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Love the body you have right now

When I was a little girl, my mother and my great-grandmother were at odds when it came to my clothing. My mother felt that I should cover my nakedness, the end. Shopping with her was miserable: she would be irritated from the moment we passed rack after rack of adorable little girl clothes and headed back to the Juniors department where I would need to choose from pants that were much too old and way too long and would need to be hemmed or shirts that were way too mature for the elementary school. It wouldn’t do to have a sexy nine-year-old, so she usually opted to go to even OLDER sections of the store, looking into matronly styles in ridiculous polyester fabrics that she herself would never have been caught dead wearing. There were at least two incidents where I recognized a duplicate of a shirt I owned being worn by a retiree at church. It’s the kind of “Twinsies!” moment that you never want to experience.

My great-grandmother felt the opposite: it was not OUR fault that the selection was crap, it was all on the lousy stores for not stocking the right stuff! When she’d find something for me that fit and was cute, she’d buy one in every color, even going to other locations of that store to stock up. While my mother didn’t feel it was worth it to spend money on clothing for me, hissing that I was going to outgrow it anyway, my grandmother was not adverse to ordering from the JCPenney catalog, something our family felt was only for rich people, and then removing the boxes and shipping receipts so that my mother wouldn’t know. Women in my family were always proud of their looks but she was the only one to encourage me to actually have pride in my own appearance. Maybe she was the only one who didn’t consider me a lost cause.

I know so many women who resist buying clothing for the body they have right now. They feel like it’s a waste of money because they’re going to (pick one) lose weight/get back in shape/some future state that they aren’t at this moment. I may be trying to appease the inner child for whom clothing represented a form of love, but forcing yourself to wear ill-fitting clothing today seems to be a form of weird fashion anorexia. You deserve to look pretty. Today. Right now. In this body that is sitting there, breathing in and out, reading this paragraph. That one.

Today is the final day for most of our Weetacon Igigi giveaways. Head over to the Igigi at Weetacon page for an easy dashboard and enter yourself in 17 different giveaways where you can win Igigi plus-size fashion or their amazing accessories. You can win more than once! Also, on my review, I’m also giving away a $50 gift certificate for my Etsy store, Bix Photo and everyone who leaves a comment will receive a promo code for a discount too. Everyone’s literally a winner! Plus, it’s fun just looking at the same dress on different women. Women who may not be models, but shine with the joy of wearing clothes that love the bodies they have right this moment.

*Yes that’s me in the photo, senior year in high school, wearing one of 10 of the exact same t-shirts that my great-grandmother purchased me, along with one of 3 pairs of pants I owned, all of which could be mixed and matched to create some crazy number of outfits. And if you were ever wondering what the hair that comes out of my head naturally looks like, there it is, along with a full set of eyebrows. There but for the grace of my stylist go I.

 

 

IGIGI rocks my world x3

As you know, IGIGI is totes my favorite of all plus size fashion lines. I’ve been to the headquarters. I’ve run through racks upon racks of garments like some RomCom fashion montage. I’ve been styled personally by Yuliya. I’m not bragging: I just want you to understand that I am an unabashed IGIGI devotee, hands down, so with that, know that going into this product review.

The lovely ladies of Weetacon were given the opportunity to road test some of IGIGI’s winter and spring line this year, as I mentioned in an earlier post this month. So very cool! I was thrilled, because I am a firm believer in supporting businesses and causes I believe in and love giving back to a company that has made me and others feel so good about ourselves. I believe we all use our talents to make the world a better place and while I think my conduit might be Weetacon, it’s clear that Yuliya Raquel is making the world a better place via fashion.

When Igigi told us to pick out our top three choices, I had only one word for them: WRAPS. Give me the wraps. I have several (I almost said a number but then realized that it’s oversharing and also, reveals a little too much about my OCD shopping fetish) Igigi wraps and I wear the hell out of them constantly. They are truly investment pieces and would I have realized that when I bought my first plain LB wrap dress, I would have bought four more of them because it’s always on the pile to go to the dry cleaners.

Let’s face it, Yuliya OWNS the plus size wrap ouevre. Okay, I don’t want to hear about DVF: yes, she’s great, love her, but she doesn’t make for my body, and there are countless plus-size lines who are now making wraps but they DO NOT FIT RIGHT. That doesn’t make sense, right? Everyone loves wraps because supposedly they fit every body type! And yet, I have two wrap dresses in my closet this very instance with the tags on them, because the patterning was upsized poorly and the shoulders are not hanging where they should and it makes me ANGRY because it’s like $300 worth of unwearable crap taking up space and I missed the return grace period so I’m stuck with them.

It all comes down to skill and understanding a plus woman’s body. Garments from lesser manufacturers may fit fine if you are a size closer to the original pattern (probably size 14 but some of them size from their regular line) but the further away you get, it’s all about the skill of the patternmaker and the process they use. For instance, traditional fashion designers pattern using a “nested doll” method, which makes sense: a size 10’s armpit isn’t going to be egregiously far off from a size 4’s, the difference between those sizes being anywhere from 15-30 pounds on the scale, depending on height. However, the difference between a size 14 woman and a size 20 could be 100 pounds or more but it doesn’t mean that our shoulders have gotten tremendously wider. If you just layer up on the patterns, suddenly our shoulder seams are hanging by our elbows and our necklines are way too wide. Bad scene. And that’s why plus lines will typically stop at size 20 or 24: because in order to offer the bigger sizes, they have to make an entirely new pattern. They can’t just keep tracing around the little original pattern they were using for size 14. That’s the IGIGI difference: they size up the right way, taking into account the simple laws of a woman’s anatomy. Brilliant! And thank god someone finally figured it out!

Here’s the Boulangerie in Merlot Grape, which got the most compliments of all three garments I wore during and after the Weetacon fashion show. I absolutely love the color and the fabric is very luxurious and thick, perfect for getting away without undergarment lines (or hey, get away without any undergarments at all!), reminding me of the quality and workmanship of a Burberry trench coat. Because it is a true wrap, you can cinch it into your waist exactly where it needs to be for a great fit. I didn’t heed my own advice and compare my measurements to the IGIGI size chart and really should have gone down a size, but since it’s a wrap trench, I’m getting away with a good fit and don’t look like I’m swimming in it. Keep in mind, also, that this was hastily thrown on in a dark, unheated stairwell behind the scenes at the Weetacon fashion show while dodging elbows and legs of my fellow IGIGI models so it’s a bit more of a “Just got off the jetway from Singapore” than your everyday look.

