How We Fall Victim to the Whole Foods Scheme, and Why I Should Not Be Allowed to Go to Whole Foods Alone.

Here’s the problem when I go to Whole Foods.

It starts with the intent to get 1 or 2 things. Like my Quorn vegetarian chicken patties, which are shockingly usually cheapest at Whole Foods. But I believe that Whole Foods is wholly designed to suck people into their over-priced, hippie-stocked lair because, the second I step in there, I am overcome by the scent of fresh flowers, which are ALWAYS kept by the entrance. Then the invisible hands of the Whole Foods marketing monster pull me to the visually-stunning cornucopia of colorful organic foods, with pictures of the happy little field workers who picked them, which triggers my first world guilt and suddenly makes me some kind of fucking humanitarian who buys into the bullshit being spoonfed to me by the marketing geniuses at Whole Foods headquarters.

Whole-Foods

“Oh my god,” my inner voice says, “this avocado is from Chile, where they’ve provided worker Manuel, the father of 5, a home for his family, complete with clean running water?? Fuck yes I will buy this overpriced avocado and eat it with pride, and pat myself on the back because I paid a whole dollar more per avocado so that little Anita, Manuel’s daughter with Spina Bifida, can have the hope of someday walking. This is the avocado of the people! This is a mother fucking FREEDOM avocado! VIVA LA AVOCADO!”

And I will stock my basket with five avocados, one for each of Manuel’s kids, and turn to go to the frozen foods section to get my Quorn vegetarian chicken patties. But wait, what’s this in the refrigerated produce section? A box of colorful edible flowers? I don’t even know how I’m supposed to eat edible flowers, but they are beautiful shades of purple and magenta and yellow and I’ve never in my life wanted to shove colors in my face-hole like I want to right now. They have to be organic, right? I mean, Monsanto cannot possibly have cornered the market on pretty, edible flowers. In the basket they go.

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As I leave the produce section, daydreaming of eating purple, and finally headed to the freezer section, I pass my downfall: the beauty section.

I don’t know where Whole Foods procures their beauty section curators, but it’s like they scooped out the girliest part of my brain, which is essentially a Tiffany’s box full of lavender, butterflies, scented candles, rose water, pink ribbon, fluffy powder brushes, lip balms, lotion, beaded necklaces, peonies, and glitter, and just threw it at the shelves of their personal care section. So of course when I pass by it I’m like, “There’s the long lost part of my brain, let’s go see what it is up to!”, and I’m lost for another hour.

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But sometimes these detours seem destined, as on my most recent trip to the Whole Foods beauty section, I made my usual Stop ‘n’ Sniff-it-All trip to the fragrances where, as the name suggests, I proceed to stop and sniff every fragrance that they have. And on that particular trip, I found a new fragrance line I’d not heard of before. Tulip. And when I sniffed Tulip’s Mandarin Peony perfume, I almost fell over because it is an EXACT dupe for one of my favorite body sprays, Miso Pretty by Blu Q, which has been discontinued. And I would take a moment to point out that it is colossally stupid for a company to discontinue a cult favorite, if it weren’t for the fact that the reply email I received from them in response to my inquiry on it’s discontinuation weren’t so freaking sweet and personal. I wish she had written me back and been like, “Yeah, we got all you bitches hooked on smelling like peonies, and now you can go troll overpriced stationary stores and boutique pharmacies for another scent that you like half as much”, and then I’d go off on a rant about how my trips to Papyrus are now pointless because I’m not paying $20 for ONE sheet of wrapping paper.

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So as I stand there in the Whole Foods, having found a scent-dupe for my long-lost Miso Pretty, I see that the cost is $30. Which, of course a grocery store body spray is $30 when the grocery store at which it is sold is Whole Foods. All I’m saying is that Miso Pretty was, like, 15 bucks and knew it’s rank on the pricing ladder when it was nestled between a novelty cat butt air freshener and Knock Knock WTF Sticky Notes. But I guess when you’re shelf-adjacent to candles made from local beeswax and wooden necklaces that are SUPPOSEDLY made by African women who were saved from the sex trade, you can double your prices.

