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I may have inadvertently changed the "present to myself" that I was going to buy. I'm not sure yet, because it may count as an "essential purchase," though I won't be needing (or even using) it for awhile.
The strange thing is that it happened entirely by accident. I didn't mean to make this purchase, I just sort of stumbled into it.
I had to pick up tickets to the IMAX movie Aliens of the Deep for Heather's birthday. The nearest IMAX theater around here is the Jordan's Furniture in Reading. It's pretty new, and I hadn't been there yet. I knew that it was big and kind of theme-parkish, but I didn't expect it to be freaking Disneyworld. The Jelly Belly store! The theme restaurants! The movie theater! The dancing waters! And oh yeah, they sell furniture, too.
So I spent more time there than I normally would. I expected to park, rush in, get the tickets, and head home. Instead, I wandered around, looking at the flying trapeeze (did I not mention they have a real, working flying trapeeze inside? You can take lessons!) and the animated version of the Green Monster, and sort of drifted into the mattress department.
Jordan's advertises their mattress selection and their "sleep technicians" endlessly on the radio, so I figured I'd look at the selection they had. I took a few moments to prod and sit on a couple of mattresses, and was about to leave the department when one of the "sleep technicians" approached me and asked me if I was interested in looking at anything in particular. I said that I wouldn't be interested in purchasing anything until at least a few months down the road, and he said (as a good salesman...er...technician should) that it wouldn't hurt to figure out what I was looking for.
He took me through a series of questions. Do I sleep on my back or on my side? Do I like a firm or soft mattress? What had I slept on before? I felt like I was on a first date with a particularly aggressive guy, if that guy was wearing a lab coat and a name badge. Actually, given my social history, I probably have been on a first date with an aggressive guy in a lab coat and a name badge, but knowing my penchant for the less-than-butch type, he probably worked at the Clinique counter at Macy's.
Anyway, we walked through the department. I told him I liked a really squshy mattress, but that my last bed was a futon on a platform, which was very firm, which I knew was better for the back. (I don't have any back problems at all, but that's what's drilled into your head from birth. Soft mattress = bad, firm mattress = good.) He told me that what I thought wasn't necessarily true, that a squishy mattress with the right support is better than a board-hard bed, and it was all about "pressure points."
He directed me to a tempurpedic-style bed, which I found very comfortable. I felt a little awkward lying down in the middle of the showroom, but what the heck. A guy hasn't asked me to lie down for him in over two years. My "technician" observed me closely, asking me to lie on my side, then back on my back, and finally determined that I wasn't getting enough support, and even though I felt very comfortable in this bed, I should look into something with more structure.
We got to a firm mattress, which I didn't like one bit. It reminded me of the ripoff bait-and-switch mattress I bought when I first moved into my own apartment, from Mattress Discounters. You know, back before it became illegal to advertise a mattress that was never going to be in-stock for a ridiculously low price, and then offer some piece of crap as a substitute? That was my mattress for a good eight years or so. Hard as a rock, could feel the individual springs, never really got warm because it was just fabric stretched over metal. I could have slept on the box-spring more comfortably. If you added a pillow top to that mattress, you'd have my second choice.
"This bed is too hard," said Goldilocks, and we went on to the third option.
Which was, of course, just right.
I finally figured out what the big deal was about choosing the right mattress. This one was supportive and squishy at the same time. My "technician" talked about coil depth and pressure points and the like, but I had already determined that this was the mattress for me. He asked me if I was interested in buying.
"Do you have a layaway program?" I asked.
"Of course," he said.
And so I am now a 20% owner of the most perfect mattress I've ever laid on. It also qualifies as the most expensive piece of furniture I've ever bought (which isn't much of a statement, since most of my furniture has been hand-me-downs, built by my brothers, or taken off the curb on Big Trash Day). We filled out the paperwork for the layaway, I paid my deposit, and decided to exit the building before I found The Perfect Couch.
I would have bought it outright and had it delivered to Mom's house, but the bed I currently sleep on is only big enough for a full-size mattress, and I bought a queen. So I'd have to dismantle the bed that fits so well with the room Mom worked so hard to redecorate, just to accomodate my pillow-top mattress. While sleeping in perfect comfort is very tempting, I'm willing to put it off until my first night in my new house. It'll be fitting, I think.
