Millennial Mamasaurus

saving time, money, and sanity one day at a time.

July’s BarkBox – Try a Month for Free!

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Part of being busier than a mosquito at a nudist colony is finding ways to save time on menial tasks.  No easy job, suckas.  We have a new puppy who is rapidly chewing through every toddler toy in the playroom.  I need a zillion toys for this guy, but getting out of the house involves putting on a bra and pants… so I avoid that as often as possible.  On our most recent trip to the pet store, I only grabbed four puppy toys, nothing fancy, and it cost $55.00!  Dude, that’s a lot of money for something my dog is gonna destroy in a week.  Note: he’s a 3-month-old Doberman.

Enter: BarkBox!

My sister has two big dogs that are relatively young and active.  She recommended BarkBox so I gave it a shot.  When you use my link you can try the first month free!  One month is only $21 (when you sign up for a full year) for the most basic subscription, but you can add on and alter your plan to suit your poochie needs.  Because we have two dogs, I added on an extra toy each month.  A basic subscription will include three treats and two toys – choose the size of your dog, dietary restrictions, and even get more durable toys for more aggressive play.  This month’s theme we received an Alice in Wonderland themed box and they loved everything in it!

barkbox

Alice in Wonderland BarkBox

SO MANY TOYS!

toy1

Mad Hatter Hat

This hat has a crinkly plastic in the body of it, and the whole top of the hat is one giant squeaker.  It’s holding up well!

toy2

Squeaky Cake

Udo yanked this out of the box while I was trying to take pictures, so clearly he enjoyed this stuffed, squeaky cake.  It’s been over a week, and they’ve yanked a bit of the brown fluff off the side.  Aside from that, it’s still intact and they haven’t ripped it open.

toy3

Cheshire Cat Ball

This is their least favorite toy, and they jacked it up a bit within a few minutes.  It’s a rigid plastic ball (think soda bottle material) with a smaller ball in it that clunks around.  The bigger ball isn’t super thick, so they crushed it right away.

Tasty Treats

The treats from BarkBox aren’t made from junk – they’ll never contain wheat, corn or soy.  You can also choose treats for dogs with common allergies (no additional charge for the allergy-friendly treats) so the treats will not contain chicken, turkey or beef.

treat1

Burger Chew

The pups gobbled this thing up.  Not gonna lie, it looks wildly unappetizing, but I’m not a dog, so what do I know, right?  I had the dogs share this thing because it’s kind of big.  Udo has a sensitive stomach because he’s a puppy and hasn’t encountered too much yet, but Panzer has a cast iron stomach.

treat2

Queen of Barks Treats

These cheesy treats are definitely going to please your pooch.  They aren’t greasy or smelly, so I’m happy to let our little guy feed his puppers, knowing they won’t pin him down to lick his fingers later.

treat3

Pork and Beet Treats

Again, not greasy, and the pups love ’em.  Nothing from BarkBox has rattled Udo’s sensitive tummy, so I’m 849438% pleased with these.

Is it worth it?

Remember when I said my trip to the pet store was $55?  Yeah, I paid $25 for this box.  That’s the price per box for a six month subscription.  We have the extra toy because we signed up during a promo period.  So far, these toys aren’t falling apart, but we just upgraded to a Heavy Chewer box for August.  There is no upcharge for the more durable toys, but I don’t know quite how durable they’ll be.  There’s also a Super Chewer option that does incur an upcharge, but those toys are even more intense.  So for around $4 per item for treats and toys, I’d say I made out like a bandit, right?  Plus, getting a toddler in and out of the car TOTALLY BLOWS.  Add in a puppy who is afraid of everything and will refuse to walk in the store, I’d sign up for this all day every day.  I totally vote yes!

dog says yes

Udo approves!

Use my link to try a free month of BarkBox to see if your doggo will love it.  No harm, no foul, right?  IT’S FREAKIN’ FREE.  At the very least, if your pooch hates it, take everything to your local shelter – they’ll put it to good use!

Working from Home Isn’t All It’s Cracked up to Be

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Y’all, I’ve worked a quite the variety of jobs over the last 15 years, and something really grinds my gears.  When I indicate that two of my three current jobs are working from home, I hear all the time, “Oh, but then that’s like a day off.”

