Archive for January 2013
mortification marketing at its best
Not sure if mortification marketing, like using a cheese grater for exfoliation during a pedicure, is exclusive to Florida or not. But like our ever-expanding list of sexual predators and people who shoot each other over Popeye’s chicken, it’s a source of shame for this sunny state of shady people.
Sure, a part of me respects the Statue of Liberty breakdancing to the demons in his own head on 4th Street in the middle of rush hour traffic (2 pm here because that’s when people get off their shift at Steak & Shake).
And I’m a bit jelly of the guy flipping the Westshore pizza sign because I imagine this form of aerobic activity burns way more calories than a spin class. Not to mention I might one day be relegated to a life of pointing frantically to my PC Repair sign should my job as a bomb-sniffer for the Department of Homeland Security fall through.
But I have to draw the line at today’s Buy Gold Mortification Marketeer.
Employing a pregnant person?
Guessing he’s about six months along
Shame on you.
anthropologie sales rack etiquette
Not following these rules puts you at risk of being photographed and featured on my blog for 10s of readers to see:
1. Those arriving at the sale rack first have the right of way. Please yield.
2. Stay at least five (preferably eight) garments away from your fellow shopper.
3. If you feel an impending sneeze, please leave the store. Try not to come back. Ever.
4. If #3 is not possible, do not look at my disgusted, scrunched up face and say, “Allergies.” Because I so fucking don’t believe you and once again will inquire about the purchase of a hyperbaric chamber which is no fun for anyone.
5. Never, ever try to grab any item after not respecting the five-garment barrier rule. If you took the last size 2 in that crimson tweed dress I want then know you will be cursed to a life of shrinking closet space and excruciatingly long lines at Fresh Market. This I can pretty much guarantee.
Shopper comes dangerously close to violating the perimeter of decency
she puts the lotion in the basket
If I end up sliced into little pieces and stuffed inside a tackle box, look for this guy in the line-up.
Despite the three open lanes at Target this morning and the fact that I had 800 items to his two (a pair of Wranglers and a jar of something I can only imagine is knife polish), he still got in line behind me staring with his mouth open like Chilly Willy salivating at a hotdog oasis.
It could be a simple case of inbreeding coupled with my hyperbolic disorder, but it’s better to be safe than a moisturized size eight.
i only wear white when it rains 