While shopping for wrapping paper for Heather's presents, I found a beanie-baby version of Patrick from SpongeBob Squarepants. Since he's the only cartoon character I know of with whom I share a first name, I picked him up for my desk at work.
It's a bit of a gamble, buying things for my desk at work. For the longest time, Brad had a Homer Simpson doll on the front desk, but someone cut off his nose and wrote something offensive on his shirt (Homer's, not Brian's). I had a cool lucite rectangle filled with water and blue oil that had penguins bobbing on it that got stolen (by one of the consultants...I saw it in her office, but couldn't prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she didn't simply buy the same trinket for herself). Oddly enough, the full set of Beatles figurines Laurie has on her desk have remained untouched by anybody the whole time she's had them. I figured it was worth the risk.
Oddly enough, I asked Stephanie to get me a Patrick doll or figurine for my desk for Christmas, thinking it would be a nice, cheap gift for someone who just started college. She couldn't find one, and I stumbled upon it without even trying. Sort of like the mattress.
Inspired by a thread about scented candles on The Usual Suspects, in which I was able to locate a particular discontinued scent for someone online, I went hunting for my own particular scent-quirk, Patchouli-scented bath gel from Crabtree & Evelyn.
They discontinued the scent years ago, and it made me very sad. I don't generally care for straight-up patchouli, it's a little overbearing, but the C&E version was very light, with just a hint of a woodsy scent. I found three people selling it on eBay, and put in a relatively high bid on one of them, since the auction was to be over in 20 hours or so.
I did a few things around the house (wrapping presents, putting together a "tablescape" for Heather's mini-party tonight, cleaning out Skottie's ears), and came back to e-mail, where I found a message from eBay, saying that my bid had been cancelled. When I clicked in for more details, I found that the seller automatically rejected bids from people who had less than a certain number of feedback points.
While I can see the point in trying not to get burned, it makes it difficult for the occasional shopper to purchase something specific they're looking for. I wrote directly to the seller, telling him that I wasn't trying to ruin his auction, but rather I was someone who simply happened to like this product, and wanted to make sure that I got it. Would he consider enabling me to bid? I haven't heard back from him so far, so I went to another seller and put in the same bid on her bottle of the shower gel. Such is the free market economy.
Heather's mini-party went well. She wanted American Chop Suey for dinner, which is easy enough to make, and we all got to talk a lot, which we haven't done in quite some time.
Heather is feeling much better, physically and emotionally. She's not quite over being nauseated, but her morning sickness is mostly gone. She's still sad over the loss of her grandfather, but is starting to see that she was lucky to have him around for so long.
Sean got his review at work at about the same time that I did. His only major complaint was that someone called him "too blunt" about his opinions. I can totally see it. Sean speaks his mind, especially if he feels he's being cornered about something.
Thursday night, I'll go to my cousin Beth's house to drop off Casey's presents, and I hope we have as good a talk as Sean, Heather, Mom and I did tonight. I seem to be rediscovering my family, what with working for Chris (on his website), chatting with the kids, having Steph work with me (who had a lengthy argument with me once again tonight over whether or not I would pick her up from work on Thursday), and talking incessantly with Mom. I guess it all comes with feeling better about myself.
If you scroll to the bottom of the page, you'll notice that I've added a comments link to my entry pages. I've seen them on other peoples' websites, and finally decided to take the plunge myself. I'm a total whore for feedback, so I figure this is yet another way of getting some sort of dialogue going with the majority of people who read my words, who don't write to me. I know filling in a short comment box is easier than e-mailing someone.
Of course, along with the e-mail, the cell phone, the voicemail at work, and the U.S. post, it may just be one more place to check and not get anything at all. I set myself up for that sort of rejection. It's an artform.
I'm addicted to the Retro-Active station still. 99 Luftballons is currently playing, which is the only song in another language that I know by heart; so I'll close with this little thought for you:
Hab' nen Luftballon gefunden
Denk' an Dich und lass' ihn fliegen
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Patrick's Daily Journal