YO.  YOU STUPID.

Lemme walk you through a standard day.

Get the fuck up RIGHT NOW.

Because I’m the one with the flexible schedule, I’m the one getting up 83289 times a night with the new puppy whose bladder is slightly larger than a grape but definitely smaller than a cherry tomato.  Kid wakes up?  Yeah, I get up with him, too.  So don’t even PRETEND that I get infinite hours of sleep and you’re like a celebrity hospitalized for exhaustion and need some Ambien.  I’ll classify six hours of intermittent rest as a “very good” night.  Don’t count on having more than two consecutive hours of sleep.  It won’t happen.

clock

I’ll wake up at least 6 times tonight for trips that require wearing pants.

Everyone needs to pee right away.

I have a toddler and two dogs – one of them a puppy, as I’ve indicated.  When they all decide it’s time to pee, I hold my bladder and handle everyone else first.  Alright, they’ve all peed, fresh diaper, get breakfast going for everyone.  NOT THAT SIPPY!  FUCK, MA, YOU KNOW I ONLY WANT THE ORANGE AND BLUE SIPPY.  Sure, I’m a dick, okay, switch sippies, dogs have peed, now I can pee.  Come out of the bathroom, great, someone shit.  Alright, send the dogs out, pick up the turd, clean the carpet, scrub my hands, let the dogs in.  Dogs are situated, Goobie is almost done with breakfast, so I have 18 seconds to wolf down a meal before he starts screaming to get out of his chair.  Swallow an entire bowl of cereal in one gulp out of necessity, and it’s time to get out of the chair.  Word.

Don’t EVEN think about making him wear pants.

Do y’all have kids?  If you don’t, you know understand the inane things that trigger a toddler.  I swear on my child, today he was LIVID when I told him he wasn’t allowed to play with ashes.  Yup, don’t eat those and please don’t put them in your shoes buddy, that’s GROSS.  So he hated me.  Just block out at least one solid hour a day dedicated to arguing with a tiny dictator.

temper

You see a lot of this at our house.

Any attempt to work will be thwarted swiftly.

Alright, he has socks on so we’ll count that as dressed.  Everyone has eaten, dogs are sleeping, bribing the toddler with television, time to crack open the laptop.  ….What’s that smell?  Don’t even fucking question it, I know that smell.  Alright, screw work, let’s go change your diaper.  COOL, NO WIPES.  WHY AREN’T THERE ANY WIPES?!  Real life scenario today:  kid pooped so much corn and assortment of nuts, plus the s’mores we had for dessert… and zero wipes.  Thankfully, I have a clean ass because I use butt wipes myself.  I snagged a few wipes from the bathroom hoping that two will be enough for this nuclear fallout, and make a mental note to fart in my husband’s face while he’s sleeping for using up the wipes and not telling me.  Clean ass, dressed, back to business.  Oh good, dog pee.  Housebreaking is the worst, y’all.  Send the dogs out, clean the pee, let the dogs in.  Still haven’t gotten any work done… continue this cycle for at least 3 hours.

Did I mention my dog is stupid?

My dog is awful and runs away daily ever since we lost our first dog to kidney failure.  Chalk up another hour dedicated to chasing him down and never leaving him unattended.

Puppies

These are actually my dogs, Panzer and Udo.

Boys are messy.

Everyone in his house has a dong except my and the bird, and she’s not helpful.  So I need to spend a minimum of two hours a day cleaning up pee, smelly clothes, dirty dishes that never got put in the sink, anything you can possibly track in on your shoes, toys that don’t get put away, scrubbing floors, toilets and windows, I mean, people, no lie, I vacuum twice a day and my house looks like A HOT MESS.  Still no work done.

Hubby’s home, so I can finally work.

JK.  NO!  Now it’s time for family time and dinner!  I was honestly trying to get work done all day today, and I didn’t get to sit in my office until 10pm.  Really!  “Oh, but you can work while your kid sleeps.”  NOPE.  He sleeps like he’s 35.  He wants 7-8 hours at night and his naps are never longer than an hour.  That time is for NECESSITIES like making sure the dishes and clothes are clean.  Sucks, right?

busser

At least it’s not this bad, right?