My next dress was the Boulangerie Wrap Dress in Richelieau Blue. It’s a very deep blue, almost a blacky navy that only really looks blue in bright lights. It’s like SURPRISE! You thought I was wearing a black dress, but you were wrong! Since it’s the same as the dress above (TWINSIES!) I get a double dose of awesome. What’s very cool about this is the way you can change the look by varying the accessories. Also, I invite you to be jealous over the great strappy D-ring detail on the 3/4 length sleeves and also, POCKETS. God, I love me some jaunty pockets. Also, this is one of those dresses that goes great on different body types:  Fredlet is probably five inches shorter than I am, and Ladyloo has got at least three inches on me, and yet follow those links and you’ll see they are rocking the hell out of the very same dress!

The last time I saw Yuliya in the IGIGI headquarters, I was raving over the spring lines fabrics, still on the bolt in the staging area, but I had no idea those prints would be so artfully realized. Sachi Printed Wrap Dress in Blue — two patterns on the same dress! SO FASHION FORWARD. I’m sorry, I can’t stop shouting but the  made me squeeee! when I opened the box in the week leading up to Weetacon and actually sent me running into the bedroom midday to try it on. And then I whined via IM to my Weetacon cohorts that I really really really wanted to wear the Sachi before Weetacon because it was JUST SO GORGEOUS DOOCE CAPS. I didn’t, because I follow the rules, even my own, but still, oh, it was painful ! It’s just so beautiful. Also, pockets! And a low v in the back! Check out the back view on Suzanna D! I am actually considering buying this one in Merlot too, because I can predict that when it sells out, I will cry for months. For reals, you guys, I love this dress. Design aesthetic aside, let’s talk practical: it’s so soft and silky and impossible to wrinkle!

I have often said that once a season, Yuliya makes one garment that looks straight into my heart and answers some unspoken question. This is it. When I saw the Fashion Week videos, I thought that heart-stealer was going to be the Tres Chic in Black and White (and check out how great it looks on so many different body types at Weetacon!), and while I do love the Tres Chic, my heart absolutely belongs to the Sachi. We’ll be married in June. It will be an intimate affair, just family and very close friends, I hope you’ll understand.

Were you reading the above with seething jealousy in your heart because who the hell is Wendy Bix to get all of these great clothes  free just because of stupid old Weetacon grumble grumble mumble crap? Admit it. You were. It’s ok. I would be grumpy too, and might have a headache after reading the previous paragraph from all the eye rolling (I’m sorry, I know, but I really love the Sachi that much).

Well, here’s the sitch: go to the IGIGI website, pick out a dress you’d love, and come back here and leave a comment telling me which one you want and where you’ll wear it. One lucky commenter will win a $50 IGIGI gift certificate! But wait, there’s more! Visit the other Weetacon IGIGI reviews, leave comments on THOSE entries and you’ll be automatically entered in their drawings for additional $50 IGIGI gift certificates. No lie. Leave a comment, get a chance. We are not limiting the number of gift certificates that a single person can win, so that’s a LOT of fashion dollars to possibly win!

Maybe you should pick out a couple of garments, just in case?

Also, just to sweeten the deal, I’m going to also draw from these comments one winner who will get a $50 gift certificate for my Etsy shop. And all commenters will receive a 10% off discount code to use until June 1. So win-win-win!

The fine print: You must leave me your email address so that I can get in contact with you to tell you that you won. You must leave a comment by midnight on April 7th, 2011 to qualify for the random drawing and you must promise to do one awesome thing to make the world a better place today (recycling your water bottle or telling someone they are pretty counts)! That’s it!

Tangled up in Bix

My hair got caught on Esteban’s jeans.

Wait, wait, back up: they were off at the time.

Oh, gosh, no no no, not what I meant! So, I was folding the (fucking) laundry, a pair of Esteban’s jeans, and somehow my hair wrapped around the button on the fly and OW. What you should know here is that I was not folding his jeans in any particularly spazzy way, it’s just that my hair has gotten that goddamned long.

Almost exactly a year ago, I declared that I was going to donate my hair but I had to wait until fall so that I didn’t get scalped. Then I decided to wait until Christmas. Then it was just the right length where it didn’t do that horrible bunching thing on my neckline/shoulders and then I decided to let it go until after Weetacon so that I didn’t chance a Tuf situation. Plus, since I’m going to cut it all off anyway, I don’t have to be all gentle with the coloring anymore and could in theory get some crazy ass pink shit and have a head of cotton candy if I wanted. (It worked for Katy Perry. That bitch is a goddamned firework.)

(That song makes me cry. I hate that it’s a Katy Perry song, also. I wish Kelly Clarkson wouldn’t have turned her nose up at it. This is what I’ve chosen to believe, anyway.)

But sometime a few months ago, the hair reached critical mass. I can’t go anywhere without a ponytail holder in my pocket. It’s now so long that when I sit at my desk, it pools up in the crook of my arm. Esteban and I were lying in bed one morning and he went to lean on his elbow, not realizing that half of my hair was on the bed and ripped at least thirty hairs out of my scalp (and I could actually hear them go pop pop popopopopop! as they left this mortal coil) and yes, there were tears. Esteban has said that he dislikes it when I do the short hair thing but now he’s actually complaining “Why haven’t you cut that off yet? When exactly is that going to happen? Soon?”

