. I didn’t. And, I was just as surprised as you are. . . . Answer: I had won an After Hours Splurge Party for myself and five or more of my friends.  Brady had put my name in for the prize months upon months ago.  I thought those contests were just a trick to get more customers.  Note to all women, you really can win from them!

I could choose any day.  I would receive 30% off all merchandise, and my guest would receive 15%.  They would even provide us all with goodie bags!

Reader: What did you say?

Come on. I said, “No” of course.

Then Amber said, “Are you sure?”

She was very puzzled as to why anyone would turn this down.  Women just don’t do that sort of thing. I had to tell her the truth: “My New Years resolution is to not buy any new clothes for the year.”

Amber was silent, and then finally said in a very upbeat tone, (She was super nice.) “Well, good luck with that.”

I need more than luck; I need a redo.

No Shoes for You!

“Let’s go into Maurices,” Jenny said, after she was already making her way to the store.  We had been in and out of four stores already (TJMax, Yonkers, Sears, and JCPenny) and nothing had caught my eye.  I was doing good until the dreaded Tiffany blue store.

No Shoes for Me

At first I saw many clothing items I already had: dress pants, blouses, even scarves, but then I saw them.  They sat tall on the corner shelf across the store. Oh, and they whispered to me from afar, “Jodie, come and meet us.  Touch us. Put on us.” (I swear I’m talking about a clothing encounter here—not a sexual experience.) All I could hope was that they weren’t my size.  I walked very slowly like a female lion creeping up on her prey in the tall grass. (I hid behind clothes racks.)  I reached my hand ever so gently and pulled one down.  I turned over the perfect height boot that was not too masculine but just enough that it had some edge.  No, not a 9.5! It was just my size.  And, to make it worse, there was only one pair left. I had been searching for a black boot like this since fall began and had no luck—until now. . . . I glanced over my shoulder. Jenny was nowhere in sight.

I slipped the box out and saw the boots identical brother.  I couldn’t wait to get them on my feet.

“You find something?”  I thought perhaps it would be one of the saleswomen, but we all know who it was.  Jenny smiled behind me.

“Yes.” I closed the lid of the box as if it were a small coffin.  Her presence changed everything. “But, I’m not going to even try them on.” I slid the box back into place. Her hands were empty.  “You didn’t find anything?”

Jenny shook her head.

“Let’s leave.”  We turned to head out, but immediately my lioness instinct smelled something funky.  (No, no one had farted.)  A hot pink pair of heels sat across from the boots.  You have got to be kidding me?  We snapped a quick photo of my unobtainable prey and then retreated.  Maurices is a land I should never visit again.  Well, at least until 2014.

Over an Hour in Wal-Mart? Survival Expectancy? Not so Good

Walmart

“You know you can go to one of those quick-lube places,” Brady said.

I refused the idea.  Who wants to sit in their car for 20 minutes with no place to go?  Not me.  I have the patience of a six year old.  So, what did I do instead? I went to Walmart.  Yes, the place where you can buy everything—even clothes.  I’m not a huge Walmart shopper; in fact, I get pretty annoyed with their shopper process because of the unorganized crowds.  What I mean by this is everyone, even Martha Stewart, should have a list and a map when they go into Walmart, so I don’t have to walk behind that slower-than-slow person that keeps peeking down the aisle looking for honey, nasal strips, chopped nuts.

“How long is the wait?” I asked the automotive assistant.

“About an hour, . . . hour and 15, . . .  hour and 30,” he said, changing his mind each time.

“I can do an hour.”

“How about an hour and 15?”

“An hour and 15 it is.” (Yes, I was really negotiating the time with him; this poor man. He did great by the way, being patient, and he did get me out in an hour.)

After he gave me my barcode receipt slip, I turned to the vast array of merchandise.  I could have just sat in the waiting room, but that looked like it had been sat in way too much, and I really needed toothpaste.  I was going to have to take my chances.  I headed out onto the floor. How bad could this really be? I just won’t go by the clothes section.

First stop, the camping section.  Yes, the camping section. I haven’t told you, but I’m a bit of an outdoors girl.  I love camping, hiking, climbing, anything that involves pitching a tent, getting dirty, and not having to shower and worry about how my hair looks for a couple days.  If I had to shop in one store for the rest of my life, it would be Scheels.  Ok, let’s get back on track.  I was in search of toothpaste. No, there is no special camping toothpaste.  I bought a coffee thermos.  Just so you know, it was a must have and doesn’t count as an accessory.  Last week at work, I spilled my entire coffee travel mug (also purchased at Walmart) all over my desk, including some of my student’s assignments.  Funny because I had just got done lecturing them about how their home work should look professional and now most of the papers were soaked in coffee.  Good thing I hadn’t graded them yet; I could still make photo copies and replace them without them knowing. (Yes, some of them will know now.)  Needless to say, I needed a bullet proof coffee holder that I could throw across the office if need be.

