11 posts tagged “shopping”

I know I've posted on this before in some sort of incarnation, but I think this past weekend's experience bears discussing.  I hate malls on the weekend.  I still go, because sometimes it's necessary...like when you're coercing males friends to go shopping, or you have to buy a dress for the wedding next week.  I'm generally pretty good at forgetting that I am not a friend to malls on days of rest.  Why not?  The answer is fairly obvious:

1) Double-wide strollers.
2) Unleashed children who appear to be lost.
3) Teenage girls with more money than me.

The first is a heath hazard.  I'm likely to trip into someone because they're moving too slowly as they try to maneuver what equates to the Hummer of strollers.  But for the most part, I'm fairly good at spotting the spaces in between these vehicles and getting around them.  I'm not a bad driver for nothing.

The second just makes me feel bad.  It makes me feel bad because I feel obligated to watch and make sure their owner comes to claim them as they stand untethered and forlorn looking in the midst of the milling crowd.  It's like the time I almost ran down a puppy on my way home from apple-picking.  We had to stop, and we stayed there for what seemed like an hour until someone came by who was able to correctly ID the dog and take them to safety.  Uncool.  And then I think uncharitable thoughts about how this is why child kidnapping happens.  And then I remember that I used to wander away from my parents regularly, and often in other states or countries.  I was such a little bastard.  But again, my musing goes in a circle and it eventually resolves itself quickly.

The last is my biggest pet peeve, and the most obvious of my issues. 

I was with WB, because she needed someone to go shopping with, and she was in town.  Huzzah!  We'd had discussions about makeup, because for some reason, I am obsessed with my cursed short eyelashes this season.  It's like it's never registered before, but suddenly, voila!  I am troubled.  Anyhow.  I noticed that while we walked and talked, some times, WB would just drift behind me.  I didn't notice until the third or fourth time, that it was because some infant thought it was prudent to walk directly into us.  Similarly, while we were in Sephora, more than a handful of children (I know they're only 10 years younger than me, but they are infants!) shoved right by us with not so much as a by your leave.  Son of a monkey!

When did children get so rude?  When did they think hauling a Coach tote or a Gucci pouchette and smacking it into strangers was a good idea?  Why must I yield to you because you have more money than sense because of your parents?

I told WB not to move aside.  I told her to hold her ground, because we're older, we're meaner, and we are not above kicking little girls out of our way.  Apparently, this is not so true, because she did not think she could take a single one of them in hand-to-hand combat.  Such a disappointment.

I suppose I should learn my lesson and not go unless it's a nice and calm Monday through Friday.  But perhaps I should not bow down to fear of the teenage girls and instead just embrace my ire and step on them if they get in my way?

Now that I've lazed around and can't remember half of my trip, I'm gonna post!  Not all at once, clearly, as even without half my memories, I'm a long and rambling narrator.  Bah.

We start logically, at the beginning of the trip.

I always enjoy holidays, from start to finish.  From the pre-trip purchases (travelsized toiletries and items bought in the name of acting as a transatlantic courier) to the hours waiting at the airport to the actual relaxing and eating.  This was (in theory) no exception.  I arrive three hours ahead of time to a short security line and a comfortable wait in B terminal reading my new seedy romance novel and listening to my new travel-happy playlist of music.  I was positive even though I was still feeling the discomfort of surgery.  I pushed it aside. 

This joy lasted until hour 7 on the plane.  Suddenly I was burning hot, needed to pee, and was trapped in a window seat.  My way out was blocked by two sleeping behemoth boys.  I suffered in silence for the last bit of the plane ride to Paris...well, except my backseat neighbor might have noticed me throwing myself against my seat and trying to stretch and fan myself frantically.  This is why I request aisle seats usually.  They couldn't accommodate me.  Bah again.

Paris is where I discovered that I had a new airport to hate: Charles du Gaulle.  Their sins?  Annoyingly slow customs officers who are also snotty as fuck.  Misdirecting travelers to the wrong security lines.  Making me go through security even though I just needed to make a transfer in 1.5 hours.  Clumping me with the huge tour group from China -- just because I managed to get in between them -- when they were stalled at security for some question or other.  Balls.  Almost making me miss my connection.  I don't care that 'They're Gallic' is normally an acceptable excuse.  No fucking excuses!

