Jeneration X: One Reluctant Adult's Attempt to Unarrest Her Arrested Development; Or, Why It's Never Too Late for Her Dumb Ass to Learn Why Froot Loops Are Not for Dinner by Jen Lancaster
Authors: Jen Lancaster
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the thirteen-inch bitch division. I’m not sure if the manufacturer was trying to be funny or if the event organizer screwed up, but it is clear from the beagle’s generous undercarriage that
this is no bitch
and a shelf theme is born.
(Do I need to clarify the theme is “trophy” and not “transgender”?)
Six months after beginning the process, I finally collect enough pieces to fill in the empty shelves downstairs, supplementing my trophies with loads of vintage books. Of course, whenever I check out with an armload of novels, the cashier is perpetually delighted. She’s always all, “Ooh! You must be a huge reader!” and I never have the heart to tell her that I hand select each novel solely based on their red spines.
I know, I know.
I’m ashamed.
But they match the drapes!
I’ve slowly been adding pieces to the shelf in the TV room upstairs, too. Even though we’re not terribly athletic, [
Like, at all.
] I thought vintage sporting equipment would be a fun theme. I envision displays of tattered velvet equestrian helmets and fencing masks and those old-timey leather football helmets, kind of like a fraternity house basement circa 1940, or a T.G.I. Friday’s minus the shitty food.
Thus far, I’ve sourced a couple of vintage baseballs and some scruffy croquet balls, but that’s it. The process of unearthing these treasures has been exhausting and frustrating, particularly when Isee something great but it’s cost prohibitive. [
$450 for an old-timey football helmet? No.
] My shelves sit white and open, leering at me.
As always, Stacey shows me the way.
“What about eBay?” she asks.
I grimace. I have such bad memories of eBay. “What about it? I hate eBay. eBay’s where I had to sell all my designer stuff back in the bad old days. Far as I’m concerned, eBay sucks. It’s nothing but a bunch of crooks in China trying to sell knock-off purses, ruining it for the rest of us by driving down the prices for those looking to unload
authentic
bags to keep their lights on.”
Stacey opens her laptop. “What would you like me to find?”
Really?
Do we have to go through this?
“They’re not going to have what I want.”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to search for… ‘vintage bowling trophy’ and… hey. You certainly wouldn’t be interested in this.” Stacey attempts—and fails—at keeping the smug out of her voice.
I try not to appear interested because I hate admitting Stacey’s right, even though that’s the case at least ninety-nine percent of the time and the entire basis of our friendship. “What wouldn’t I like?”
“A giant silver-handled loving cup from 1917, awarded to the men of Delta Tau Delta to commemorate their second-place finish in the Inter-fraternity Bowling League.” She turns the screen to face me.
Oh. [
Were I to express myself in such a manner—which I won’t—this is where I’d say that I got ladywood.
]
Welcome to eBay.
eBay is a fine place to unload your Prada bag when you’re in a desperate situation and it’s exactly what the doctor ordered when searching for a specific item, say an authentic 1965 edition of the game Mystery Date. eBay is a very, very bad place to go if you’re a hypercompetitive asshole with a penchant for spite bidding.
Try to guess which category I fall under.
It all starts innocently enough—like it does—when I spot the perfect old-timey football helmet at an attractive price. I meet the minimum bid and set a reasonable ceiling and then spend a few days watching the nonexistent auction action. But as I sleep, a bidding war breaks out between me and some douche bag named a********7, who wins my stupid helmet for a dollar more than my bid ceiling.
Unacceptable.
At the exact same time, I lose out on a vintage blue ribbon from a horse show as well as a set of leather riding calf protectors that seem like something Ronald Reagan would have worn in a film.
Revolution.
I begin to note auction endings in my calendar and instead
this is no bitch
and a shelf theme is born.
(Do I need to clarify the theme is “trophy” and not “transgender”?)
Six months after beginning the process, I finally collect enough pieces to fill in the empty shelves downstairs, supplementing my trophies with loads of vintage books. Of course, whenever I check out with an armload of novels, the cashier is perpetually delighted. She’s always all, “Ooh! You must be a huge reader!” and I never have the heart to tell her that I hand select each novel solely based on their red spines.
I know, I know.
I’m ashamed.
But they match the drapes!
I’ve slowly been adding pieces to the shelf in the TV room upstairs, too. Even though we’re not terribly athletic, [
Like, at all.
] I thought vintage sporting equipment would be a fun theme. I envision displays of tattered velvet equestrian helmets and fencing masks and those old-timey leather football helmets, kind of like a fraternity house basement circa 1940, or a T.G.I. Friday’s minus the shitty food.
Thus far, I’ve sourced a couple of vintage baseballs and some scruffy croquet balls, but that’s it. The process of unearthing these treasures has been exhausting and frustrating, particularly when Isee something great but it’s cost prohibitive. [
$450 for an old-timey football helmet? No.
] My shelves sit white and open, leering at me.
As always, Stacey shows me the way.
“What about eBay?” she asks.
I grimace. I have such bad memories of eBay. “What about it? I hate eBay. eBay’s where I had to sell all my designer stuff back in the bad old days. Far as I’m concerned, eBay sucks. It’s nothing but a bunch of crooks in China trying to sell knock-off purses, ruining it for the rest of us by driving down the prices for those looking to unload
authentic
bags to keep their lights on.”
Stacey opens her laptop. “What would you like me to find?”
Really?
Do we have to go through this?
“They’re not going to have what I want.”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to search for… ‘vintage bowling trophy’ and… hey. You certainly wouldn’t be interested in this.” Stacey attempts—and fails—at keeping the smug out of her voice.
I try not to appear interested because I hate admitting Stacey’s right, even though that’s the case at least ninety-nine percent of the time and the entire basis of our friendship. “What wouldn’t I like?”
“A giant silver-handled loving cup from 1917, awarded to the men of Delta Tau Delta to commemorate their second-place finish in the Inter-fraternity Bowling League.” She turns the screen to face me.
Oh. [
Were I to express myself in such a manner—which I won’t—this is where I’d say that I got ladywood.
]
Welcome to eBay.
eBay is a fine place to unload your Prada bag when you’re in a desperate situation and it’s exactly what the doctor ordered when searching for a specific item, say an authentic 1965 edition of the game Mystery Date. eBay is a very, very bad place to go if you’re a hypercompetitive asshole with a penchant for spite bidding.
Try to guess which category I fall under.
It all starts innocently enough—like it does—when I spot the perfect old-timey football helmet at an attractive price. I meet the minimum bid and set a reasonable ceiling and then spend a few days watching the nonexistent auction action. But as I sleep, a bidding war breaks out between me and some douche bag named a********7, who wins my stupid helmet for a dollar more than my bid ceiling.
Unacceptable.
At the exact same time, I lose out on a vintage blue ribbon from a horse show as well as a set of leather riding calf protectors that seem like something Ronald Reagan would have worn in a film.
Revolution.
I begin to note auction endings in my calendar and instead
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