The thing is, I do like having long hair. My hair is super shiny because it’s hanging very straight and sometimes it fans out across my shoulders in this perfect 70’s sitcom kind of way and it’s in those moments that I absolutely love it. And then there are other moments when I look at Anna Beth and think “Damn, that’s some cute ass hair, I tell you what” (and let’s be honest, what ISN’T cute about AB?) This isn’t even the longest that it’s ever been: in my early 20s, my hair was easily this long, plus it was in a spiral perm, so you know that if it was unwound, it would have been down to my ass. For the record, though, that was the only way I could get away with having hair that long, as when you have fine hair, every inch means a loss of body and more scalp-shaped helmet-y action. So I don’t know if I’ve just gotten more impatient with my hair or the golden memories of having non-greying hair have caused me to forget the tears and pain of having four feet of hair attached to my noggin.

Yesterday, I had somehow gotten some random sticky snarl in my hair, and then I noticed just now that I have somehow done it AGAIN and I don’t even know what the hell spooge I am dunking my hair into! It is a mystery! This is really disturbing, actually. I am almost the f-word-years-old and apparently I need to Half Pint Ingalls these locks but my god, the flyaways sticking out of braids drives me absolutely MAD. God knows that I don’t like to fuss with my hair, but half the time watching Project Runway drives me to distraction because I want so badly to take Nina Garcia off camera and give her a quick hair serum fix.

So, the appointment has been made. At least ten but more likely fifteen inches are getting cut off and shipped to become part of a wig for a kid with cancer. Now I need to find a short haircut that I like. I keep turning to Kelly Osbourne, and then again, I keep wanting some crazy-ass color hair, which my little stylist has told me is going to cause all of my head to break off until I am left with a frizz head because she’d have to treat it like a correction blah blah blah science. Then again, I remember the bold/gold fiasco (hey, eventually if I keep self-refrencing things that happened in the past, I’ll get all of my archives restored with fixed images… it could happen! Bonus for Weetaconners: the origin of Pantscakes!) and how my attempts at covering that hot tranny mess were basically an exercise in tragedy management.

This entire entry has been an exercise in the way I like my problems: first world, baby.

You are a star

Photo courtesy of Suzanna Danna

Hello little blog world! It is spring almost! Practically! How did that happen?! Fucking Daylight Saving Time, that’s how, apparently.

My primary strategy for avoiding seasonal affective disorder is planning Weetacon, which just so happens to fall within earshot of the first springish day here in Coldington. Chris, one of our Weetacon faithful, said that he thinks of Weetacon as the last boot in the ass to winter. Get out of here, now, you. Go on now, go, walk out the door, you’re welcome for the ear worm (and if you didn’t get that, you’re a very young person. Wear sunscreen even in winter please and don’t start smoking. You’ll thank me for that someday.)

And now comes the annoying task of closing out Weetacon: believe it or not, even a week later and there’s still stuff to do on my Weetacon task list. For instance, I have dozens of thank you notes to write, photos to upload and Weetacon gear to pack away for another year. And we do a Post-Mortem where the people who helped make Weetacon into Weetacon get together and talk about what worked, what didn’t, and what we should do to make next year awesome, which often has some action items associated with that as well.

(I’m certainly not complaining about choosing to do this: when you have a labor of love, it doesn’t seem like WORK, necessarily but it definitely means that you are still BUSY.)

You can look forward to an Igigi review and gift certificate giveaway, plus some of the ladies of Weetacon are offering you the chance to win up to $700 in Igigi gift certificates, just by leaving comments on their reviews (there are easy links to each review over at the Weetacon page, along with a slideshow and list of the garments worn, updated frequently through March 30).

Go over to that bold link in the above paragraph and win yourself some Igigi loot. Go ahead. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back. Promise.

I really think this year’s Weetacon kicked the ass of every Weetacon that came before it. We had an amazing time, an uplifting fashion show, hilarious drunken anecdotes (Trivia: you can separate the veterans from the newbies by how steadfastly they swear by the $10 Rule) and what might have been the very best closing ceremonies in my memory (although the Weetathlon Games had an awesome closing ceremony, with the awarding of the gold, silver and bronze medals, complete with the staggered dias that still makes me laugh). So I think back to that and it makes it all worth it.

Every year, the attendees of Weetacon report that they inevitably get the Post-Weetacon Blues. I’m not sure if this is recognized by the DSMV, but it does seem to be an actual thing. I’ve been thinking about what it could be: maybe a little reaction to the strain of eating a lot of rich food, drinking more alcohol than a normal weekend and not getting enough sleep, paired with the usual fatigue of air travel for the majority of our attendees? Or maybe it’s the audacity of trying to slot yourself back into a very normal and comparatively non-awesome drudgery of your usual life with its annoying responsibilities. Or a physical withdrawal from all of the good vibe-y brain chemicals that you experience all weekend long when you walk into a room full of people and they immediately squeal and tell you how hot you look, perhaps? Or maybe it’s the triumvirate of all of those things? Regardless, the Post Weetacon Blues are real and while I don’t have to haul my ass across the country on a jet plane and I didn’t really drink much alcohol or eat horribly unhealthy stuff last weekend, I definitely was suffering a full blown attack of Weetaconitis after everyone went home.

One of the unspoken (and sometimes spoken) tenets of Weetacon is that we try to balance the bawdy with the indulgent. I think that’s really the secret: we may gently poke fun at you for your anger issues, grabby hands or ho’wear then we’ll hand you a trophy that says we love you, just the way you are. No matter what, your Weetacon thinks you’re a star. We don’t just think it, we KNOW it. Maybe that’s something that people don’t hear often enough on the other 51 weekends a year.

You are a star. And don’t you forget it.

 

 

Product Review: Crystal Light On The Go Pure Fitness drink mixes

Something I haven’t told you about yet: I stopped drinking Diet Coke. Yeah, I know, I used to be the biggest Diet Coke head on the planet, absolutely having a Pavlovian response to the siren call of a 32 oz bubbly bucket of pure caffeinated cancer. But then after years of reading how artificial sweeteners make you crave sugar and how the citric acid kills your teeth and also, WHAT IS IN DIET COKE? Where are the fields of waiving Diet Coke ingredients, I ask you? My little hippy head was all conflicted. Oh, and I also had a polyp in my stomach that had to be removed and guess what I had to stop drinking completely? Otherwise face the pain. THE PAIN.

Also, there’s the little fact that I have on more than one occasion fainted while drinking Diet Coke. Something about the carbonation and my weird vasovagal syncope blah blah medical science.