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See the problem with buying $30 body spray from Whole Foods when you just went for a box of vegetarian chicken patties, and you’re unemployed, is that your husband will be like, “I thought you were just going to get chicken patties?” and you’ll be like, “Well I saw this really great body spray that smells like another body spray that I loved, but that was discontinued….” and he’ll be like, “You know what else was discontinued? Your paychecks.”

Ok he won’t really say that, but he’s probably thinking it. I know I would be.

So I decide to do the RESPONSIBLE thing and text him to see if he minds if I buy it because I’m a fucking wife now and I have to be all “considerate of my life partners feelings.” And then when it’s been over 5 minutes since I texted him and he hasn’t even had the courtesy to reply, all I can do is sit there and stew in my own self-righteoussness and indignance and be like, “Well I am an adult, I don’t NEED his permission like he’s my dad or something. I contribute to this household in other ways and HE’S NOT THE BOSS OF ME!!!”. And so I whip out my phone to text, “You know what?? I’m buying it!!!” and realize that I never actually hit “send” after I typed out the first text.

So then I send it and, like, 30 second later he writes back, “Yeah babe, go for it 🙂 :)” and then I feel like a total fucking asshole because my husband is so sweet and supportive that he’ll let me buy ridiculously overpriced body spray when he’s floating my ass, AND he will give me two smiley faces at that.

And to make up for the fact that I hurled insults at him in my head, which he was never even aware of, I sail past the seafood section where I notice that shrimp is on special and I decide to buy him shrimp, because he loves it. And then since we are having a special dinner and I will be smelling all fancy like peonies, I decide we can’t have a nice dinner without a great bottle of wine. Unfortunately, Calm-ass Husband isn’t a wine drinker, which means I also have to grab him a bottle of overpriced microbrew.

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As I finally breeze towards the frozen foods section, satisfied that my selfish overspending of $30 on body spray is now balanced out by my additional overspending of beer, and shrimp that my husband will have to cook himself since I don’t cook it, I am drawn in by the heavenly aroma of rich coffee. It smells of fairly traded beans that were grown in the shade, and didn’t disrupt the habitat of birds. I decide that all of my hard work deserves to be rewarded with a mocha, and walk right up to the coffee counter, where some girl in her early twenties, dressed exactly like Rosie the Riveter, is waiting to make my coffee.

As I briefly toy with the idea of pointing out to her that Rosie the Riveter was propaganda that served to get women out of the home and into “men’s” jobs during the war, after which many of them were fired so men could take back over, thus relegating the women back to domestic life, or menial jobs, I decide to not say anything and just revel in the irony that this modern day Rosie is slinging coffee for “the man.” I step forward and ask, “What sort of milk alternatives do you have?”, and then immediately hate myself for sounding like someone who shops at Whole Foods for vegetarian chicken and $30 body spray. I order my almond milk mocha and make a mental note to later make a point to litter, or drive through McDonald’s, to counteract the douchiness that just flew out of my mouth.

I finally manage to grab my vegetarian chicken patties and make my way to the counter, where the cashier has the audacity to ask me if I want to donate $1 to whatever charity they’re pimping out at the moment. I smile and say, “No thank you, I already gave to Spina Bifida” and grandly gesture towards my 5 avocados. I then depart Whole Foods, $63 lighter and with a sense of confusion over what just happened to the $57 I wasn’t planning on spending that day.

Ah Whole Foods, you cunning wench.

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Trader Joe’s Magic Boner Pills: How Trader Joe’s Men’s Daily Multivitamins Will Cause Sleepless Nights

Calm-ass Husband is a good boy. Like – goody two-shoes kind of good. He went to boarding school in England, never really partied in his youth, has never done a drug in his life, and generally did as he was told.

I, on the other hand, was forced by the cold hand of my dictator mother to go to private Catholic school because apparently public schools are “too full of gang violence” and private schools offer “better college preparation,” blah blah blah. I was less than thrilled with this plan, especially given that it was a Catholic high school, and me and the big bald guy in the sky have an equal amount of belief in each other.

I know what you’re thinking, “But God has infinite power, why would He be bald? He’d just give Himself hair.” And now realizing that God can’t control his own balding is making you question your whole belief system, and everything you’ve ever held to be dear and true is crumbling beneath your feet.

Relax, that is the devil talking. God is not having male pattern baldness. He Bics it. For the ladies.