So I grabbed my luggage (yay!) when I arrived in Barcelona.  I figured out that I needed to change terminals to check-in at Spanair -- it's cheaper to go roundtrip out of Barcelona and catch a domestic flight to Madrid than it is to fly one-way to Madrid then one way back from Barcelona to home.  It wasn't busy where I was, so I didn't anticipate the clusterfuck in Terminal B.  It took me 2.5 hours to get to the check-in counter.  I arrived at 9:10 am, and had to catch a 12:20 pm flight.  That's ridonkulous.  I also learned that the Spanish do not respect personal space, lines, feet, each other, or deodorant….So it was that I learned what it felt like to be that person that runs onto a plane last minute, because the board flashed BOARDING as I ran for my gate…Except I wasn’t that person.  What I was running for was the bus to take me to my plane.  So good. - It was good until I got to Madrid and found out that my luggage, along with half the flight’s luggage had been left in Barcelona by accident.  Drink in my pain with me.  Drink it!  At this point, I had been in transit for over 24 hours.  I barely checked my rage. 

Two hours and one lost soul later, I had reported my lost luggage – they assured me that it would arrive on the 5 pm or 7 pm flight that night – and full-on panicking about how I was supposed to meet up with WishBear[WB] and her friend [J] hours ago.  Hours ago…somewhere in the airport.  Yeah.  We had a lengthy discussion later about how we have great plans, but no ability to follow through.  Was it a Simpson’s thing?  The underwear eaters episode?  There’s a step one, and a step three, and the step two? we figure out along the way.  So step one was, go to Spain.  Step three was, meet up in Spain.  Step two?  Please.  

I took the bus to Terminal 4.  I took the bus back to Terminal 2.  I walked around, felt broken, and decided to take a taxi to the hotel.  Clearly she would be smart enough to write down the hotel information that I sent to her aeons ago, no?  And she was!…sort of.  She had to find an Internet kiosk to look up the info again, but she made it to our hotel!  Yes she did!  And our room was adorable, yes it was.  This picture isn't quite representative of just how cute, but I wasn't going to adjust for light or take a fresh picture while it was tidy.  And no judging me for taking bathroom pictures.  I'm fascinated by bidets!  I digress....

They were both appalled by my lost luggage.  I suspect WB mourned her Skippy and Welch’s jelly (both trapped in my lost luggage) more than anything. ^_^  But more importantly?  We were hungry.  This is where they recalled that the Europeans have no sense of time, and ate at horrible hours…and drank the rest of the time.  So we cooled our heels for a spell before taking to the streets, where we wandered around deciding on nothing, where a portly fellow tried to sit on top of J, where WB made us walk up a mountain to see Plaza Major and Puerto del Sol…Here is a mishmash of initial outside tourist pictures:

I had my first Spanish paella – not great, but edible – and I bought my first ‘I need clothes or I’m going to die!’ outfit of the trip: a light cotton tank top with green crochet straps and liberal bedazzling, and a vibrant citrus orange skirt, also bedazzled.  The picture doesn't do justice to the color.  Let me see if I can find a better color swatch...Too lazy.  Imagine it a little brighter. :)

I had to have something to sleep in!  I wasn’t going to sleep naked, and I wasn’t sleeping in my black trapeze top and khakis.  No sir.

I went to sleep that night quite soundly, but not before finding out that our hotel TV was awesome.  They have a FOX channel with dubbed over shows like House, Roswell, Smallville, Boston Legal, Brothers & Sisters, etc.  Roswell, ya’ll.  Not to mention the German MTV channel.  Score!  Of course there were even more craptastic shows, like The Ghost Whisperer, Cold Case and Close to Home….I don’t know why.  They don’t even work at home…why would they import it? - The next day dawned with clear intent: shopping, food, and maybe some sightseeing…as if we knew where we were going.  We had a fun!map, and that’s all we went with.  We are awesome and clearly deranged.

We crawled out around noon?  They were both concerned about the heat after suffering through Greece and Italy, but I poo-pooed their wariness and went about jauntily.  Hey, I was in repeat clothing!  I had wet underwear hanging off a hook to dry!

We ended up walking up to the nearest plaza and sitting down in a little restaurant called Natur Bier.  Clearly, natural beer.  Go go gadget four year of German!  I tried to order everything on the menu, but the man cut us off.  He eyed us as sissy girls who couldn't eat, and we took his advice, but vowed to prove him wrong.  He was not wrong.  He brought out the chorizo and the croquettes and the calamari.  And the Sangria!  Fantastic Sangria.  Sweet, delicious nectar of life... Mmmm....Sidetrack!  Anyhow.  So he brought that all out, and we faltered.  My tummy was full -- traitorous mofo.  So by the time the paella (round two, Madrid) came out, I was terrified.  Couldn't possibly do it.  Neither could J, really.  WB looked at us both with a mighty dose of shame, and stepped up to do her duty.  Witness:

She schooled us both.  Do not judge her by the leftover bits.  She decimated more than half of it herself.  And she is wee.  Also note the gigantic lemon wedge...it would have served better in my drink.

After ye good olde satisfying lunch, it was off to do some more shopping to clothe my tired and sweaty ass back.  I hadn't been whinging that much (I hope), but the promise of more was on the horizon, lest I get clean with new clothes!