Please hire me a housekeeper.

Please.  Jesus knows I need one.  So while I work from my office nearing midnight after attempting to work for over 12 hours today, I have slightly more than nothing accomplished, a lot of poop cleaned up, a sink full of dirty dishes, and not enough wine to cope with my day.  Ugh, I think I can probably round up a beer.

The Lost Art of Gift Giving

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Yo, my husband is BAD at giving gifts.  BAD.  If you’re ever thinking, “Great, another kitchen utensil… just what I wanted,” you need to re-read this post and you’ll feel better about that snazzy new wire whisk.

Gift A

We used to live in an old house with a crumbling foundation.  Our first home together was owned by a disbarred judge who no longer lived in it.  She came from money, made some more money, married money… she has money.  My husband’s first job was working for her and she owns loads of property.  When it came time to move in together, he went to her, knowing she had plenty of options in our desired area.  We couldn’t afford the options she showed us, so she offered us her own home for what we could afford.  It was a huge house for a young couple; over 5000 square feet on seven acres.  Our driveway was actually zoned as a street because it was so long.  We lived in the woods overgrown so thick, the road wasn’t visible from the house.  Super cozy, exposed beams, a few fireplaces, entire house clad in cedar with a shake roof, view of the deer drinking from the pond with our geese nesting on the island… friggin’ cute.  Maybe our 2nd Christmas in the house… we’ve been together at least three years at this point… y’all, he was SO PROUD of what he snagged me for Christmas.  It was a 3-feet long box that was pretty heavy and rattled.  Unless I’m getting a Flava Flav clock necklace, I’m not getting jewelry.

Christmas morning came and I had to rip that sucker open, because I could NOT figure this shit out.  IT WAS FIREPLACE TOOLS.  No lie, the friggin’ stand with the pokey thing and the shovel for ashes… but no pail for ashes, of course.  LIKE BRO, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?  We lived in that house maybe one more year, and since then haven’t had a fireplace.  So… cool.

fireplace

Oh thanks, can’t wait to forge you a new knife.

Gift B

After we had been together for five years or so, we were talking about what we wanted in a marriage, a realistic time frame to get married so our families could attend despite a possible out-of-state school scenario, discussing a future together that included grad school, children, how close we wanted to stay to family… you know, real stuff.  Enter the Christmas gift one more time.  This ding dong tells me, no lie, “I need to give you your present before Christmas so you can show it to our families on Christmas Eve and Christmas.”  DUH, everyone knows what that means.  Except for hubs.  Bro, IT WAS A COAT FROM TJMAXX.  Now, bitches love the Maxx.  Check my bank statements for proof.  But a wool coat is NOT something I need to show to our freaking families.

pea coat

This is how I looked showing off my coat on Christmas day.

Gift C

This is more recent.  We’re now married with a son, and I have zero qualms about sharing how this is NOT his thing.

Oh, wait, I never mentioned how AMAZING I am at giving gifts.  It’s not money.  Fuck the money.  I mean, my shit is so damn meaningful.  Like he was always in love with bulldogs, and I had a tiny Italian Greyhound.  He eventually fell in love with Schatzi, so I rescued another Italian Greyhound for him for his birthday one year.  I gave him a BABY for his 30th birthday.  I planned on taking him motorcycle shopping, but had that positive pregnancy test on the morning of his birthday, and allocated that money for hospital bills.  Our son is two and that damn bill is still not paid in full.  I arrange for experiences and real sneaky-like get in touch with his boss to arrange for him to have the day off of work.  I’m good.

Ok, back to the most recent turd gift.  Remember when I talked about the drywall anchors in this post, and that I was nervous about him spending time in the garage with his power tools for a Valentine’s Day present?  Y’all, I never told you what it was!  Now you get to know:  a dry erase board.  It was a dry erase board for my business.  A freaking TAX WRITE-OFF is not my idea of romance.  I have no clue why he was in the garage, why power tools were necessary, why it took several hours… And you know what?  He even asked, because he knows he’s terrible, “This is a good gift, right?”  He seriously thought he finally got it right.  I had to pretend.  I told him it was good.  Oh, this poor guy.  He really means well.

dry erase board

Except mine was tiny and only had one marker.