Second stop, toothpaste. And I new exactly which one: Crest with Scope.  I don’t do any other toothpaste even if it comes free at the dentist office.  If you have tried this product, you know what I’m talking about.  Once you go with Scope, you never go back.

Cover Girl Wetslicks fruit spritzers

Third stop, I wavered a bit, shuffling down toward the beauty aisle, then down the beauty aisle looking at lipsticks, glosses, polishes.  They weren’t accessories either. But, that doesn’t change the fact that right then if you opened my purse in an inside pocket, you would find two Cover Girl Wetslicks fruit spritzers, watermelon and strawberry, a 260 Heavenly Paradisiaque lipstick, a Sugar Rose tinted and non-tinted lip treatment, and a Revlon color burst lip butter 052 Peach Parfait (I purchased the last one because it looked great on Emma Stone.  It also looked great on me.  It also looked great on Jon.)  . . . All in all, all I really needed was fresher breath, an accident proof coffee mug, and an oil change from Walmart, and that was exactly what I got. I just have to say, “GO ME!”

“Return to Sender”: Much More than an Elvis Song

20% off Maurices Coupon

They come every day from Pizza Hut, Charter, Discover, Fantastic Sams, JcPenny, the new sushi restaurant downtown: promotions, coupons, temptations, more than “oh, my!”  They get shoppers and non-shoppers through their door.  Today it’s a coupon from Maurices; my best friend Stefanie’s beyond-favorite place to shop.  If I had to guess, (She can tell me if I’m on track or way off here.) 75% of her wardrobe has come off Maurices’ rack.

It’s hard not to get sucked into that Tiffany blue wall-to-wall colored store.  They have some great finds if one is willing to weave and hurdle over their congested racks.  They leave no room spared that is for sure, clothes in every color. You want that sweater in robin egg blue, burnt orange, classic cream—you can get it there. And I was the one who, if it looked good, bought it in every color.  Most women do this as if they will never find anything that will fit so good again—like that wool/polyester/cotton sweater was machine made just for them.

I slowly peeled the 20% coupon from the Valentine-themed ad like I had done so many times, like peeling a game piece from a McDonald’s cup, hoping you had Boardwalk to go with your Park Place, but I didn’t have any real estate, just a small drafty house in college area that I pay way too much for. Instead of warming up my roller skate of a car (I drive a Ford Focus hatchback.) to head to the mall, I decided not to play, rip up the coupon, and sing to myself in my slanted kitchen “Return to Sender,” hovering over my trash can as I went through the rest of my mail.

Hostile Saleswoman, Who me?

So I have turned from an atheist of new clothing into an annoying, aggressive saleswoman.  If I can’t buy it, then someone else will!

“Hey, Jodie, let me show you something,” Brady said.

Brady is good friend and co-worker who just also happens to be my cubbie neighbor.  We are probably the loudest people in the office—making weird noises, sharing absurd Youtube clips, and at times, swapping lunches because we didn’t like what we brought.  (Yes, we are like 7 year olds.)

“Is it clothes?”

“No.”

He proceeded to show me the crazy collection (It would make a druggie blush.) of organic vitamins he had purchased.  You know how many clothes I could have bought?  “That’s it?”

“Well, this too.” He then opened up a window to the number one place where you can get anything. (Yes, clothes too.) . . . Amazon!

“No,” I started to walk out of his office, “I don’t need to see this.” I turned away like I was about to see a horror movie. Gremlins still flash in my mind from my 6 year old memory.

“It’s so beautiful.  Look.”

Cenzo Duffle Vecchio Brown Italian Leather Weekender Travel Bag

Curiosity got the best of me, as it did for Gizmo; water and food after midnight are off limits.

I looked.

It was a bag. It was a travel bag. It was a beautiful travel bag.  It was a “Cenzo Duffle Vecchio Brown Italian Leather Weekender Travel Bag” . . .  It was an over-sized accessory.

“You should buy it!”

[Brady says something here that I wasn’t listening to.]

“You should buy it!”

[Brady says something here that I wasn’t listening to.]

“You should buy it!”

[Brady says something here that I wasn’t listening to.]

“Where did you get those pants?”

This is what I would have said immediately to my friend and colleague when I saw her walk passed my office in beautiful “waterloo blu Heather” wide leg trousers if I had not started this ridiculous fast.  I took another swig of freshly ground coffee and just let her stroll on by and tried to put the pants in the past.

Now, I bet you know already that it didn’t last long because how did I know that they weren’t just “blue” but “waterloo blu Heather”? Answer, I searched for them on the CJ Banks’ website. I did not know they carried such spunky professional items like this. It was only a couple hours later while in the copy room that I overheard another staff member compliment her on how “fun” they were and then ask her where she got them. I grabbed my handouts for film class and did a fast walk not a run (that would make me really look crazy) away and retreated into my office.

