To be fucking jolly. If by jolly the saying means destroying a much-loved pair of shoes while Christmas shopping. That serves me right for shopping for cashmere sweaters, pearl earrings, and DVDs in four-inch heels, in this seriously fucked weather. Okay, so I wear Uggs out the house, but then I slip my feet into a sinful pair of stilettos when I reach my destination. Sure, frumpy Walmart queens and flat-footed soccer moms are staring at my shoes and wondering how do I do it. Do I tread the slushy city streets in foot porn all year round? Hell no. I know the power of creating porn with your feet, and so I try my hardest to present the most hardcore of porn. However, a day shopping with Jan will render every pair of shoes with impractical heels major softcore.
Jan must go to every store in Chicago and the suburbs to find an effing antique lamp "that will fit perfectly in Henry's store." Jan explains that lighting is important when people are spending their money. "If they can't feel cozy in what they are wearing, then how are they going to fork over money for a $300 cardigan."
Yesterday, we started shopping at 10 A.M.; I swear, I didn't return home until almost midnight. My pair of FABULOUS Stuart Weitzmans got caught in a crack in the sidewalk and off went the heel. So Jan had to drive me to DSW, where I found a pair of $40 no-name heels to finish my shopping. There wasn't much foot porn after that.
However, there was plenty of Christmas music blasting in every store. How many times can a woman stand to hear "Have Yourself a Merry Christmas?" Christmas isn't so merry when you're waiting for your best friend to decide between lavender or basil dishes, and doing so in a weird, must-be-a-European-thing way: placing the two dishes side by side and exclaiming, "Basil won't take beef well." And I'm dying in a pair of new shoes (new shoes never fit right the first day) and I still have to buy my mother something made of crystal. Fucking ad nauseam Christmas music doesn't help.
And what the hell is up with people who decide they can toss, throw, cast aside, or simply discard merchandise to the floor? Um...have some manners and put the things you no longer want back in its rightful place. No one should be trekking through a sea of discarded damask pillows because you decided the fringed ones were better. Yes, someone is going to clean it all up, but still have a little fucking Christmas heart and take the extra load off the workers;.
Now to my biggest peeve (and it's really something I should be ashamed of ): why do people defecate in public toilets? I'm in Marshall Field's restrooms, doing girly stuff, when a lady comes in and proceeds to release the noisiest dump. Ever. I won't go into detail, but let's just say I could hear the stool's destination. Yuck. Fucking yuck. I know, sometimes a person can't hold it; but at least bring a can of emergency air freshener and start spraying before you do your thing -- that way odor is minimized. It's mean, it's cruel, it's the way I feel, so I shared.
Now that I've said my piece, I have to sign off. I'll be in NH from Friday until next Wednesday, so blogging will be light to non-existent. Tonight and tomorrow will be spent packing and self-fucking.
Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Blessed Kwanzaa.
Jan must go to every store in Chicago and the suburbs to find an effing antique lamp "that will fit perfectly in Henry's store." Jan explains that lighting is important when people are spending their money. "If they can't feel cozy in what they are wearing, then how are they going to fork over money for a $300 cardigan."
Yesterday, we started shopping at 10 A.M.; I swear, I didn't return home until almost midnight. My pair of FABULOUS Stuart Weitzmans got caught in a crack in the sidewalk and off went the heel. So Jan had to drive me to DSW, where I found a pair of $40 no-name heels to finish my shopping. There wasn't much foot porn after that.
However, there was plenty of Christmas music blasting in every store. How many times can a woman stand to hear "Have Yourself a Merry Christmas?" Christmas isn't so merry when you're waiting for your best friend to decide between lavender or basil dishes, and doing so in a weird, must-be-a-European-thing way: placing the two dishes side by side and exclaiming, "Basil won't take beef well." And I'm dying in a pair of new shoes (new shoes never fit right the first day) and I still have to buy my mother something made of crystal. Fucking ad nauseam Christmas music doesn't help.
And what the hell is up with people who decide they can toss, throw, cast aside, or simply discard merchandise to the floor? Um...have some manners and put the things you no longer want back in its rightful place. No one should be trekking through a sea of discarded damask pillows because you decided the fringed ones were better. Yes, someone is going to clean it all up, but still have a little fucking Christmas heart and take the extra load off the workers;.
Now to my biggest peeve (and it's really something I should be ashamed of ): why do people defecate in public toilets? I'm in Marshall Field's restrooms, doing girly stuff, when a lady comes in and proceeds to release the noisiest dump. Ever. I won't go into detail, but let's just say I could hear the stool's destination. Yuck. Fucking yuck. I know, sometimes a person can't hold it; but at least bring a can of emergency air freshener and start spraying before you do your thing -- that way odor is minimized. It's mean, it's cruel, it's the way I feel, so I shared.
Now that I've said my piece, I have to sign off. I'll be in NH from Friday until next Wednesday, so blogging will be light to non-existent. Tonight and tomorrow will be spent packing and self-fucking.
Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Blessed Kwanzaa.