I don’t wanna hear it.

The next time you complain to me that you got the wrong color stone in your necklace, I’m gonna shake you.  I’m gonna yank that necklace off your body, slap an ash shovel in your hands, and call us even.

I’ve traumatized too many innocent families.

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Guys, this shit was embarrassing, but I’ll share it, because that’s my job here.

Who doesn’t like water parks?

I convinced my then-boyfriend (now the hubs) to go to an amusement park with me – can you believe he is not a fan?  Well, he wasn’t.  He is now.  Anywho, we had to drive pretty far to get to this one we planned for, because we wanted a park with an enormous water park.  That was part of the deal – he doesn’t love amusement parks, so we needed a giant water park included.  Deal.  No problem.  I love water slides; I can handle that compromise.

So you’ve been to these places, right?

water park

We know this place, right?

Well, they’re cooler than they used to be, thanks to everyone’s new favorite ride – a surfing simulator.  One of the big brands is called Flowrider – ya know what I’m talking about?  I’d love to show ya, but I can’t find a FREAKING IMAGE FREE TO USE, so you’re stuck with my descriptors.  P.S. – don’t just take any image off Google for commercial use, cuz that’s not legal.

Time to paint the picture.

I used to like my body a lot more before I made a small human, so I was wearing a bikini, and all of our clothes were jammed into lockers.  We waited patiently in line for the surfing thingie, laughing at everyone who failed miserably and wiped out.  We even wagered on our own potential success!  I figured I had a decent chance of smashing the hubs, because I have great balance (despite being SO clumsy) and I can navigate a snowboard down an intermediate hill.  Hubs went first.  Didn’t wipe out, but he pretty much got pushed to the side right away and his turn was over quickly.  I was next… and it was so bad.

I was SO GOOD at getting onto the wave and staying there!  Didn’t wipe out right away!  Most people got pushed out by the jets and never had the opportunity to attempt anything.  I looked up to neener-neener in dude’s face because I clearly won the bet… and it all went downhill from there.

I got BLASTED out of the stupid wave simulator, blown out of there, like a category four hurricane whipping around a poor little dolly left outside in the storm.  Alright, so my turn ended a bit dramatically.  But you know what happens in a hurricane?  It’s way more violent than debris getting tossed around.  I had to find my board to turn into the lifeguards operating the ride.  I stood up to begin my search… friggin’ naked.

FUCK MY LIFE, GUYS.

I have no idea where my swim suit went.  This stupid ride is surrounded by hedges and that dang heap of metal that forms the layout for the line.  I have to STRADDLE MY NAKED LEGS over the metal bars like Hulk Hogan squeezing between the ropes to hop in the ring so I can go hunting for my God-forsaken bottoms and give everyone a good show of my sausage wallet.  There is NO GOOD WAY to keep yourself covered up while you have to climb.  So you just don’t.  I dig my bikini bottoms out of some shrubs and manage to get those on, but still need to find my top.  Meanwhile, my park guest is holding his face in shame, NOT EVEN HELPING HIS STRIPPED GIRLFRIEND END HER MISERY because he’s too embarrassed.  HE’S EMBARRASSED?!  Guy, my bearded clam is out on parade in front of young children and YOU’RE THE MISERABLE ONE HERE?!  Shit.

You guys, keep in mind, this is a friggin’ spectator ride.  People love watching this one because the wipeouts are so colossal.  There are a minimum of 80 people looking directly at my naked ass.

Okay, now I need to find my top.  Shit.  Where is it?  Behind the shrubs, oh, good, because Jesus knows these eight-year-old children in line need to see me climb over more things while my Bahama Mamas dangle on display.  Hop over the line barricade again, and I duck behind the shrubs to grab my top and put it on.  Jehovah God almighty, please let me just die back here.  OH, NO, HERE COMES YOUR STUPID BOYFRIEND, HE’S READY FOR MORE RIDES.  Asshole.

I got some funny looks for the rest of the day.

Having a handful of big tattoos, I have some pretty distinguishing marks that made my bare body easy to identify.  Ugh.  I made our stay in the waterpark end as quickly as I possibly could, and we went back to the main park with rides that REQUIRE CLOTHES.

Helpful hint.