So instead, I’ve been rocking the unsweetened iced tea, the occasional Sobe fake Life Water things (I really love the Black and Blueberry flavor, even though I have hardcore eco-guilt about what a waste the packaging is) and–here’s the shameful confession–sugar free Kool-Aid. It’s bad, people. I have started to order it by the case from Amazon because we go through it so fast that I was getting irritated spending $20 a grocery trip on Kool-Aid.

Hi, I’m almost 40 and I’m still getting a huge percentage of my daily water intake from something that is bright red and has the words “tropical punch” emblazoned on the front of its container.

So, the Crystal Light people sent me a small package of many Crystal Light On The Go Pure Fitness Grape, 7-Count Boxes of their new Pure Fitness drink mixes. In grape. I must give you a caveat right now: I find grape to be the least awesome of the “powdered drank” oeuvre. It’s actually a point of contention in the Casa Bix household, because Esteban is on Team Grape whereas I classify it as “Break Glass In Case Of Emergency” after all things red have been consumed. Crystal Light was taking a big chance here with this grape business.

This particular product claims to have no artificial sweeteners, flavors or preservatives. Can you say that, Sugar Free Kool-Aid? Can you? No, I didn’t think so. And looking at the ingredients, they are absolutely right about the flavors: even the purple color comes from purple carrot extract and dried hibiscus flower. The other bonus is that Crystal Light has packaged Pure Fitness with some electrolytes and potassium, which is a bit like making your flavored drink with Glaceau’s Smart Water (something I’ve always wanted to do but can’t bring myself to be that wasteful since Smart Water is kind of stupidly expensive for WATER). Honestly, “electrolytes” are just a tiny pinch of salt or baking soda per gallons of water, though, so I always think the electrolyte thing is kind of a gimmick, especially if you’re eating enough salt from other sources. I might be wrong about that, though, as again, not a scientist.

The biggest eyebrow raise for me with Crystal Light’s Pure Fitness was the claim of no artificial sweeteners. Sure enough, the light sweet taste comes from cane juice and sugar but also Truvia. There’s some discussion about whether Truvia can actually be considered a natural sweetener, but chances are if you are cruising the grocery aisles looking for brightly colored stuff to dump into your 16 ounce bottles of water, you care more about the fact that one packet has a teensy 15 calories per serving (30 calories per PACKET, remember) than the origins of Truvia’s claims. And since it’s from stevia, that seems to be a pretty harmless sweetener in general.

Tastewise, Crystal Light Pure Fitness was actually pretty good, quenchy in a LifeWater way with the grape not being too in your face. I would say that this is tastier than Crystal Light’s other offerings and I feel a little better about the ingredients of this particular option than I do my hardcore Sugar-Free Kool-Aid addiction. So there’s that.

Anyway, I give Crystal Light Pure Fitness a tentative thumbs up. It’s better than regular Crystal Light, isn’t full of super scary ingredients and I would be willing to try flavors other than grape on my own dime. Probably not the grape though, but it’s not you, Crystal Light, it’s all me.

 

Changing the world, one dress at a time

This past weekend was Weetacon, the annual gathering of the best people on the planet and predictably, it was the most amazing time. The word “magical” was used by more than one person, and I am probably biased, but yes, it was magical.

One of the coolest things that I get to do as the figurehead of Weetacon (don’t let the name fool you, I am not actually making the show happen: it’s a hardcore effort of about a dozen people who are fully engaged all weekend in making sure that it goes off without a hitch) is working with a few select companies that are appropriate to our attendees. This year, we partnered with Death’s Door Spirits, Gracie Designs (more on that in a future post) and my personal fashion favorite, Igigi by Yuliya Raquel.

Igigi not only donated shopping sprees to the charity raffle but they also offered to send interested attendees some garments in exchange for writing reviews. Last year, our attendees also reviewed garments, but this year I wanted to really give them a chance to show off so I modified the schedule and included an impromptu fashion show, asking Jake to be our William Shatner ala Miss Congeniality and then asked one of our attendees to be fashion photog for an evening. Rock on.

Igigi went above and beyond our expectations, sending multiple garments per attendee in some cases, but I kept that a secret and instead, put a huge garment rack in my kitchen for a week and hoped that none of our Igigi folks would randomly drop by the house and see it. Then, on Friday night, I hauled everyone out to my car in the parking lot and extracted the garment bags one by one, handing them out to the cheering ladies.

I wish we would have had someone filming that moment, because we were all standing outside in an icy parking lot without coats and everyone was so excited that they didn’t even feel cold. Even after they already had their hangers, the joy was just bubbling up and spilling over for their fellow attendees. I swear, Jessie’s eyes were as big as saucers when I handed her three dresses, each one exactly what she’d always hoped to wear.

We all then got changed, threw on makeup and prepped to walk the runway. What you should know is that Weetacon is a very accepting and supportive environment: we could have all just schlepped out there with bare feet and with flyaways in our hair, but no. No. That was out of the question for everyone, without it even being said out loud. Everyone was too in love with their outfits to have dared give anything less than 100%. We were going to rock that red carpet like it was leading to the Kodak Theatre rather than in a conference room in a hotel in Green Bay.

And rock it we did. Later, I asked Jake, the emcee, about his impressions of the show, as he had a unique perspective of watching each model as they entered the room and strutted toward center stage. He mentioned several times where he was absolutely struck by how beautiful and confident these ladies were, how some of them absolutely captivated the audience when they entered the room. It was as if they glowed, he said. I mentioned that I had been worried about the fashion show before the weekend, because we were keeping the garments a surprise and basically this would be the first time they were trying each item on and then we were asking them to basically walk out of the dressing room (or in this situation, a dimly lit mirror-less stairwell) to face a room of their peers as well as multiple camera flashes and video. That can be daunting for even the most brave soul and absolutely crippling for someone who is not feeling entirely body confident. He shook his head and said “It was awesome. They were AWESOME. I’m not just saying that. It was really really magnificent. I wish you could bottle how good they all felt because we could feel it too, just being there watching them.”