Curvy Zip Pocket Comfort Waist Trouser

I did not stalk the pants right away. I drank more coffee first. (Yes, one addiction for the next.) Then it happened. Another woman in the office asked her how much they were. There was no place to go, and I couldn’t hide. I’m in a cube. Yup, no door.  I was two-cornered. Please don’t be on sale.

“I got them on clearance for $7.45.”

Clearance! 7. 45! No way! I stormed out of my cave and headed straight for her office like the cyclops from Homer’s Odyssey, but one who was more interested what Odysseus’ crew was wearing rather than the nourishment they would provide.

She started to laugh. (She knew about the project.) “Perhaps you could drop Jon a hint, an early Valentine’s gift? They also come in plum too.”

No, not plum! . . . I may have to invest in some earplugs. Oh, gee, would that be considered an accessory?

I no longer have a rack!

The first donation and hopefully the last.

Ok, it is not what you are thinking.  Physically, everything is still intact. But, the Wal-Mart cheap, plastic rack is gone from my bedroom.  Well, not totally gone, I kept the rack, but it’s naked.  I went through my entire wardrobe—socks, underwear, bras, belts, hats, gloves, purses, and all, and ditched and bagged the extra fat from my attire.

I lost 10 pounds! And, they say, “Diets don’t work.” Oh, wait, I’m not dieting; I’m starving.

One Extra Hanger to Hang On-to

“You have no reason to feel like that because it’s not who you are,” Jon said.

Jon is my boyfriend. Jon is very positive. I was expecting him to send me a “lol” back or a “yeah, right” when I told him my plan.  (This is what I would have said. I can be “not” so positive at times.) But instead, he acted like I didn’t have a problem. Oh, little does he know . . . because, well, I do most of my shopping alone, which is what most women do.  And then when someone says, “Is that new?” A borderline-shopaholic’s response would be: “What? This old thing? Or, yes, and it was on clearance (It wasn’t on clearance.).”

I would need more than Jon’s positivity to get me through this year.  I needed motivation.

“Wanna turn this into a bet?” I asked him over a glass of wine. (You will hear about wine a lot for the next 11.5 months.)

Immediately, his positivity turned into opportunity. “Yes! What are we playing for?”

Jumping Together

I had had something in the back of my mind for a while, so I instantly responded: “If for one year, I buy no new clothing, the next time we go on a trip and there is a very very very large cliff to jump off of, you have to jump with me,” I said.

He didn’t respond right away, which I expected.  Jon is not a fan of heights. (I knew this of course.) “How high?”

“However high that cliff is.”

He took a gulp of $5 malbec that I had picked out. (I choose base on label interest. Yeah, it doesn’t always work out.  FYI, roosters don’t make good wine.) “Umm, ok, then you have to do the Polar Plunge,” he said.

Jon may hate heights, but I hate the combination of cold and water. My students have been trying to get me to do the Polar Plunge since I began working at Globe. I had told Jon I hated the idea of running into the freezing Mississippi so much so that I would plan trips just to avoid it. The event is for a great cause, to raise money for the Special Olympics, but I just can’t bear to join all the crazy people diving into body-numbing water.

But, then again, who am I to call them crazy? I’m not buying any clothes for a year.

So, why am I taking on this crazy feat?

Grandma’s Polka-Dot Dress

During our family’s annual Christmas party, my uncle brought over dresses and coats that belonged to my late grandmother, Gladys.  Some good old winter cleaning.

So I didn’t have to try them on in from of my watching relatives, who sipped wine and strong mixers, I picked out three dresses I knew would fit: the first was red polka-dot Mickey Mouse inspired, another a warm faded orange dreamsicle, and the third, a chocolate brown layered in blue flowers. Each one sipped up the side and had no more room to spare after my extra holiday coat. They smelled musty and farm worn.  They felt like Grandma. It was the only thing I have or had ever been given of hers.

When I got them back home to La Crosse, I tried to fit them into my closet. It was a no go. It was like trying to squeeze that last book on your shelf, knowing well that it wasn’t gonna fit before you even tried. Not only did they not fit into my closet, there was no room left on the extra cheap plastic rack I had purchased from Wal-Mart after I moved into my house over a year ago.

I started to rummage through the pants upon pants, dresses upon dresses, and shirts upon shirts some that didn’t fit right, some that didn’t fit at all, some that I had never worn, some I don’t even remember buying. I never thought of myself as a shopaholic, but glancing between my overstuffed closet and Grandma’s three dresses that lay sprawled on my bed that I couldn’t squeeze in, I got to thinking: My Grandma, a working woman, a baker of the softest, fluffiest bread, and queen of making everything stretch, probably had only these three dresses in her closet and just a handful more to get her by, while I could probably not wash for three months, and I would still have some to spare. . . . It just didn’t seem right.  How had a gotten here?

I decided then that I was gonna do more than just a winter clean, but a life clean. . . .  The first person I told, “Jon.”