Wear a one-piece swim suit, or better yet, a 3-piece men’s suit complete with bow tie when riding at a water park.  I mean, even shorts wouldn’t have saved me.  Just… learn through me.  Save yourself.

English as a Second Language

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Idioms are hard.

I mean, everything is hard when you’re learning a second language.  Make that language English, and you’re bound to have trouble.  English has the worst rules, and it’s difficult to determine whether to follow or break them.  Did you take a foreign language in high school?  You learned cases – in my instance, I learned German.  German has four cases: nominative, accusative, dative and genitive.  I WAS BAFFLED.  Where does this come from?  Do we have this in English?  Turns out yes, but it wasn’t taught this way.  So when you ask an American for help with your English, it’s tricky, because most Americans don’t learn the actual structure of the language.

My family is off the boat.

On my mom’s side, I’m 2nd generation American.  My sisters and I grew up with a very strong love for tradition and heritage, and are proud of that.  Trips to Grandma and Grandpa’s house are always something to look forward to – but I gotta say it’s mostly because of Grandma and Grandpa.  Grandpa is… difficult.  And Grandma is a saint for tolerating him.  Really.  We don’t know how they’ve made it… shoot, 60 years this fall, I believe.  Their banter is seriously gold in terms of comedic value, but the gems we hold onto forever are Grandpa’s idioms.  He doesn’t have the best grasp on the English language, and we love him more because of it.

Please integrate these into your daily speech.  For the love of baby Jesus, please.

Go suck a flower.

This is an insult.  It means to get lost, because you’re really pissing him off.

Fallopian fish

Synonym for tilapia.  Be sure to use this when ordering in a restaurant, like he has.

Pleasingly plum

Stop calling people ‘pleasantly plump.’ No one likes that.  The expression you should be using is ‘pleasingly plum’ because, “they are pleasing like a plum.”

You Genius

Grandpa’s favorite hip-hop group, also known as G-Unit.

I am doing gorgeous!

The only correct reply when anyone asks how you’re doing and/or feeling.  This includes doctor visits.

Lumpy Tiger

None of us actually know what this means.  He says he’s a lumpy tiger, and even has the shirt to prove it.  No lie, it’s  a red t-shirt with the words “Lumpy Tiger” on it.  Nothing else.  Not a clue, people.

 

With your help, Grandpa’s hip, cool lingo will catch on – maybe you’ll even earn the title of Lumpy Tiger.

 

 

 

Cornstarch in the Kitchen

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Did you know cornstarch is highly coveted in professional kitchens?  Growing up, I can’t recall seeing my mother use cornstarch one single time.  Now I’m married to a chef, and have worked in several restaurants – bountiful quantities of cornstarch.  It’s a great way to thicken sauces without using dairy, has twice the thickening capacity of flour, creates a great crispy layer on proteins without batter, binds baked goods, and a secret purpose you don’t know – but I’m gonna share with you.  Because I like you so dang much.

cornstarch

Cornstarch: great for gravy and grundles.

Let me paint a picture for you.

Do you know how hot it is in a professional kitchen?  It’s too hot.  Just take my word for it.

Also, are you familiar with standard kitchen clothes?  A heavy chef jacket, coupled with baggy chef pants and some sexy non-slip kitchen clogs… folks, we are not talking about breathable clothing here.

What I’m trying to say is these are some sweaty bastards here.  Every night when Hubster came home from working in a restaurant, I would remind him that he carried the overbearing aroma of “a carnival” – which is to say, B.O. and fried foods.

Enter:  Cornstarch!

If you’re less than intuitive with these facts I’ve given you, let’s just lay it out:  sweating in baggy clothing leads to chafing, especially in high-friction areas.  Yo, that means the grundle.  Simple solution: pack your gooch full of cornstarch before your shift begins!  You can’t wait until after you’ve already started sweating, though.  Then you’re just making gravy.

So, time for the story.

Per request, names are being changed to protect involved parties, and the names requested are Chef T-Rex, and Jamal.  Can’t make this up.  This is a story told by Chef T-Rex to me, and I’ll try so hard to share it with as much excitement and glee as when he shared with a handful of us.

So, Jamal is the boss; he owns the restaurant.  He… likes to party.  We’ll just say that.  I don’t mean balloon animals and face painting.