To give you an idea of my how my young mind worked at the tender age of 14 (which will also give you insight on how I got to be the way that I am now), I walked into my first day of school at this private Catholic institution and saw a note on the door to the science lab that said, “Jesus, please fix the science room faucets – they’re leaking.”

I immediately thought to myself, “Holy shit, they pray for EVERYTHING here!”.

It wasn’t until later that I learned that our mexican janitor’s name was Jesus.

Since I went to  private Catholic school with kids who had a lot of financial means, too much time on their hands, and minimal supervision, we did a shit load of drugs  I learned a lot about the drug culture through casual observation and careful avoidance.

Where is this all going?

Well lately the Calm-ass Husband has been cutely using the term “sticky icky” when he’s referring to something sticky. It sounds adorable falling from his innocent, supple lips. But because my high school had an abundance of drugs which we did constantly behind the church a good health curiculum, I am more familiar with drug terminology than CAH and I don’t have the heart to tell him that “sticky icky” is a pot reference.

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, they totally taught the term “sticky icky” in health class. They also taught us Grand Daddy Purp, turf, Biznack, rachet jaw, H Bombs, and Disco Biscuits. It was a very progressive health class and I’m frankly not completely convinced that some of those nuns didn’t confiscate drugs from the students purely to give themselves something to do later when they were kicking back at the nunnery.

Mom is so proud of all the money she invested in tuition for my private Catholic high schooling. But hey, I’m not in a gang!

Sadly, I am now old and my days of partying it up and having fun are long gone. Disco Biscuits have become multi-vitamins. Which leads me to my new discovery.

Bonerific

Bonerific

Trader Joe’s Men’s Daily Multivitamins. AKA: Trader Joe’s Boner Pills!

I started giving these to CAH because, now that I’m his wife, I have a new interest in things like, “cholesterol” and “prostrate health.” I cannot yet vouch for what these pills are doing for his cholesterol, but let me tell you about the most amazing side effect we discovered. Rather, you can read about it in the letter I wrote to the Trader Joe’s feedback email address:

Dear Trader Joe’s,

I bought my husband your Men’s Daily Multivitamin in the vain hope that I could convince him to throw one down his gullet when he remembered. He is terrible at taking pills, you see, and being newlyweds, I didn’t want to nag too hard. We wives like to gradually add the nagging a bit at a time, so as to ease our husbands into it.

Well, my husband has been taking your Men’s Daily Multi vitamins for two weeks now and, I don’t know what kind of magic super stud potion you all concocted over there, but ever since he’s been taking them regularly my husband has been, um, “Pitching tent” right and left. Much more so in the last two weeks than in the four years that we’ve been together. Needless to say, I don’t have to push him to take the vitamins now – he happily takes them on his own.

I can’t thank you enough. Seriously. Whatever mixture you have going into those pills, don’t stop. It is perfect as is. My only regret is that I didn’t get him those vitamins two months ago when I was reading the 50 Shades of Grey Trilogy. I vote that you change the name from “Men’s Daily Multi Vitamin” to, “Trader Joe’s Magic Boner Pills.”

Thank you again.

Love,

a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very happy wife.

I’m disappointed to note that Trader Joe’s has not gotten back to me on my rebranding idea, and I’ve noticed in the stores that the pills are still called Men’s Daily Multivitamins.

It’s a shame, really, because I do believe that they’d see an uptick in sales if they were to go ahead and rename them Trader Joe’s Magic Boner Pills.

P.S. CAH usually proofs these but I decided to not have him do so this time because he’d probably talk me out of this post, just like he talked me out of the one where I rattled on about how my vajay is my best feature. I want this post to be just as much of a surprise to him as it is to all of you. It keeps our marriage interesting and non-boring. Also, I think he dies a little inside every time I press “publish.” So here I go……

Making Deals with the Devil In Utero: AKA My Experience with Adult Acne and Accutane

I sold my liver to Accutane several years ago.

I know what you’re thinking, “Wait, isn’t it supposed to be your soul? And isn’t it supposed to be to the devil?”

Well technically, yes. Those who know me well know that my soul was sold a long time ago. Like, probably in-utero, since I would assume that the devil can foresee the future and so was just proactive in showing up for my soul:

Devil: Hey tiny fetus Wiseass Wife.