That’s some kind of magic, right there. I really wish we COULD bottle it. I wish that every woman could feel that absolutely confident and gorgeous and that the path they follow each day could feel exactly like a runway flanked by an adoring crowd.  I like to wonder what we could accomplish if we felt like that every day, all the sicknesses we could cure and all the ills of society we could solve. It’s silly to attribute that to simply a plus size girl finally finding a dress that makes her feel amazing but in reality, having had that feeling in the past, it just might be that simple. And it just might be that magical.

Stay tuned for reviews of the three garments I wore on the runway, along with a chance for you to win a $50 Igigi by Yuliya Raquel gift certificate!

 

Travelista Tips: Your questions answered

Boy, that Travel post got HUGE amounts of interest! I had no idea!

Ok, here’s my biggest tip ever: never ever ever ever ever just accept the price given for a hotel/plane ticket/car rental. It can always get lower somehow. I have seen the same seat on the same flight can vary by as much as two hundred dollars on different search engines. So when you find a price you like, write down where you found it and keep searching, because you can probably do a little bit better at another site. And when you find a good price, do a search for a promo code: for instance, Orbitz almost always has a 10% off promo code out there. Similarly, you can play around with promo codes when booking through Starwood, Marriott, Hertz, Avis, Dollar and Budget and basically every Vegas hotel there is. There’s no reason you should ever pay the first rate they offer, because the guy driving off in the exact same Camry next to you paid a different price than you did. It would bug the hell out of me if I knew he paid less!

Also, a lot of times, you can bundle a car rental or a hotel with your airfare for less than just the cost of the airfare (for instance, I once got a luxury car rental and a round trip plane ticket to SF for 4th of July weekend, no less, for $300 all in, while the same plane ticket alone would have been $375). Also, there are several websites that will refund you double the difference of a competitors price, so for instance, on govegas.com, if you book a hotel for $100 a night and you find it on Travelocity.com for $75, GoVegas will give you back $50, since the difference between the two prices was $25. However, that’s a huge caveat, because booking through those kinds of websites will eat your chance to earn frequent flier miles (you have to book through hhonors.com to earn Hilton points, for instance).

Basically, the motto here is that if you don’t want to do the homework and are satisfied with paying what they say is a good deal, then ok, awesome. But if you would rather have more money for vodka or shoes and are willing to spend your break at work doing some internet research, then it will pay off in sometimes crazy good deals.

For instance, last month, a friend and I happened to be in Vegas on the same weekend. She was staying at Bally’s for $89 per night, with a view of Paradise Avenue (the road that runs parallel behind the Strip) and a parking garage (not to mention a bed spread that hadn’t been changed since The Brady Bunch was on prime time). I knew that she wanted me to be impressed by her bargain hunting, a two star located near the strip for under a hundred bucks! At a different time of year and a different economical climate, anyway. I didn’t want to tell her that I had an upgraded Strip-view room at the Wynn and could actually watch the TI pirate show from my room on the 34th floor. For $70 per night.

Remember: the prices can always get lower if you dig long enough.

So many of you have sent me questions privately that I realize I have a ton more to say on the subject. Jennette suggested that I write an e-book and make some cash off of it, and while I probably have enough to fill a pretty hearty PDF file, it would take the level of organization that I really don’t want to exert when I’m still working on two different creative writing projects (those big things I’m doing, yes, now there are two. My head, she is broken), so instead, I’ll just update the blog for free when you guys ask me questions. Deal? Let’s go.

Reader Q&A after the bump!

(Continued)

How to go anywhere you want without paying for it: the not-so-secret way to travel without breaking the bank

My hair stylist is always asking “where are you going THIS time” because almost every time I come in for a color, I am probably going somewhere. Next week, I’m going to Las Vegas, LA and then Boston. The only reason I’m not going somewhere in February is because I will be house-sitting for Ward and June for an entire flipping month while they are in Hawaii (to my chagrin, I found them a great deal on a two-bedroom two-bath condo with an ocean view for way less than they usually pay for their little hotel room in a resort, so they said “Oh you should come out for a week!” but when they realized that they’d be shooting themselves in the foot to have to find another dog and house sitter, rescinded the offer. Wuh wuh waaaaah!). March is a short trip to Madison and then Weetacon, which is exhausting and requires two weeks of quiet time with minimal movement to recover. I’m tentatively planning a trip to SF in April, Chicago in June and SOMEWHERE in August/September time frame, sprinkled with a few jaunts to Boston throughout.

Now, some of that is for my new job (which I love so very much, by the way! I think about it in sing-songy terms! I am definitely enjoying the new employer honeymoon), but most of it is personal travel to either see friends or just have something to look forward to.

But trust me when I tell you this: I’m not lucky. I’m not rich. In fact, I spend less in one year’s worth of traveling than most people spend on a week’s camping trip. And I’m going to tell you how I do it. Let’s tackle the most obvious expense: air fare.

Here’s how you get around it… just don’t pay for it.

I know, right? Get it for free! Easy peasy. No, seriously, I do fly for free the majority of the time, and it’s as simple as playing the frequent flier miles game. Lots of people don’t have frequent flier accounts because they say they don’t fly enough in a year to make a difference. Oh you sweet, innocent people! The airlines set up a teeny tiny little barrier called “expiring frequent flier miles” and you bought into it! That’s exactly what they wanted you to believe! The biggest secret about frequent flier miles there is? You don’t have to fly frequently to make big bank in frequent flier miles. In fact, you don’t even have to fly at all!

You know those television shows who show people buying thousands of dollars of groceries, but because they have quadrupled a mountain of coupons, they only end up paying four cents? Playing the frequent flier game is a bit like that, only without clipping coupons (most of the time) but oddly enough, it does usually involve a shopping cart.