I struck joyous gold at Zara.  I bought two dresses -- both of them happily not too out of place with the rest of my wardrobe.  See:

Prior to Zara, we had gone into a Bershka, which was...no.  Seriously.  Well, I'm not being fair.  Anyone who thinks the Lily Pulitzer color scheme is their cup of tea needs to go to Bershka.  The colors make Miami seem muted by comparison.  No joke.  Go.  See.  Be attacked by the fluoro (as Fly calls it.  Hee!) just like my damn retinas.  Crazy, ya'll.  Here, go visit their website.  I'll admit, the intro is interesting...okay, it might give you vertigo...but go anyway:  Bershka!

I saw maybe two scraps of black fabric in the whole place.  WB was happily rummaging for some sweater, J was wandering with a scared look on her face, so I ran for the hills and a bottle of Coke.  Then, the haven of Zara, where they were confused as well.  Bother.  But not me!

Happy with my purchases we wended our way down the Gran Via.  This road, by all accounts has a lot of shopping.  It isn't as grand as Salamanca, but it is still clogged with people and cars and traffic and all that is horribly messy about humanity.  We stayed to one side and giggled our way down the road.

We noted that there was a TGI Friday's here.  This will come into play the next day... There were also restaurants a plenty and some shops too.  It was a pleasant sloped hill...I was only afraid that we'd have to walk back up.  Of course.  That's my concern.  Hee.  So lazy.

We found ourselves at the bottom of the hill, and subsequently the Plaza de España.  This is where we saw the statue of Cervantes and Don Quixote.  We saw the crazy drunk woman lounging in the fountain -- this does not mean that only crazy drunk people lounge in fountains!  Sane people do it too!  We saw people sunbathing, and some fun tourists, and wacky stupid graffiti.  Not worth a mention.  Mini pictorial:

It was very pretty.  Not the fountain lady -- she changed her pants in front of us.  Not a show I wanted to see.  I don't think J and WB wanted to see it either.  So we left.  And we had a plan.  No climbing up the hill for us.  No!  Now that we were down here, we could cut through the plaza and see the Palacio Real and the Almudena Cathedral.  Score!  The weather was nice, dinner was hours away.  And we had to give the old college try at being a tourist in truth.  I think I did better than the other two.  Pictures!

And that was the Palacio Real, the Campo del Moro and the Almudena Cathedral.  So exquisite.  I went in and snapped pictures galore, the girls were more subdued.  Hello.  Pretty colors!  Catholics know how to pretty their holy houses, ya'll.  Alas.  By now the sun was setting, so time to book it home to siesta.  Which is what we did.  Except I couldn't, because I finally got a call from sweet sweet lovable favorite hotel guy ever Cesar, telling me that my luggage had arrived.  Huzzah!  I rejoiced.  I drew out everything from my luggage.  The only damage was a slightly leaky oil that made everything smell like camphor and eucalyptus.  Success!  So happy I threw on my green dress and we went back for more goodness and sangria in the plaza.

This would have been nice, had there not been a man with an accordion, and a man with a recorder who walked circles around us and made us want to commit murder.  Although I believe one of us pointed out the inconvenience of having to leave the country and a whole extradition nightmare.  But seriously.  Nothing could improve the smelly Eurostinky recorder player.  Seriously, ya'll.  Who expects money for playing a recorder?  I did not go around with my recorder when I was ten expecting tips for playing Hot Cross Buns...No euros for you!  Asshat.  Still.  Mission accomplished.  Drinks in belly, another night pleasant.

The next day was the Fourth of July.  We apparently slept in, and paid for it.  It was almost four by the time we went out, and we panicked.  We were going to miss the food window.  Fuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkk.  So we decided that maybe, just maybe, we would make the window at TGI Fridays.  We wanted to celebrate the holiday, so what better way than at an American franchise and with free refills?  I fail to mention that at this time we had already bypassed restaurants called Nebraska, Texas and Iowa.  Let's not question it.  Ah, and we had also passed through two or three Bershkas, because WB was still on her hunt. 

We made it to Friday's, and ya'll, it was everything we hoped for and more.  Potato skins, salads, burgers, chicken fingers, ice cream, huge mojitos, and all the soda you can drink.  Sooo good.  Had we the inclination, we might have gotten some Jack Daniel's sauce.  Oh, yum. 

I think my girls could have died happy right there, because even the soda tasted the same.  I personally think the Coke in Spain is a little sweeter than at home, so seriously, I can tell.  Up until now, I'd been a junky for Fanta Naranja, which coincidentally isn't as sweet as Fanta Orange here...hmm....anyhow, but for this meal, it was glass after glass of Coke.  Le sigh. 

