Mostly a good day, some ranting
My trench coat and I have been reunited. It came back from the dry cleaners yesterday all shiny and new, and no longer smelling of cat piss (let's see how long we can keep it that way this time around). I didn't get it for free like I did last time, but I was given a discount. Don't know why, the woman doesn't speak much English and what she does speak its with an accent so thick its hard to understand. She didn't offer an explanation, I didn't ask. Didn't know why she didn't charge me last time either, I was very clear I didn't hold her to blame for any damage done. Not complaining though, I do need the money.
I also finally managed to get some real sleep. I was up for a long time yesterday, went out to run errands rather than try to go to bed. As a result I was extremely exhausted by the time I got home, I collapsed in bed and went right to sleep. Lately it had been a struggle to get to sleep and it never felt like I slept deep enough and never long enough; this cycle has lasted about two miserable weeks, and with everything else I currently have on my mind I really don't need this right now. Here's hoping this means the cycle is over with and I can get some real rest again.
Most of the day was good, I haven't been getting out enough and I needed it. The only real downside was going jeans shopping with the girlfriend again.
Let me just say how much I fucking hate Lane Bryant. Only been there a few times now and I am so fucking thankful I do not need to buy clothing there. Especially the jeans. They are, for one thing, in my mind, too expensive; fifty dollars for one pair of jeans, considering that I'm someone that wears jeans all but exclusively I would have a real problem with that. And then there is the ridiculous Lane Bryant exclusive jeans sizing system, specially designed to have you tearing your hair out of your head in about five seconds flat.
The sizing is some odd combination of a color coding system, numbers one through maybe eight or nine that don't correspond to any actual standard sizes (so I hear, as I mostly wear men's clothes I am unfamiliar with women's clothing sizes as it is), and length from tall, average and petite that likewise do not correspond to any standardly held definition of these terms considering that I could probably wear the petite jeans (might be a little shorter than I prefer, but I could probably wear them) and I'm like 5'7 (in other words short women can go fuck themselves). No way any lay person could make heads or tails out of this, and I'm beginning to suspect it was designed that way on purpose to make the sales women working there the sole arbiter of the jeans, if you want jeans you must go through them.
I've never been anywhere where the sales people have been that obnoxiously up your ass. First insisting that you must let them measure you (wouldn't go over well with me), then they pick out jeans for you that don't come even close to fitting right and stick right at your side during the whole ordeal. Last time the woman would wait about a minute and a half before she started banging on the dressing room door insisting Renee come out to model the jeans for her; as though I can't tell myself that the jeans don't fit or can't tell you how they don't fit. I'm surprised she didn't insist on being in the room with us.
This time the size/color/length of jeans that fit Renee well last time was just a little off. Now what do you do when a pair of jeans is just slightly too big? You try the next size down, right? Well, Renee left the dressing room to do just that, then came back about five minutes later with something completely different; damn woman intercepted her and insisted she take something else instead, something Renee couldn't even get on. So I went out to get the next pair for her. Woman sees me at the shelves, all but flies over, "What happened???" "They're too small, I'm getting the next size up." And she all but throws herself at me, "Noooooo!!!! Let me do it!!!!"
Excuse me, why? Its not as though these jeans are behind a glass case. They're not in any special order, or any order at all. I can read fucking labels as well as you can. Or so you'd think. But every time I went out there, she intercepted me, wouldn't let me put the jeans back on the shelf myself, wouldn't let me grab another pair myself either. Way to justify your pay check.
Look, lady. We're big girls now. We can shop for ourselves and we can find our own pants without a grown up holding our hands the whole time. Now if we need your help then we'll call you over, okay? Otherwise, back. the. fuck. off!!!
At the very least Renee found jeans, jeans which we will treasure for all eternity.
What a miserable experience. However much I hate shopping for clothes, at least I don't have to go through this.
I also finally managed to get some real sleep. I was up for a long time yesterday, went out to run errands rather than try to go to bed. As a result I was extremely exhausted by the time I got home, I collapsed in bed and went right to sleep. Lately it had been a struggle to get to sleep and it never felt like I slept deep enough and never long enough; this cycle has lasted about two miserable weeks, and with everything else I currently have on my mind I really don't need this right now. Here's hoping this means the cycle is over with and I can get some real rest again.
Most of the day was good, I haven't been getting out enough and I needed it. The only real downside was going jeans shopping with the girlfriend again.
Let me just say how much I fucking hate Lane Bryant. Only been there a few times now and I am so fucking thankful I do not need to buy clothing there. Especially the jeans. They are, for one thing, in my mind, too expensive; fifty dollars for one pair of jeans, considering that I'm someone that wears jeans all but exclusively I would have a real problem with that. And then there is the ridiculous Lane Bryant exclusive jeans sizing system, specially designed to have you tearing your hair out of your head in about five seconds flat.
The sizing is some odd combination of a color coding system, numbers one through maybe eight or nine that don't correspond to any actual standard sizes (so I hear, as I mostly wear men's clothes I am unfamiliar with women's clothing sizes as it is), and length from tall, average and petite that likewise do not correspond to any standardly held definition of these terms considering that I could probably wear the petite jeans (might be a little shorter than I prefer, but I could probably wear them) and I'm like 5'7 (in other words short women can go fuck themselves). No way any lay person could make heads or tails out of this, and I'm beginning to suspect it was designed that way on purpose to make the sales women working there the sole arbiter of the jeans, if you want jeans you must go through them.
I've never been anywhere where the sales people have been that obnoxiously up your ass. First insisting that you must let them measure you (wouldn't go over well with me), then they pick out jeans for you that don't come even close to fitting right and stick right at your side during the whole ordeal. Last time the woman would wait about a minute and a half before she started banging on the dressing room door insisting Renee come out to model the jeans for her; as though I can't tell myself that the jeans don't fit or can't tell you how they don't fit. I'm surprised she didn't insist on being in the room with us.
This time the size/color/length of jeans that fit Renee well last time was just a little off. Now what do you do when a pair of jeans is just slightly too big? You try the next size down, right? Well, Renee left the dressing room to do just that, then came back about five minutes later with something completely different; damn woman intercepted her and insisted she take something else instead, something Renee couldn't even get on. So I went out to get the next pair for her. Woman sees me at the shelves, all but flies over, "What happened???" "They're too small, I'm getting the next size up." And she all but throws herself at me, "Noooooo!!!! Let me do it!!!!"
Excuse me, why? Its not as though these jeans are behind a glass case. They're not in any special order, or any order at all. I can read fucking labels as well as you can. Or so you'd think. But every time I went out there, she intercepted me, wouldn't let me put the jeans back on the shelf myself, wouldn't let me grab another pair myself either. Way to justify your pay check.
Look, lady. We're big girls now. We can shop for ourselves and we can find our own pants without a grown up holding our hands the whole time. Now if we need your help then we'll call you over, okay? Otherwise, back. the. fuck. off!!!
At the very least Renee found jeans, jeans which we will treasure for all eternity.
What a miserable experience. However much I hate shopping for clothes, at least I don't have to go through this.