Oh, let’s give an example: Jincy loves the cat treats made by Greenies. Normally, I snag them at Petco when I’m there picking up cat and dog food, but this week, I was looking up the price of bodywash on Drugstore.com (because sometimes I feel unreasonably chaffed about the price of Dove’s Body Wash… I mean, it’s drugstore body wash, why is it eight bucks for the big bottle?) and found her cat treats there, for less than they cost at the bricks and mortar store (well, not very hard, as Petco is apparently run by DeBeers). I also snagged some dishwasher detergent, because I always forget it. Simple little things that you would typically pick up in a local store, certainly NOT splurging or buying something out of the ordinary. Then, by simply logging into Delta’s Skymiles Shopping thingy and THEN clicking back over to Drugstore.com, they’ll give me 6 miles for every dollar I spend. Voila, my avoidance of an errand earned 1/50th of a free plane ticket. Of course, I put the purchase (and all purchases, especially stuff like gas and groceries) on a mileage-earning credit card which earns a mile for every dollar on top of that.

Ok, 1/50th of an airline ticket doesn’t get you very far, but it all adds up. I sent my grandmother flowers for her birthday and earned 4300 miles. I had a rental car for a work trip and earned 858 miles. I bought cheap Old Navy performance fleece for Christmas presents and earned 857 miles. My pair of Clarks pumps from Zappos earned me 700 miles. Last week, I ordered four pairs of tights from the matronly fat lady store (loves me some matronly fat lady store tights, let me tell you!) and earned 184 points. My Netflix account gave me 3000 miles. When I put in a Sephora order, I earn miles. When I shop at Target, I earn miles. When we bought the furnace for our house, I put it on a miles card and got thousands of free miles for it. When we bought our washing machine, I bought it through Home Depot’s website and earned two miles for every dollar for doing it that way (we still picked it up at our local store) and another mile per dollar from the credit card company. Same thing with The Avenue, Torrid, Lane Bryant, Nordstrom, Kate Spade, Coach, you name it, basically every online retailer except Amazon will give you airline miles for buying stuff that you would have bought anyway.

Also, when I travel for work or wherever, most of the major hotels are hooked into some kind of frequent flier mile program. You may have to sign up for Hilton Honors or Marriott Rewards or Starwood Points, whatever, but chances are pretty good that you’ll score some miles while you sleep. Ditto with car rentals via pretty much every major car rental joint that ever was.

So, those are the Intro to Miles gimmicks, but if you’re really excited by all of this gaming the system, you can move onto the next level of FF nut jobbery: the obscure crap. For instance, I’ve gotten 500 frequent flier miles off of a four dollar package of swiss cheese fondue. I got 500 miles off of a case of Nestle water. For awhile, Yoplait was giving away 50 miles for typing in the code off of your yogurt lid. Pepsi was giving away 100 miles for certain bottle top codes. And before you roll your eyes, let me tell you about this one guy who happened to be at the store one day and noticed that they were were selling packages of Healthy Choice pudding that offered 500 frequent flier miles on American Airlines. Again, 500 miles is not big whoop, right? Except that he got an idea and bought every pudding he could get, donated them to all to a food bank (minus the frequent flier codes) and for basically a little over three thousand dollars, he got over a million frequent flier miles (enough for 31 round trip tickets to Europe), lifetime elite status on American (which gives him priority boardng and a very high likelihood of getting bumped to first class) and on top of that, he got an $800 deduction on his income taxes for the donation.

Basically, if you’re spending money on something, chances are very good that you can figure out a way to make your purchase earn miles. You don’t even have to spend money on stuff: I’ve gotten 500 miles just for answering a survey, another 300 for signing up for the airline’s e-Fares (and then dumping it a month later, but still got to keep the miles).

Then there are people who do what I consider to be above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to frequent flier miles. They will do things like jump on a super cheap fare to somewhere they don’t want to go with a turnaround on the same day, just to earn the miles (or segments for status). They will purposely take flights that have multiple legs and increased distance, connecting through, say, Dallas and then Chicago instead of taking the nonstop. I don’t do that kind of crap, mostly because I actually don’t enjoy the act of flying very much. It’s a means to an end, and all I care about is getting where you need to go. Also, after a few hours in a plane, I start getting fidgety.

Now, here’s the biggest key to all of this: every time your frequent flier mile account earns or subtracts miles, it stays current. It doesn’t matter if it’s from buying a sweater from Land’s End (usually 4 miles per dollar but sometimes 6) or from having your butt crunched in a coach airline seat: your account is active, which means that as long as you keep earning miles, your account is still active and your accumulated miles will not expire. Now if only they drew interest (alas, haven’t figured that one out yet). And of course, frequent flier miles are like money. You can use your miles to pay for rental cars and hotel rooms too. This means one thing: free travel!

In just 6 years, I have earned over half a million frequent flier miles on American playing this little game. That’s 20 free round trip coach tickets in the US. That’s some great power if you love to travel. Not only does that allow me the freedom to fly first class if I want to or look at a Stars concert in San Francisco and say “screw it, I’m going”, but I’ve been fortunate enough to have the freedom to visit my far-flung friends or buy them tickets so that they can join me on trips or come and visit. When a friend’s grandmother in Japan passed away and he could only afford his mom’s plane ticket, I was able to help him out. All of this opportunity, just for thinking “Can I earn miles by doing this?” before 80% of my transactions.

You’ll notice that in my example, I mentioned earning miles on my Delta account: that’s because I have absolutely had it with American. They used to have extra leg room on all planes, but then they’ve quietly taken it away, and I hate connecting in O’Hell and constantly having my flights delayed or canceled whenever there’s a little weather (or sometimes for no real reason at all). Believe me, I’m not happy about finally making it over the halfway hump toward earning lifetime Gold Elite status on American and then mostly giving it up. Ah well. (Delta structures its program differently and your butt actually has to be in a seat in order to earn toward elite status. You still get the miles, just not the pretty title and the free upgrades.)

My hairdresser calls me lucky. If she only knew that I was earning a hundred miles, just sitting there getting my hair did.