One morning, Jamal comes running up to Chef T-Rex to tell him someone was “partying” in the banquet room, demanding to know who was in the restaurant late at night.  Chef T-Rex is baffled, and knows there wasn’t anyone in the restaurant late at night.  Jamal insists there is proof of illicit drug activity and brings Chef T-Rex to observe the evidence: a leather chair covered in white powder.

Chef T-Rex knows exactly what’s up.  “Oh, Jamal, that’s from my ass.  It’s cornstarch.”

Jamal turns REAL WHITE and books it out of the room.  You know why?  Chef T-Rex knows why.  Because Jamal likes to party.

As my favorite Jurassic chef tells me, “You KNOW he had to grab a taste of it!  AND MY ASS SWEAT IS UP HIS NOSE AND IN HIS MOUTH.”

Y’ALL.  This son of a bitch nabbed a sweet taste of cornstarch dingleberries and his employee KNOWS IT.  God bless America, that is some of the most awful grundle gravy you could possibly collect, marinating for a minimum of 12 hours.  AND HE TASTED IT.

Just say no to drugs.  And yes to tacos.

Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.

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Lemme get fired up for a minute here.

Y’ALL.  If she pays taxes, owns a car, owns a home, is college-educated, has a child, has a husband, has a job, and can kick your ass, SHE IS NOT A GIRL.  SHE IS A WOMAN.

One more time for the people in the cheap seats:  WOMAN.  NOT A GIRL.

Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.

I tend bar a whopping two nights a week.  I contribute to my family’s income, I get to talk to very well-established adults, and I spend a ton of time with my kiddo.  Decent gig.  Not my favorite, but I’d be stupid to leave.  Wanna know the dumbest part?  When you serve people of privilege, a lot of them have some awful personality traits heavily associated with gobs of money.  I’m not saying all of them, so put away the damn pitchforks.  I’m saying I see a denser population of “I CAN’T HANDLE THIS GUY ANYMORE” while I’m at work, than when I’ve tended bar to people of lower income.  Comes on a case by case basis, ya know?

So, on Wednesdays I have a gangster shift nearly every week.  Love it.  Love my regulars, love my co-worker.  Same lovely lady every Wednesday – we’ll call her The Fish.  No sex jokes, guys.  The Fish and I are like-minded individuals with adorable precious boys the same age.  We get salty about the same things and have similar world views.

We have this one table every Wednesday… crap, I gotta name them something different.  Um… well I’ll just call them table 205.  Ok, so every Wednesday we get the same 2 guys at table 205: two dudes whom have been friends forever, have a decent chunk of change, and like to catch up and drink vodka once a week.  We like them.  They tip well, low maintenance guests, chat us up, polite.  One thing: they’re all about male privilege.  Openly.  One of the gentlemen of table 205 was recently gifted by the universe with a beautiful baby granddaughter.  She’s perfect; I’ve seen the pictures.  And you know what he tells me?  I’m lucky that I have a boy.  His granddaughter is cool and all, but he really wanted a boy.  That girls are awful.  That boys are useful and purposeful and something to be proud of, but girls just kind of take up space in your house and create a lot of problems.

If you want to someone to agree with you that the female gender can get bent, two feminists who handle your food is not a good place to start.

I remind him real quick that I’m actually a female, and that telling me that I’m useless isn’t a good way to get good service every single Wednesday until I crap on his windshield out of rage.

“Oh, not you, you girls are great.”

“Hey, quick question, take it or leave it – If I called you a boy, would you appreciate it?”

“Oh no,” he smirks, “I’m not a boy!  I’m a man.”

YO, DUDE, WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE?!  Tell me, SOMEONE OUT THERE TELL ME, because I’m in the dark here.  If this 50-something guy is a man, but my 30-something co-worker and myself are girls (I’m almost 30)… at what point do I get to become a woman?  What am I doing that indicates I’m a child?  Let’s just say he’s doing it because he’s old enough to be my father, and sees me at an age relative to his daughter.  Let’s go with that for a minute.  I work with dudes right around my age – even went to college with one of them.  Same major, had class together every day of the week for the last two years of our program.  This guy makes approximately 25% of what I earn on an hourly basis, lives at home with his parents whom pay his bills, no plans for a wife or children anytime soon – all markers that our society views as less mature.  So I asked Mr. Table 205 – Would you call [co-worker] a boy?