P.S....J totally shined in the Friday's experience.  She killed her plate of skins and strips and fries and mojito and ice cream and too many glasses of soda to count. :)

Full of food and feeling sassy, we chugged back up the hill, because it was time for more shopping.  I think by this point, the womens were tired of their dirty (and even less dirty) clothes.  I wasn't the only one on a shopping mission.  Heee.  So we stopped at H&M - where it was a fucking zoo.  I was afraid for my life.  No joke.  I left them to fend for themselves and waited patiently outside.  I shudder.  That makes my fourth country where I attempted to shop at an H&M.  This is the only one where I've been unsuccessful.  I know.  Shameful.  We stopped at yet another Zara where I got another dress: 

We stopped at Sfera, where we were horrified by the proliferation of rompers.  The most offensive?  A purple velour one...that we incidentally saw this skinny hag pulling onto her body in plain view.  I was so disturbed.  Alas.  We also went into several more shops I can't recall, but I know I also had to run into a Starbuck's for a recharge.  So much shopping, so little time.

We made it to the end of Gran Via only to circle around the Ministry of Defense and the Cibeles. 

WB said that her friend said we ought to go through Chueca -- supposed great shopping.  So we got lost, but got there, and it was not all it should have been.  It was some high end retailers mixed with electronic stores and lots of ghetto.  We were saddened, and they learned that they wouldn't be able to trust this girl again. :)  At least not with shopping. 

 

We were all in with the tourist bit that day, so we decided to go all the way.  We went to Hard Rock Madrid, we went to the Jardines del Buen Retiro:

Very pretty, very nature-y, very frightening with a hostile Spiderman.  SpiderPig, SpiderPig.  Does whatever a SpiderPig does...  Heeee.  Oh, and a Minnie Mouse daring to take her head off: 

Wouldn't that frighten you as a child?  A headless mouse?

Anyhow, this day winded down with dinner at a tapas restaurant that had hard liquor behind the bar but didn't serve cocktails.  We were so speechless when the waitress told us that we couldn't even be bothered to call bullshit.  Such a waste.  WB remained sober in protest.  I am not so strong.  I ordered my cava sangria and got muzzy.  This led to a not so steady walk back to the hotel, which was a block away, and some drunken emails.  I made poor Cesar plan us a trip to Sevila -- we thought we were going to be ambitious and do a day trip -- bus schedules and all, but it was not to be.

The last full day in Madrid dawned with excitement.  We were going to have Thai for lunch and shop and sleep and drink our way to Friday.  The restaurant was less than stellar, but I had to give it credit for using the right ingredients.  But they did not seem Thai.  I know my Thai people.  One of my relatives in my tree is definitely Thai.  They did not seem Thai.  And he did not give us dessert on our menu del dia.  Lying fucker.

P.S. This is the meal where I redeemed myself.  I polished my plates and helped WB finish hers!  Huzzah!

No matter.  We still had shopping.  A little trip to TopShop...success!...

and jaunt to Sephora...where (because of WB) I had to pay thrice...although to be fair, twice was me.  Hah. 

I'm sure we did more, but the day was fairly a haze.  We stopped by another restaurant on the way back to the hotel to have a drink, but then we had a mini-siesta.  The rest of the night had to be my favorite night in Madrid.  Because we went out for the night and found the most adorable smoky bar on the next street over...Calle de Lupe Vega?...and we had the strongest damn caiprinas and mojitos ever.  EVER.  The proprietor made them himself, took forever, and I have to believe, with gusto.  Old Elvis songs filtered in just as frequently as music from -- no joke -- my playlist from freshman year in college.  Including what song?  The best song ever in high school: Ironic by Alanis.  Sweet Jesus.  And I must have eaten a whole bowl of sunflower seeds and peanuts on my own.  WB laughed at me because I only had two drinks, and for the second drink I tried to get something that the man told me was non-alcoholic and I shook my head, "Nooooooo....Something with lots of alcohol please!"  Seriously.

I will call it my favorite bar ever.  In Spain.  So sweet.  Look how kitschy that is!

Next up?  A stroll down the street where everyone was trying to get the passersby to come in.  We passed up many restaurants and bars, and landed where?  Oh yes, Cher's Bar, a karaoke joint, after being shafted by a Doner Kabob joint.  It was not even midnight yet!  But still.  We (J and I) got drinks and belted out bad songs in Spanish...Como yo te amo??? Como yo TE aaahhhhmmmmo.....It turned awfully angry awfully quick.  In the song and in the bar.  Yowza.  Their songlist was amazing and bad.  We lasted a couple more songs, dodged another man trying to sell us roses, and left.  J left the sweet karaoke boy with a kiss, and we found ourselves trying to find a disco.