Segue Seque Sputnik

The big holiday bash that I mentioned in a previous post involves a White Elephant/Dirty Santa gift exchange. Unfortunately, some of these attendees decide to save up all of their passive-aggressive lashing out and bring the seriously worst possible crap imaginable. The rule used to be to bring something that might be some use to someone, but has devolved to include boxes of pre-worn (but clean) tube socks, super fugly great auntie decor and a well-traveled talking Jar Jar Binks doll. We typically bring booze of some kind, which is always in high demand when it comes to swapping. I go in with a strategy: either get something that’s kind of awesome (this only happened one year, when I ended up scoring Scotty Boom Boom’s sauerkraut jar of Joe Bushie’s steak seasoning aka U.P. Heroin) or get something so small that I can surreptitiously dump it into a gas station garbage bin the next time I clean out my car. If I’m lucky, I end up with something that someone else wanted, and then at the end of the night, I just hand it to them. Two years ago, I did the kill strike on a radio-controlled truck, making it ineligible for future swaps, and then gave it to the parent who had so desperately wanted it for their child. This year, I did the same thing, taking it away from one parent on the kill swap and then giving it back to them at the end of the evening. Both times, the child in question has sent me a thank you note with a drawing of the loot, which quite honestly, is even better than getting a pound of steak seasoning, so everyone’s happy.

Last year, however, all of my luck at the party had dried up. I was well on my way to getting out the door with a six-pack of Spotted Cow (which Esteban would drink, or it would go into the Weetacon stash) when the last trade stole it from under me and somehow I found myself in possession of a giant homemade Christmas decoration. It was the kind of thing where someone had punched holes in the bottoms of a million plastic cups, pushed a twinkle light into the bottom and then fashioned a giant mod hanging lamp thingy out of the whole deal (an example of the weird homemade Christmas decoration). I was flummoxed, but eh, what the hell. It was kind of mid-century modern mashed up with Readymade upcycling, so I shrugged and threw it into the backseat of my car, though I really didn’t know what I was going to do with it.  I even toyed with some ideas of modifying it somehow, via takeout chopsticks sprayed silver or something, but of course, I lack ambition and after we saw it in the daylight, we realized that, meh, not so much, so instead it rattled and rolled around the backseat of my car. We started calling it Christmas Sputnik.

A few days later, I was rolling through the Sbux drive-through. I always roll the back window down because I have the MOST SPOILED PUG ON THE PLANET DOOCECAPS who likes make sure the baristas  don’t try anything untoward. One of the baristas spotted Christmas Sputnik.

Oh my gosh, is that one of those things that’s a Christmas decoration? With the holes punched through the bottom of the cups?

Yup, I said, feeling embarrassed that the baristas were very aware of and now commenting on the junk in my trunk back seat.

Where did you get it?

Oh, my mother-in-law made it.

Why did I lie? I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want to go into the whole White Elephant party story or have to admit that I’d had Christmas Sputnik rolling around in my car for five days at that point. Maybe I just wanted to stop having the conversation. Why did I bring June into the picture? I don’t know! Things just happen. It was such a pointless little white lie. A white elephant lie.

Once again, I would like to point out how much I could benefit by having a Greek Chorus following me around. They would have warned me.

Oh, I love it! I’ve wanted one of those for years.

My ears perked up. “Do you want it?

Oh my gosh, are you sure? Really? Don’t you want it? I couldn’t!

I was already reaching into the backseat. Christmas Sputnik was so large that I could barely get it past the steering wheel and then of course, it didn’t fit through the window, so I had to open the door as far as I could in the drive-thru, hoist it up through the opening while the barrista caught it once it made it over the top of the door.

I would like to point out right here that deep down, I am actually a shy person. Whenever I say that, people never believe me, because I seem like an extrovert, but really, despite the fact that I’m friendly with strangers, small talk with people makes me kind of uncomfortable in ways I really can’t explain.  I don’t get it either: I can write deeply personal things to a million strangers on the internet but I have never spoken a word to the lady who lives kitty-corner to our house and probably would run away rather than be forced socially to introduce myself.

The barista was thrilled. She thanked me a million times. I drove off with my chai, happy that someone was excited about Christmas Sputnik and also that I didn’t have to find a place to ditch it. The end!

Not the end. No. Not at all the end. They put Christmas Sputnik up at Starbucks. Right by the drive thru window. Every time I drove through, a different barista would say “Are you the lady who gave us the Cup Light thingy?” and then they’d have to tell me some anecdote or other about Christmas or decorations or just how darned much they loved Christmas Sputnik. I am the fucking Grinch of Starbucks, fine, whatever, just I’m sorry, can I have my chai tea please? Here, keep the change, bye. No, I don’t need a receipt! Bye now! Oh, my mother-in-law made it. Yeah, it’s very eco-friendly. No, but I’m sure you COULD make one with the Sbux cold cups. Ok then, see you, bye, I’m driving away now! Every time I came through for coffee, I got to hear about how happy Christmas Sputnik made everyone who got coffee. The entire east side of Coldington had me to thank for their Christmas 2009 Joy. For reals.

Then, I got the note. You see, another customer loved Sputnik SO much that she wanted my mother-in-law to make her several. There was a phone number on it. I thought about the story that I was going to tell them (and also thought about how hard could it possibly be, to make a few Sputniks. Old ladies do them, right? So yes, I was going to do penance for my lie through crafting. I think this is the same principle behind car thieves being forced to make license plates) but then mercifully I lost the number when it went through the wash. Yes, it was probably Freudian and I secretly WANTED to obliterate all evidence of my lie, I’m fully cognizant of that. At that point, the White Elephant Lie had spiraled so far out of control that I was deeply considering getting my coffee from the west side Starbucks, but then I was afraid they’d have heard about me over there and would hand out a stack of Starbucks Frappuchino cups for a custom ordered Sputnik from corporate.

Mercifully, though, the Christmas season ended, and after epiphany, Sputnik came down at Starbucks. I thought I’d heard the end of it, until the barista I had originally given it to had to tell me about how she gave it to her daughter, who put it up in her dorm room and they call it the Disco Ball. Ok then. Hopefully they show Sputnik the same reverence shown all dorm furniture and decor and this is the end of this.

But no.

Two days ago, the same barista gave me a Christmas Sputnik update. It’s now hanging in her front yard, delighting and wooing all of her neighbors. Every night they gather around it and the children sing like in the Charlie Brown Christmas special, gentle “loo loo loos” with their sweet little faces upturned to the glowing orb and it also cured their neighbor’s gout.