“No, that’s disrespectful.”

I really don’t know what more to say to convey my point here.  I need a drink.

LuLaRoe’s New Happiness Policy

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LuLaRoe wants you to be happy.

lularoe happiness policy

Because we want you to be happy, y’all.

Maybe you’ve heard… but there have been some complaints about LuLaRoe’s quality lately.  Oh, you have?  You and everyone’s mother has heard?  Even my granny who calls computers “Google machines” has heard?  Alright, then.  Glad we’re on the same page.

So here’s the scoop, y’all.  In the fashion industry, there is a standard rate of defective merchandise, cruising at a steady 2.5%.  You know what LuLaRoe’s rate of return is?  Less than 0.5%.  So uh… I understand that’s good.

Nevertheless, y’all aren’t happy because you’ve gotten some bunk leggings.  And I’m not happy, either, I swear.  It makes me look like a chump when you buy defective product from me!  I’ve always been happy to exchange out damaged leggings, whether they were purchased from me, or another consultant.  Plenty of you lovely ladies have told me that the consultant you’ve purchased from wasn’t willing to take the return – and that’s crap.  I stand behind that statement.

So changes are being made.

Anywho, LuLaRoe heard you!  They’re introducing more stringent quality assurance measures to test the strength of the fabric and inspect for defects.  Not just that, they’re also introducing a new Happiness Policy.  That’s a warranty of sorts, but… you know, jazzed up for LuLaRoe.

For defective product:

lularoe return

She returned her damaged item to me – and I was happy to replace the leggings.

If you received defective product purchased between January 1, 2016 and April 24, 2017 from an Independent Retailer, you are eligible for the “Make Good Program.”  Your claim must be made by July 31, 2017 and you must have your original receipt.  This shouldn’t be hard to find – it should have been emailed to you.  Now, if you buy your goods through less-than-conventional methods, you won’t have your receipt, you won’t have purchased from an Independent Retailer, and you’ll be outta luck.  This is why we avoid buy-sell-trade pages, people!  Also, if you slapped on some leggings and rolled around in gravel, that doesn’t make your product defective.  Just contact a consultant and they’ll take you through the process of receiving a replacement item, credit, or a refund.  You can find more info on the Make Good Program here.

Going forward, items purchased through a LuLaRoe Independent Retailer (such as myself, thank you very much), will include a warranty.  Tell me, when’s the last time you bought a pair of jeans with a WARRANTY?  I never have, and if you have, you must own some fancy jeans.  And guess how long this warranty lasts?  GUYS.  IT’S SIX MONTHS.  That’s outrageous!  Your unaltered, unmodified purchase is warrantied against manufacturer’s defects for six months from the date of purchase – and all you have to do is contact your favorite LuLaRoe Independent Retailer, A.K.A. me.  You’ll need to provide the original receipt, and you’ll get a replacement or credit for the original purchase price.  Note:  This is for defective items you purchase from April 25, 2017 and beyond.  You can find all the details here.

No damages?  We cover that, too.

Not only are your garments coming with a limited warranty, LuLaRoe is putting a Happiness Policy in place that is standardized across all Independent Retailers.  This is for items that are not covered by the limited warranty.  If you are within the first 30 days of purchase and you are unhappy with your product, you may be eligible for return, exchange, or refund through the Independent Retailer you originally purchased from.  If that Independent Retailer is not available, you may return or exchange through another person; however, you will not be able to receive a cash refund, because that individual does not have your money.  You follow?  If you are within the first 90 days of purchase, you can reach out to ANY Independent Retailer for a return or exchange – but not a cash refund.  Check the deets here.

So there you are, party people.  LuLaRoe wants you to be happy.  And I want you to be happy.  You can reach out to me at [email protected] and I’ll do everything I can to right any wrong you’ve come across through your LuLaRoe purchase.

Mommy & Me from LuLaRoe

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Friends!  Have ya heard about the Mommy & Me collection released from LuLaRoe?  Ok, well I have, and it’s my job to tell you about it, so listen up.