The girls, for some reason, let me drag them to a disco that thought itself awfully cool.  The drinks were 14 euros.  No way.  So we danced.  And I had made it all the way to YMCA before I realized it was a gay disco.  Lots of men dancing in groups, gyrating together, and girls in random clumps.  It was fantastic.  I almost got pulled on stage, but leapt off after getting my feet up there.  Best comment by the girls: "I don't know what to do with this music.  I can't whore dance to this!"  Yes, these songs wanted us to actually use our feet to dance.  Silly, I know.  I adopted my time honored bad wedding dancing style.  They laughed.  I had fun, I hope they did too.

We got in around two?  Three?  We smelled of smoke, sweat and stink, and we had to leave the hotel by 5:30 am to get to the airport.  We were having a taxi pick us up at that time, so all was in motion.  Then they had the bright idea of staying awake all night.  I agreed, but they also wanted some Internet time, as they had had to pay for too much Internet time across Europe, and it was free here.  So they went downstairs to the lobby, and I took a shower and packed it all in.  By the time they came up, it was 4 am.  They thought they could sleep for half an hour then wake up to pack and shower.  I said, okay. 

So guess who didn't wake up until the front desk called up to tell us that the taxi had arrived?  I went down to stall, but I have never been more proud of these women.  They packed in five minutes and were downstairs in a jiff.  It took them hours to recover from the shock, and J may have broken her luggage, but we were down in time.  Our cabbie was a little agitated because he had to be somewhere at 6.30 am, but he was nice in general, and scared at the shit out of me driving at super speed.  I was luckily in the death seat and had a prime view of all of the glorious bad driving.  He made me seem tame.  No matter.  We got to the airport in one piece, and now we had Valencia to look forward to. 

Ah, dear readers, that is for part two....

I like winter on principle.  It means comfy sweaters, long scarves, the promise of snow.  It does not mean layered tank tops and cut-off jorts with Uggs.  I'm not even kidding: it's what I saw at the mall yesterday.

Okay, so it was about 50 degrees outside.  In my day (yes, I know it sounds stupid coming from a 26 year-old), 50 degrees meant long sleeves and maybe a light jacket.  In this day, it's an excuse to dress skimpy because it was only 25 degrees the day before, so now 50 is absolutely balmy by comparison.  In the mall, it was about 90 degrees, so maybe I too would have been comfortable in less clothing than my wool sweater, popcorn scarf and jeans, but hooker didn't have another warmer item in sight.  She left the house like that.  If she were my kid, I might have boxed her ears and said, "No."  You know, in that authoritative and slightly belligerent tone that all of us have inside. 

Boxed her ears...What have I been reading?

I don't understand kids today.  I'm jealous of kids today.  They have and know a lot.  I was in line behind a tween talking about ripping a library CD copy of Eragon -- book on CD -- and putting it on her iPod.  Actually quite smart.  I remembered fondly when I was her age, I was still clutching a walkman and popping in my Madonna tapes.  Yeah, I'm old school...I didn't waste no money on NKOTB...I had friends for that.

This is what I'm up against, this youth population.  Walking in hoards with Forever 21 and AF bags, making me feel old for going into the GAP for simple clothes.  Okay, I think I'm being forced out of that store.  Seriously.  When did everything start being made out of crappy sweatshirt material again?  Which is not to say that I don't enjoy the material, but I can't wear that to work, and a girl can only own so many hoodies.  Is this a grunge revival?  I saw plaid too.  It's like, they've moving out of the 80s revival and thinking ahead to the early 90s?  I'm disturbed and confused.

I had a very disorienting day yesterday, if you can't tell.  It did not help that Pan's Labyrinth wasn't what I expected.  I enjoyed the movie, I did.  However, I would have enjoyed it more had I actually know what I was going to be in for.  Part of me thought it might just be like the other Labyrinth movie -- you know, David Bowie, purple tights, hardcore spiky mullet? -- but revamped and Spanish.  Or, it had been marketed as this great movie that was part fantasy, part wonder and wow.  Um, no.  It's really not.  I conveniently forgot the part about a little girl inventing a fantasy world to help her escape the realities of post-war Spain.  Operable part being post-war.  Um, yow.

I have never really been one of those people that regularly reads up on a movie before going to see it.  I do it sometimes when I become obsessive over one -- rare, but true -- but not as a general rule.  I prefer to keep myself a little uninformed so I don't have preconceived notions ahead of time...meanwhile, I won't be able to do that with The Namesake when it comes out.  I got teary watching the preview, ya'll.  The preview.  That, deserves a little attention.

So, go see Pan's Labyrinth because it's good.  Not because you think it might be feel-good.  Because...spoiler...it's not.

I'm discussing my day.  If you don't want to listen to my vapid rambling, this might be the time to check out, but for those of you who either indulge it or enjoy it, buckle up.  Although, since it's itemized, it may be user-friendly...I don't know.