Fetus WAW: What the – are you my twin?

Devil: No, I’m the devil, but close. Hey look..ummmm….I can actually see the future and yours is grim. Like, you do some pretty fucked up shit.

Fetus WAW: Oh…..well can you give me a hint as to what I’m going to do?

Devil: Nah, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I did check with them upstairs to make sure you were actually supposed to come on down to earth, but they seemed pretty adamant. Something about some young guy you are going to woo into falling in love with you so that you can steal his youth essence and then terrorize him for the rest of your lives by asking him insane questions, like what human flesh tastes like. But, it looks like he’s not due to even be born for another uhhhh….(scanning clipboard)…6 1/2 years. So you’ll be looking for ways to bide your time until then.

Fetus WAW: Oh…ok…so what can I do?

Devil: Well you have two options. Option A is doing absolutely nothing: you’ll meet this guy, fall in love, terrorize him with insane questions until he eventually becomes unglued and retires to an underground bunker in the woods with nothing but automatic firearms and insane amounts of ammo. The kicker is that he is supposed to be the guy who invents time travel, but he doesn’t because he’s now insane, and so the entire course of time and the world is altered, which eventually causes mass chaos, death and destruction, blah blah blah

Fetus WAW: Oh shit. What is Option B?

Devil: You sell your soul to me and I will make sure that his own mom looks ten times more insane than you, so you will seem totally normal in comparison and he won’t feel the need to retire to an underground bunker.

Fetus WAW: Oh yeah Option B – let’s definitely go with that one.

Devil: Good choice.

Then he disappeared in a fiery smoke cloud, causing my mom to think it was just a touch of pregnancy indigestion. But no mom. It was your tiny little fetus baby, making deals with the devil. MWAHAHAHAHA

Demonic baby

Demonic baby

Back to Accutane. So when I was a young adult I got terrible acne. I’m assuming some sort of karmic payback for the beautiful alabaster skin that carried me through high school. It got bad and I tried everything. EVERYTHING. Proactiv, dietary changes, every skin care collection known to man, peels, regular facials. None of it mattered. Then my doctor put me on a drug called Minocycline, which gave me a pseudo-tumor on my brain.

A pseudo-tumor, for most who don’t know, is when fluid accumulates on your brain and makes it think you have a tumor. It also accumulates around the nerves in your eyes, which causes vision problems. This is how I knew something was up. I assumed I needed glasses, so I went to an optometrist:

Optometrist: So we are going to do a quick eye exam

Me: OK great.

Optometrist: (looking in my eye with that light thingy) OK you need to go to the emergency room immediately

Me: Will that get me my glasses quicker?

So turns out the way they take fluid off your brain is by draining it out of your spine with a spinal tap. That’s right – that is a real thing. Not just a band.

Also, when you get a spinal tap, they don’t tell you that you are going to later puke your guts out. But you are.

So after that little mishap, my doctors decided to finally put me on Accutane. While it doesn’t give you pseudo-tumors, it’s common side effects include: liver damage, high cholesterol, severe birth defects, and SUICIDE! But then I read the glowing reviews and how chronic acne sufferers saw results within a few weeks and was like, “Yes – definitely sign me up for that. Totally worth a dead liver and gimpy babies.”

The insert of Accutane package

The insert of Accutane package

Accutane comes in a bubble pack, and over every single dose of Accutane is a picture of a pregnant woman, with the circle and slash mark through it:

the wiseass wife

And I’m not even lying, within 3 days my skin was totally cleared up and glowing. It was beautiful once again.

The thing about Accutane is that it kills your oil glands. Which I guess must have been what was causing my horrible acne. And that makes sense – I had terribly oily skin.

The cool side effect of Accutane that they don’t tell you – you can LITERALLY go an entire week without washing your hair and it does not get oily in the least little bit! If you get a blowout, it looks just as amazing on day 7! Unfortunately that stops when you stop taking the Accutane.

BUT still, it has been 7 years since taking Accutane for a six month course, and I may occasionally get one tiny pimple right before my period, but that is it.

I’ve also developed eczema and increasing joint pain since taking Accutane, and I later learned that Accutane can also cause eczema and arthritis. But to be fair, arthritis runs in my family, so I won’t completely blame Accutane. And I’d honestly rather deal with a little eczema on my elbows and arms than horrible acne on my face. Maybe I’m vain, but I don’t even care.