Cute, right?!

LuLaRoe recently released a Mommy & Me collection in limited prints and styles.  The styles include:

  • Nicole and Adeline
  • Carly and Scarlett
  • Irma and Gracie
  • Leggings Bundle

As consultants, we were limited to only one set until it was opened up for a free-for-all – and I nabbed the Carly and Scarlett set.  Each bundle was created in the same print, but not necessarily the same repeat size (like the scale of the design) or the same color.  I received one Carly in each size, XXS-3XL, and one Scarlett in each girls’ size, 2-12.

Scarlett is a little Carly dress! Adorable!

For those of you whom aren’t aware, LuLaRoe is a strong family business, and the garment styles are named after family members.  One of the family’s newest additions, Scarlett, was born with Down Syndrome.  This dress was created in her honor, and for each Scarlett dress sold, LuLaRoe is donating $1 to the National Down Syndrome Society.  So far, $192,000 has been given, and you could be a part of that amazingness!

Shop my inventory here to score a cute set for your and your mini-me, and feel good knowing that you are contributing to an amazing organization!

My pants aren’t made of toilet paper.

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Guys, it’s pretty clear I don’t push my business on anyone.  Spoiler alert:  I’m a LuLaRoe consultant.  I’ve been getting tagged in those dumb Facebook posts about the leggings being made of “wet toilet paper” a lot lately, so I feel the need to get this out there.

*The leggings are made of FABRIC.*

SHOCKER.

So, let’s talk about how these glorious leggings are made.

SO.MANY.PRINTS.

If you aren’t familiar with LuLaRoe, let’s start with some basic info that’s pertinent to this post:

  • They make their own fabric.
  • They design their own prints.
  • They construct their own garments.
  • These items are all made by PEOPLE.  That means there’s room for error.

There are currently over 40 different types of fabric utilized by LuLaRoe, but the leggings are actually made from the same fabric as a lot of the Maxi skirts.  WHAAAT?!  But they don’t feel the same!!  Yeah, this is where the “wet toilet paper” issue comes up.

In order to make the fabric “buttery soft,” the fabric is brushed with a row of needles.  Lots of ’em.  Really.  (For real, ew, I hate that term, “buttery soft.”  I would never rub sticks of butter on my thighs.)  These needles distress the fabric ever so slightly to give them that texture we all love.  Now, taking thread and turning it into fabric, printing on it, and purposely distressing it is going to give the fabric some weak spots.  Given that all of this is monitored by real people, and sometimes people make mistakes… there’s some wiggle room that y’all aren’t allowing us to have.  At the rate that these leggings are purchased, some of them are gonna have booboos.  The garment industry standard allows for 3-5% of defective inventory produced, and we’re WAY under that.  Coupled with the fact that I genuinely can’t test the leggings I receive (more on that in a minute), you’re going to find the defects before I do.

So, the end result is you buy those cute leggings with roses you’ve been hunting for, and after a few hours, you have a few holes in the seat of your pants – or WORSE.  Just use your imagination.  **A dinosaur steals your margarita!**  Ok, not that bad.  But you get the idea.  I can’t test those – I’d literally have to wear each pair of leggings I get for a day to figure out if they’re cleared or not.  I can’t squeeze these thunder thighs into a pair of tween leggings (no shame here; I love my strong legs), and I don’t have enough booty to test the limits of the fabric of a pair of tall & curvy leggings.  And KIDS LEGGINGS?!  I’m a freakin’ adult, people!  A small adult, but like… adult-ish?  I will Hulk-bust those leggings.

So now you know, and knowing is half the battle!  G.I. Joooooe!

When you get a defective pair of leggings, it’ll suck.  And it’ll suck for your consultant, too.  I swear, I feel so so guilty, like I did wrong by my customers.  But I didn’t.  That’s just how it works.  When it happens, tell your consultant!  She’ll replace them!  And if she’s me, she’ll probably give you credit for 2 pairs, and feel guilty, and offer you a back rub.  If it was a special magical pair that you lost sleep over, she’ll do everything in her power to hunt down the exact same pair for you.  It is her job, after all.

 

Are we on the same page now?  Cool.  So, now you can come buy some leggings, and I promise I’ll take care of you.

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