1.  My semester started today.  I count this a victory, because that's eight hours I don't have to deal with work issues.  Although, when I think about the fact that I'm using academia as escape, I worry myself.  Especially when I realize all this academia will eventually lead to more crap-laden work.  It is after all a terminal degree.  How terrible that sounds.

2.  I love listening in on children chatter at the student bookstores.  They really do sound like they think they're worldly and know everything.  I'm willing to bet money that I sounded that stupid in college.  What an idiot I was (am).

3.  I was in a store and overheard this girl talking about how she worked over the summer and how terrible it was.  She swore she would never work again, and then discussed how she was planning on going to LA next week, but now she's going to go to Greenwich to shop and chill.  *blinks*  What do I need to do to get her life?  I don't think shivving her and assuming her identity is going to work, as we look nothing alike, but sweet Jesu.

4.  There is a certain amount of comfort in chain restaurants.  You have certain manageable expectations, and that works for me.

5.  I bought five books today.  Only one of them was for school.  I think they're pretty.

6.  I left my cell phone somewhere, and I don't know where.  It's on vibrate, and it's black, and dudes, I wear and own a lot of black.  This fact this both terrifying and liberating.  Although 60% of me wants to let it go and wait to stumble over it, 100% of me knows that I'm going to go around later with my house phone calling my cell phone and looking for the glow in the dark.

7.  I bought a scarf with pockets today!  I've been looking for this scarf for four years now.  It's been a battle.  I know they're out there, but some are not worth the cost in spite of the pretty, and some don't inspire me.  Today I found one that was suitably amusing and was cost efficient.  How cost efficient?  $5 efficient!  Now I can engage in the age old battle between warmth by winding the scarf around my neck, and strangulation because I've wrapped it around my neck and now I have my hands digging into the pockets.  It's a fine balance.

8.  I had an Arby's sandwich for breakfast this morning.  So right!  How did I manage to find such a thing for breakfast, you may ask.  Why, I utilized the 5 for 5.95 deal and bought me some roast beef sandwiches.  So good.  Ahhh, college nostalgia.

9.   My professors today, are thinkers outside the box.  I could kill someone.  Maybe them.  This is not to say that they're bad, or mean, in fact, I think they're all about the feelings, and the thinking, and the creative.  Uncool.  Why?  I have been in grad school for too damn long with professors who gave me a rigid agenda to follow that was both predictable and routine.  Now, in my last semester, I end up sacking myself with not one, but two profs that want us to challenge ourselves with creative thinking?  Shit.

Example: I have a term project worth 40% of my grade, and it has no set parameters.  It just has to be about leadership, and be academically valid.  Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?!  Help a sister out.  Anyone.  Please.

10.  I love my four hour block between classes.  Today equaled shopping.  And likely?  So will next week, and the next week, and the next.... Bliss.

11.  I learned that there is an industry for Career Salvaging.  How depressing must that be?

12.  If I use STA Travel, a round trip to Madrid is $313.  Hmm.  Spain 2007?  Signs point to yes.

In the pursuit of procrastination, I'm reading my emails.  I would normally do this at work, but I'm at a new work where I don't have a computer in my office because the last one was confiscated after the...doings?...of my predecessor.  I'll get it back next week, but until then, I've been shuttled around to other people's offices, and I don't want to disturb the sanctity of their computers for no reason.  Okay, email is reason, but not reason enough.

I've also been cleaning out the office, and sweet lord, are there piles of crap in there.  A ginormous Franklin Covey year calendar.  Hi, three inch leather-bound binder?  It weighed 15 pounds easy.  Who travels with that shit?  Also, if and when I go to work today, there will just be more of that, so I'm holding out.

What do I find in my email?  A link to go online window shopping!  I found some things that disturbed me quite:

I like the shape.  I like the colors (if you can call them such.)  I like the aesthetic.  In theory.  I'm not sure about the bow.  It's like the eighties and the heinous bow on the back were all wrong, but we're now accepting the same silhouette, but backwards?

I'm not about to slink anywhere in this getup, so perhaps I shouldn't think on this too much.  Why not?  The price tag is a grand deterent.  Um, I could buy a vacation to Europe with the money I'd spend on the dress.  And hello, vacation over dress, any day.  Second, I have no desire to walk around evoking imagery of snowmen.  Because that's what I'd look like: a puffy snowman.  Not the marshmallow puff, because this is not Bradley's dress/coat from Project Runway where he violated a down comforter to make an outfit.  No.  This is more pleasing to the eye, and less likely to agitate my feather allergy, but still makes me twitch somewhat.

Am I wrong here?

Much more obvious wrongs committed against humanity and dogs alike:

Sweet mother.  Does this little guy seem like he needs to be in an Italian cashmere sweater?  He looks like he's going to smack the next bitch that mocks him for wearing an argyle vest.  Do you see those claws?

