Another Thing I Never Check

I am on a role right now about my foibles!

In case you were wondering, I do not consistently check to see where the parts necessary for my auto repairs are made, even though I have chastised Luke for not checking where the windshield wipers he bought were made.

When I was completely and utterly out of oil while down the shore over the summer, I couldn't care less where the oil was made, so long as I could get enough of it into my car to keep the engine from seizing while I drove back and pondered where the hell all the oil went.

We've checked a few things, such as the new sensors for my Saturn, and even bought the more expensive gas cap to stop a vacuum seal leak because the cheaper one was made in China.

Yet when it comes to taking our cars to the mechanic, I do not ask him to find out the origins of whatever part I need.

I don't know that I am able to justify why this is. I don't think that it is out of embarrassment, I've certainly done a lot of that during this boycott. Maybe it is out of a sheer desire to get out of the mechanics as quickly as possible while spending as little money as possible. Maybe it is a realization that we can't afford to replace two cars right now and that makes these repairs an "emergency".

Whatever the reasons are, I took Luke's car in for an oil change on Friday only to learn that it needs a catalytic converter seal and a new exhaust pipe. When this work is done on Tuesday, I will have no idea where the parts were made, and even though I have plenty of time to call and ask before the work is done, I know I will not do so.

The Origins of Edamame

Apparently Saturday night was my turn to cook dinner, a task I've come to loath even more now that I moved back home and the kitchen is a shared domain. I further loath having to cook when I am really hungry, as my brain shuts down and is completely incapable of making intelligent decisions about what constitutes a well balanced meal (What do you mean Dairy Queen blizzards don't make a great dinner?).

This particular evening I decided to make shrimp, with brown rice and edamame. All I really wanted were chocolate brownies, a side of ice cream and maybe some edamame on the side, for protein. Edamame,in case you didn't know, is a fancy name for soybeans. They are often served in Japanese Restaurants and are wonderful steamed with sea salt sprinkled on top (Wonderturtle introduced me to them and we're a great match).

Re-reading this post, my meal sounds rather healthy. However, since it is blog worthy, there must be a problem.

The problem here is not the freezer burnt shrimp imported from Thailand, nor the 90 second microwave in the bag, Uncle Ben's brown rice with enough sodium to keep me afloat in a freshwater lake. The problem is the delicious Edamame purchased at my local Shoprite, by me, and, oh, that's right, MADE IN CHINA!

Never, ever did it cross my mind to check the origins of my frozen food!

This might seem ridiculous, given the fact that the garlic we used to buy in Chicago came from China; however, it truly never crossed my bleary, "I hate grocery shopping, even though this is probably easier than hunting a woolly mammoth for dinner", mind, to see where the food I eat at an Asian restaurant is made.

By all rights I had to return the food to the store and get my money back, if that was even possible.

I did not return it though. I continued to cook dinner, microwaved the Edamame instead of steaming it and instead fumed about how ridiculous it was to check where everything you want to buy is made.

Dinner was lousy, by the way. There's not much you can do, that I'm aware of, to make freezer burnt shrimp taste, well, even edible. Luke claims it was good but I suspect he was trying to end an earlier argument and was relived that he wasn't the one cooking tonight.

We had Dairy Queen Blizzards for dessert. I don't know where the contents of my blizzard were made and I didn't ask!

I wonder if all Edamame comes from China, or just the store versions. I sure do love to eat it.

Candy Bras

Last month my sister and I went to an adult store in Maine. This may be too much information for some people, but I don't see the big deal, besides, if this is too much information, you've probably skipped a lot of my blog altogether!

At any rate, I rarely say anything positive about my miserable existence in Chicago, BUT, that frozen tundra has terrific adult stores (my favorites include Tulip and The Pleasure Chest, if you are curious.)

Condom Sense has a catchy name, an ok website, and a fabulous location on the cobbled streets of Portland, Maine. They even have a few items made in America, such as the edible, glow in the dark body paint. I was even tempted to replace my long mourned Silver Bullet with a knock -off version that failed to list where it was made (Alas, however, the knock-off versions were missing some key features of the real Silver Bullet and remained in the store).

What most intrigued me about the experience though, aside from the lone salesperson who refused to get off the phone and assist curious, spend happy customers, were the candy bras and underwear.

I've seen these items before our boycott and never purchased them, for practical reasons, of course...they don't look the slightest bit comfortable. If you've never seen a candy bra before, imagine the colorful, Cheerio like candy bracelets you'd get as a kid, the kind on a flimsy string which would sometimes get caught between your teeth as you'd try to bite off your favorite sugary sweet color first. Unfortunately doing this usually resulted in you biting the crappy yellow "bead" next to the one you wanted while simultaneously creating a huge pool of drool careening down your chin and wrist.

Now imagine that same concept turned into a "bra" and, or underwear. Hot huh?

Good thing they are made in China and had to stay in the store. It saved me from trying to think of reasons why pools of sticky drool in "delicate places" were not a good idea! Monistat might like the end result, but I wouldn't!