I was thinking about the following mindless, superficial, conspicuously consumerical topic last night as I was dropping off to asleep:
Back when I was a young newlywed (ummm, fuck you…the first time I was a newlywed), I worked as The Bridal Registrar at Gottschalk’s, an aspiringly upscale department store in Fresno, California. It was at that time that my complete and utter obsession with dishes began — and it continues to this day.
While there, I made it my personal bidness to know and memorize the name of every gottdamned china pattern known to humankind. I also made it my personal bidness to talk newly-engaged Armenian Princesses out of registering for 18 place-settings of hideous, trendy, NO-talent, 80s, faux-Asian, pastel-lily-bedecked, black-rimmed, Mikasa horseshit dishes. I told ’em, “Honey, you are gonna have these dishes forever (or at least until you get divorced in two years) so, for the love of christ, DON’T FUCK THIS UP.”
This relentless obsession has never left me; I am still in love with dishes.
So, yes — here is yet another fabulous way in which I have not yet poked and prodded you dames into revealing something about yourselves and your lives. You do realize that I am obsessed with all of you, as well, correct?
So…come on along — and let’s play…
Name Your Pattern!
I’ll start: Franciscan Ware: Desert Rose and Fiesta Ware


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