For the first time, homework = love.  Shopping as research!  Went to Karen Millen to do some research on global retailers in the DC area.  Like I previously spoke of.  I also went to Sisley and Thomas Pink and Zara (okay, it's not at the same mall, but I went there, and maybe I shopped for myself too), but I lingered at Karen Millen.  And they are amusing.  I took pictures!  Here they are! ... Because bijal also lusts after her clothes and wanted to see them.

I just got home from a friend's birthday dinner.  I would have been tempted to just write her off as my friend's girlfriend a couple weeks ago, but the girl is good people, and we bonded over our mutual hate for people in general...so we're copasetic.  It was at a quasi-trendy joint that has pretty young people sitting around mostly drinking and pretending to eat pan-asian food.  I end up at this place without fail every time someone's having a birthday or a mass get together and it involves more than ten people.  It was fine.  I kind of felt like I should have gone on to karaoke at this seedy bar, but I'm tired, and I have a lunch to go to...today.  So yeah.  But this is not the point.  The point was, it was her birthday.

Now, I'm not exactly the buyer of presents, since everyone close to me seems to prefer buying extravagant gifts for themselves (myself included), and generally, I am shit at present giving.  However, I felt the girl needed something, and I felt constructively, that I had an idea brewing in my head that would work given my many interactions with her.  So I went to the department store that I new had them, plus, hello, I wanted to pick up a sample of Jo Malone's new blue agave and cocoa perfume, so, two birds with one stone.

Um, no, thwarted!

They no longer carry the product that I wanted.  Such a let down.  The salesgirl even seemed down for me.  So I trudged over to the cosmetic counters, only to be waylayed by my new BFF, a sassy makeup artist who's visiting from Beverly Hills.  I'll preface this by saying I've actually done a lot of research on cosmetics and tried a lot of crap over the years (I'm the sample queen), so listening to her was quite productive for me.  She was with this woman who had launched SK II in the Beverly Hills as well, which I thought was a fun coincidence, since I'd just done a study on SK II products and their potential for global mass markets.  Digression.

Long story short, I'm now a believer of Awake products.  It's the damn sake fermentation extract.  A cheaper SK II with more patented products, if you will.  Their clay mask is the most damn amusing thing I've used in a while, and no joke, my eyes look fresher and I'm still moisturized.  They told me not to waste my money on SK II, which is valid, since they're pretty much the La Mer of the Asian market, but I'd wager more successful.  Awake is a subsidiary brand of the best selling line in Asia, and the Asian women at the counter totally hooked me.  Not hard.  Not hard.

I only feel better about this because my mother was just bitching to me about how I have to start taking better care of my skin if I wanted to age gracefully.  This is part and parcel of any good birthday wish, by the by.  And at least I'm not buying more shoes to torture my feet with.  Instead, just products to treat my face.  This also means, I'm not allowed to go to my spa for a year.  No facials for me.  When did I turn into such a fucking prissy bitch?  Damn.  I need to dial it back.

And I didn't even get the perfume sample.  They hadn't any.  Disappointing.

Browsing through new Vox layouts as per usual whenever they come out with new ones, and of course I stop on the shopping one.  And I look at it.  And I think, "Ooooh!  I have those!"

So I take an homage photo:

Okay, except the green shoe is a loafer, not a pump.  My green pumps (which are actually mellower than the one up top) are at work.  And okay, the pink shoe is a slipper, but my pink sandal are at work.  Okay, suddenly this keeping half my shoe wardrobe at work think doesn't sound so smart, but the colors are all there!  And the blue's a little lighter, but I don't think I've ever shopped anywhere with a dark blue bag.  I looked at my bags, and they're mostly white/off white.  No flavor, people.  No flavor. Unfortunate.

PS, I a continuation of my seasonal ire, and Liz's post about seasonal festivity in malls, I was in one yesterday and almost ran into a giant Christmas snow globe in the display at the middle of the mall.  When holiday decorations attack (it was stationary, but still...), I have to take a stand.  I bite my thumb at thee, mall holiday decor!

I broke myself shopping yesterday.  It's the price I have to pay for waiting until the last minute to purchase items for to wear to the wedding.  Yes I had my dress.  Chocolate silk georgette.  Cocktail length.  More suitable for a late summer garden party, but screw it.  It floats.  So I felt I had to find something to go on top.  This meant the mall.

First stop?  Ann Taylor Loft.  Um, no, I didn't buy anything there for the wedding, but I did buy some cheap ass clothes and a pair of seven dollar last pair loafers/slides.  Butter soft leather.  SCORE.