Who made it? Oh, your mother-in-law. She should sell them, hint hint, because I would love a few more!

When my grandmother told me that even the smallest lie was still a bad thing, I kind of wish she would have smacked me behind the head so that the message would have stuck.

Super easy (and super not easy) ways to impress your relatives this weekend

We have one big holiday affair in my local social group: a heady bacchanal in a distant McMansion community where our friend stuffs us with meats and liquors until we beg for mercy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he wanted to harvest our livers. Imagine a party where the frenched lamb chops appetizers are passed over because people don’t want to ruin their appetite for what they know is coming. It’s that kind of party. And I always feel weird that Joel goes through days of prepping and cooking to feed four dozen of his closest friends. I always offer to bring something and Joel always demures, telling me to bring whatever I want, but this time, he actually called out something specific: my baklava.

Ah yes.

“Just make half a batch, though. I know it’s a pain in the ass.”

Ok, so here’s the thing about baklava: a tiny amount of baklava is, if anything, even more of a pain in the ass than a full batch, because you have to cut the filo dough, which compresses the layers, gluing them together. On top of that, you don’t end up with as much baklava! Bullshit. Full batch, baby. No excuse to not.

I used to make it every year for Christmas, but then I got over whatever nesting instinct I was freebasing and I have made it once in the fourteen years we’ve been living in this house, approximately seven years ago. I think it’s because it takes seven years for me to forget what a complete and utter pain in the ass it is to make baklava. This time, I agreed, thinking that I now have a food processor, so certainly the vigorous chopping of nuts was part of my irritating right? Right? This would be a breeze!

It was not a breeze. Even with a mise en place and all the accompanying Williams & Sonoma outfitting, I still spent literally TWO HOURS doing nothing but making bakalava. I am not exaggerating. Two hours! And probably only ten of that was prep and maybe five minutes pulling together the filling. The rest of the time, I was removing a single layer of filo dough, covering the stack with a damp towel, placing the the layer and then painting it with clarified butter, then remove the damp towel, remove a layer, later, rinse, repeat. For more than an hour. Now to be honest, the phone rang THREE TIMES during this process, so if you were a callous type and ignored all distractions, you could probably get that baby down to less than two minutes per layer, but what you must know is that this is not an inconsiderable process.

The baklava was a hit, of course. People raved. Eileen made a pitious plea on Twitter for me to make it again for Weetacon’s Charity Bake Sale in March. Oh, just a small batch, she begged! Sigh. No small batches! It’s all or nothing!

(The secret of my baklava is that I do a combination of Greek and Turkish styles, using pistachios and cinnamon for the filling, Wisconsin wildflower honey for the syrup, but then I also infuse the syrup with Meyer lemon and clove. It’s pretty delicious stuff… the pound of butter doesn’t hurt either.)

So yeah, I’ll be making it again for Weetacon. It’s for charity, blah blah blah.There’s no crying in baklava!

It’s very good baklava, no lie, but as it turned out, it wasn’t the star of the dessert table. You see, Esteban’s cousin (who married Joel’s wife’s best friend, through a series of leaps that are pretty common here in the world’s largest small town) created a truly evil concoction.

Jesse’s Balls.

I tried one of Jesse’s balls and immediately my hand snatched out for another one. I started begging people to eat them so that they would be out of sight, because otherwise, nothing would go in my mouth all night but for Jesse’s balls.  I couldn’t even tell what went into them, other than they were chocolatey and smooth and tasted like magic. And the worst part? When he told me how he made them, I actually laughed out loud. It was like the punchline to a joke.  Jesse’s balls had just three ingredients: Oreo Cookies, cream cheese and butter. The end (because you’ve expired from heart disease). It was like Jesse had been sitting around thinking “Man, I love me some Oreos, but how can I optimize that taste to deliver the maximum amount of calories for the least amount of effort? I know! Smush them with fat and more fat and then eliminate the need to chew!”

Here, I’m going to share with you the magic of Jesse’s balls. Make them for your family and don’t tell them how easy it is, or that the grape-size ball they just put in their mouth has three million calories and more fat than a Big Mac.

JESSE’S BALLS

Ingredients

  • 1 package regular Oreo cookies
  • 1 pound cream cheese, softened
  • 1 stick (quarter pound) of butter, softened

Finely chop Oreo cookies in food processor (or put inside a freezer Zip Loc bag and use a rolling pin) until you have fine crumbs. Mix cream cheese and butter with cookie crumbs, mold into balls using either hands or ice cream scoops. Dip into melted chocolate, roll in powdered sugar or just stick your face in the bowl and notify next of kin.

If you make that recipe, your friends will call you out specifically when making their New Year’s Resolution. I’m sorry.

Oh! Before I forget, this year we have our first ever Weetacon Charity Cookbook, and you actually have an opportunity to purchase it for yourself! Each cookbook sold represents a $5 donation to Paul’s Pantry, a Northeastern Wisconsin food bank that is seriously hurting for donations right now.

The cookbook includes more than 50 recipes from our past, present and future Weetacon attendees, as well as color photos on every page and stories about why the recipes are meaningful to us. You can peruse such delicacies as Fredlet’s brisket, Mary’s mom’s sacred chocolate chip cookies, Esteban’s lemon tilapia, my favorite super-pain-in-the-ass salad, dueling Ravens and Steelers tailgating dips, as well as legendary Weetacon delights such as Scotty Boom Boom’s “liquid panty remover” alcoholic and June’s chicken booyah, as well as Pineapple Fluff, something salty and sweet and creamy and fruity and so inherently Midwestern potlucky that your life will be changed after eating it. I’m not exaggerating: this is a substance so important in Weetacon lore that it’s in the name of our Facebook group!

All that for just $15, which includes shipping AND the donation to Paul’s Pantry! Such a low price to experience a little of the Weetacon magic in the comfort of your own home while also helping those folks hit hardest by the recession.

This offer is only valid until January 14th, at which point you’ll have to get yours at Weetacon (or after it, by bribing Melinda).

The comments want hear about the most sinful or ridiculously complex thing you’ve ever made for the holidays.

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