My only regret is that, as a tiny unborn fetus, I didn’t have the foresight to at least haggle with the devil to include “amazing lifelong skin” in that whole soul-selling deal.

Athena Hohenberg, the Nutella Nitwit, Sues Nutella for Not Being Healthy

Athena Hohenberg, you are a twit and everything that is wrong with this country. And shame on you for smearing the name of Nutella; the very delicious spread that myself and fellow Pinterest pinners alike put in just about everything?

If you have not heard by now, Athena Hohenerg, AKA the Nutella Nazi, brought a class-action lawsuit against these chocolate-hazelnut angels because they tricked her delicate dumb-as-bricks mind into believing that Nutella was good for children.

Nutella’s parent company Ferrero USA, Inc. has been ordered to cough-up over $3 million, with over $2 million to be given to consumers who file a claim. According to the New York Daily News:

As part of the settlement, anyone in the U.S. who purchased Nutella between January 1, 2008 and February 3, 2012 (or for Calif. residents between August 1, 2009 and January 23, 2012) can file a claim. People can claim their purchases until July 5, 2012 and expect $4 for a single purchase and up to 5 jars for a maximum award of $20 per household.

Apparently Miss Hohenberg decided on a class-action lawsuit against the Nutella makers because she saw an advertisement that implied that Nutella should be incorporated as part of a healthy breakfast, but then was horrified to learn that, in fact, it was (gasp) a sugary chocolate spread. Unfortunately she found this out after she had been dosing her kid with a daily breakfast consisting of Nutella. Apparently she lacked the intelligence to, uh, I don’t know, turn over the jar and read the ingredients label.

And this twit is parenting a child?

Well this is one Californian who is not only going to decline my right to a Nutella claim, but I will buy MORE! Because I love you Nutella, and all of your chocolatey, hazelnut-y, sugary goodness. You will adorn my cupcakes, grace my pancakes, and when I am PMS’ing, be shoveled into my mouth full-bore like the antidote to aging. VIVA LA NUTELLA! NUTELLA STRONG!

Products I Love: Flight 001 | EMERGENCY DRINKS POUCH

CAH knows me well and decided to surprise me with this adorable makeup bag. He found this awesome store near his office in San Fran, Flight 001. If you are a frequent traveler, this is the store for you. You can order online, or if you are in the SF area, you must go in and take a look around.

He surprised me with this Pamela Barsky makeup bag and I am beyond thrilled to flash this feisty little bag around. It is a great size and made of a thick, durable canvas.

With other cheeky pouches such as the “period!” period pouch, the “my lipstick is redder than your lipstick” pouch, and the “don’t disrespect art” pouch, there is literally something for everyone. She also has an assortment of easy-to-spot luggage tags that will help distinguish your red or black bag from the sea of red and black bags on the luggage carousel. Definitely a must for the jet-set lifestyle!

Adorable Flight 001 Gift Bag

Adorable Flight 001 Gift Bag

Pamela Barsky Pouch

Pamela Barsky Pouch

ABEEGO Review Part 1 – Reusable Plastic Wrap and Sandwich Baggie Alternative

I am so excited! Today I received my ABEEGO – Reusable Plastic Wrap and Sandwich Baggie Alternative today! I learned about ABEEGO reusable food storage systems when I was flipping through a magazine on a work trip. I don’t remember the exact magazine, but it was one of my usual crunchy, granola hippy-bitch mags. When I saw these little gems I got really excited and could not wait to try them. But life happened and I lagged, and now here we are, several months later and I have my wraps but cannot remember where I read about them.

ABEEGOs are a reusable food storage products that are made of a blend of beeswax, tree resin and jojoba oil and infused into fabric made of hemp and cotton. Because of the wax, resin and oil blend, the ABEEGOs are malleable, yet will become slightly adhesive when it reaches room temperature. Once put in the fridge, the cold from the fridge will cause it to stiffen and hold the form you created. The coatings on the ABEEGO are fluid and air resistant so they help keep the food fresh.

I am very excited to give these a try and will post a review once I have had a few days to take them for a spin!

ABEEGO – original food storage –.