Next stop?  Janeville.  Bought a jacket I'll most likely return.  Good for a topping blazer, but I realize now, the bit of spandex in the mix really upsets me.  I didn't think jackets were meant to be that stretchy.  I'll go to Tyson's to return it.  I knew someone in the one by me.  I'll feel bad.

Then: the Gap.  Waste.  Utter fucking waste.  When did it become such a loss?  And so expensive for what they do?  Fucking...they are not a lifestyle brand!

Minor success: Banana.  Found an excellent blazer on sale for half off.  Might serve for wedding, but if not, would serve for other occasions as well.  Blue pinstripe.  I'm amused.  Also, kicky red shell.  I love the sales racks.

Win?  H&M.  What I love about this store is their accessories.  Screw the clothes.  They're fine, but I love the accessories more.  Because this time they gave me a brown and cream and other tonal color scarf that I can drape around my shoulders.  Yay!

Then I went limping back to Nordstrom, because by now, my mules (feet and shoes) were in agony and protesting.  I still had to buy shoes.  A cursory walk through Payless yielded nothing, so Nordstrom it was, more out of necessity than anything else.  This, mind you, is miraculous, since I have a personal issue with Nordstrom, or at the very least their women's apparel and cosmetic departments.  Repeated bad service in both areas...for no reason.  I happen to think that I work to get good service, because I've been in, am in, will always be in (in some form) the service industry, so I understand that it is retarded to piss off the people who are trying to (if reluctantly) to help you.  Be a fucking human being.  But I haven't had that luck in Nordstrom.  This, by the way, is why I go to Neiman's to buy cosmetics.  Same peddlers, same prices, way better service.  Kiss my ass counterladies at Lord&Taylor, Hecht's and Bloomies!

I think I recognized someone from junior high or high school also buying shoes at Nordstrom, but I didn't pursue it.  I couldn't even recall a fragment of her name, and I think she was a vapid bitch, so I wasn't going there.  Meanwhile, I did watch a trainwreck of an old woman harrass the shoe salesman, and had I not just been shopping for two hours, I would have kicked off my shoes and given her a piece of my mind.  Seriously?  Is it his fault that there are no shoes in your daughter's size?  Is it also his fault that your daughter won't listen to your advice because she knows her own feet?  If she wants to maim them in improbably uncomfortable looking shoes, then it's her own damn fault, isn't it?

I walked away with shoes that were shiny, brown and pointy.  Win!

So now I'm sitting in my bed contemplating the rest of the day.  It's cold.  I don't want to leave my bed.  My bed is warm.  It's soft.  It promises a lazy day.  But I can't be lazy.  I have to be in class in 45 minutes.  Then...

Must ditch class to come home and prepare for wedding reception.  Have already wrapped present.  Am a wrapping goddess with double stick tape.  Have already steamed dress.  Have already printed out directions...will fucking navigate Maryland like a rockstar.  (I hate driving into Maryland.  I'm a bad driver, but I'm not a Maryland driver.)

Maybe go to friend's post-reception to play a little classic Nintendo?  We have approximately an hour before having to go to a post-reception party.  The outcome of this party is...questionable, but I'll go along with it.

Then will go to friend's to crash.  Promise of deep friend twinkies.  With bacon.  Don't question the darkness.  Embrace it.  And plus, he promised to treat me to brunch in the morning.  And then buy tickets to go see John Hodgman next week.  Wheeeeee!

I should get out of my bed.

I went to the mall because I wanted to buy a new suit.  Or I thought I did.  I'm going to go see an important person talk, so I figured, most of the bastards there will be in suits, so maybe I should be too.  But really, they only expect me to be as well dressed as a normal student.  So, I opted against a suit, and decided on business casual, which for me means shameful drooling over sweater vests, crepe wool slacks and crisp shirts.  I even found a silk scarf that made me positively giddy.  And my dearest Wish Bear, your favorite Banana sweaters were on sale for 16 dollars.  I couldn't find any on sale in your size, otherwise I would have purchased whatever there was for you. ^_^

So I was happy when I left the mall parking lot.  Happy.  I even bought an oatmeal cookie to celebrate my purchases.  Which is why I had an above average good disposition when I hit the road, er, the mall road.  And that's when the rage built.  Because no one today seemed to understand the use of a stop sign.  Or, for that matter, the sign that says 'Proceed Without Stopping Into the Mall.'  I don't normally have a problem taking advantage of the illiteracy or the stupidity of people coming into the mall, but I was trying not to be a bitch.  So go when I let you go!  I had just bought nice clothing, and a delightful smelling lemon sugar scrub.  All that goodwill destroyed with four two-way stops.  TWO-WAY STOPS.  NOT THREE!  Three way stops do not exist in mall parking lots around my area!  (Well, with the exception of one in Tyson's---which is kind of ill-conceived to begin with.)

Guh.